Рыбаченко Олег Павлович
The Cruel Tragedy Of Stalingrad

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  • Аннотация:
    If the turning point at Stalingrad in the Great Patriotic War hadn't happened, everything would have turned out completely differently and would have taken a negative turn.

  THE CRUEL TRAGEDY OF STALINGRAD
  ANNOTATION
  If the turning point at Stalingrad in the Great Patriotic War hadn't happened, everything would have turned out completely differently and would have taken a negative turn.
  CHAPTER #1.
  It's as if there was no turning point at Stalingrad. This is entirely possible, as the Germans had time to regroup their forces and strengthen their flanks. During the Rzhev-Sychovsk Offensive, this is precisely what happened. And it didn't go over too well - the Nazis repelled the flanking attacks. Zhukov failed to achieve success, even though he had far more troops than he had at Stalingrad. So, in principle, there might not have been a turning point. It's conceivable that the Germans had managed to cover their flanks, and the Soviet forces never broke through. Moreover, the weather conditions were unfavorable, and there was no way to effectively use air power.
  Thus, the Nazis held out, and the fighting dragged on until the end of December. In January, Soviet troops launched Operation Iskra near Leningrad, but it was also unsuccessful. And in February, they attempted offensives in the south and center. For the third time, the Rzhev-Sychovsk operation failed. Flank attacks near Stalingrad also proved unsuccessful.
  But the Nazis achieved great success in Africa after Rommel's counterattack on American forces. More than 100,000 American soldiers were captured, and Algeria suffered a complete defeat. A shocked Roosevelt proposed a truce; Churchill, unwilling to fight alone, also supported the truce. And the fighting in the West ceased.
  By declaring total war, the Third Reich amassed more forces, especially in tanks. The Nazis acquired Panthers, Tigers, Lions, and Ferdinand self-propelled guns. This power, along with the formidable Focke-Wulf fighter-attack aircraft, the HE-129, and others, was also added to the lineup. And the ME-309, a new, formidable fighter modification with seven firing points, also entered production.
  In short, the Nazis launched an offensive from the south of Stalingrad and advanced along the Volga from early June. As expected, the Soviet troops succumbed to the onslaught of new tanks and experienced German infantry. The Germans broke through the defenses a month later and reached the Caspian Sea and the Volga Delta. The Caucasus was cut off by land. And then Turkey entered the war against the USSR. And the Caucasus, with its oil reserves, could no longer be held.
  The autumn was marked by fierce fighting. The Germans and Turks captured almost the entire Caucasus and began the assault on Baku. In December, the last quarters of the city fell. The Nazis seized large oil reserves, although the wells were destroyed and had yet to be brought back into production. But the USSR also lost its main source of oil and found itself in a difficult situation.
  Winter had arrived. Soviet troops attempted a counterattack, but without success. The Nazis began producing the TA-152, an evolution of the Focke-Wulf, and jet aircraft. They also introduced the Panther-2 and Tiger-2 tanks, more advanced and armed with the 88-millimeter 71EL cannon, unmatched in its overall performance. Both vehicles were quite powerful and fast. The Panther-2 had a 900-horsepower engine, weighing fifty-three tons, while the Tiger-2, weighing sixty-eight tons, had a 1,000-horsepower engine. Thus, despite their hefty weight, the German tanks were quite nimble. The even heavier Maus and Lion tanks never caught on, as they had too many shortcomings. So, in 1944, the Nazis placed their bets on two main tanks, the Panther-2 and Tiger-2, while the USSR, in turn, upgraded the T-34-76 to the T-34-85 and also launched the new IS-2 with a 122-millimeter cannon.
  By summer, a significant number of new aircraft had been produced on both sides. In the Nazi air force, the Ju-288 bomber had arrived, though they had already had one in production in 1943. But the Arado, a jet-powered aircraft that Soviet fighters couldn't even catch, proved more dangerous and advanced. The ME-262 entered production, but it was still imperfect, crashed frequently, and cost five times more than a propeller-driven aircraft. So for now, the ME-309 and TA-152 became the primary fighters, and they tormented the Soviet defenses.
  The Germans also developed the TA-400, a six-engine bomber with defensive armament-a whopping thirteen cannons. It carried over ten tons of bombs, with a range of up to eight thousand kilometers. What a monster-how it began to terrorize both military and civilian Soviet targets in the Urals and beyond.
  In short, in the summer, on June 22nd, a major offensive by the Wehrmacht began both in the center and from the south, in the direction of Saratov.
  In the center, the Germans initially attacked from the Rzhev salient and the north, along converging axes. And here, large masses of heavy but mobile tanks broke through the Soviet defenses. In the south, the Germans quickly broke through Soviet positions and reached Saratov. But the fighting dragged on. Thanks to the resilience of the Soviet troops and numerous fortified structures, the Nazis were unable to take Saratov outright, and the fighting dragged on. And in the center, although Soviet troops were encircled, the Nazis advanced extremely slowly. True, Saratov fell in September... But the fighting continued. The Germans reached Samara, but there they stumbled. And in late autumn, the Nazis approached the Mozhaisk defensive line, but there they stopped. Nevertheless, Moscow became a frontline city. The Nazis acquired more and more jet aircraft, especially bombers. The "Lion-2" tank also appeared. This was the first German tank design to feature a transversely mounted engine and transmission, with the turret offset to the rear. As a result, the hull's silhouette was lower, and the turret was narrower. As a result, the vehicle's weight was reduced from ninety to sixty tons, while maintaining the same armor thickness-one hundred millimeters on the sides, one hundred and fifty millimeters on the sloped hull front, and two hundred and forty millimeters on the turret front with gun mantlet.
  This tank, more maneuverable while maintaining excellent armor and further increasing its effective depression angle, was terrifying. The USSR developed the Yak-3, but due to the lack of Lend-Lease supplies, it and the LA-7, a machine that had at least slightly increased speed and altitude, were never mass-produced. Even the propeller-driven Ju-288 and the later Ju-488 couldn't catch up with the Yak-3. But the LA-7 was still no match for jet aircraft.
  The Germans remained quiet throughout the winter, waiting for spring. They had the E-series approaching, and they were optimistic about ending the war sooner next year. But the Soviet troops launched an offensive on January 20, 1945, in the center. And the fighting was fierce.
  CHAPTER No 2.
  The Germans repelled the attacks and launched a counterattack of their own. As a result, their troops broke through and engaged in fighting in Tula. The situation escalated. But the Nazis still didn't dare launch a large-scale offensive that winter. A lull ensued. However, in March, fighting erupted in Kazakhstan. The Nazis managed to take Uralsk and approached Orenburg. And in mid-April, an offensive on Moscow's flanks began.
  The USSR acquired the SU-100 as a means of combating Hitler's growing number of tanks. And in May, the IS-3 was scheduled to enter production. Jet aircraft were in short supply.
  Within a month, the Nazis advanced along the flanks and took Tula, and then cut off Moscow from the north. But the Soviet troops fought heroically, and the Germans were slowed down somewhat.
  Then, at the end of May, the Nazis struck further north, capturing Tikhvin and Volkhov, encircling Leningrad. In the south, the Nazis finally captured Kuibyshev, formerly Samara, and began advancing up the Volga, aiming to envelop Moscow from the rear. Orenburg was also encircled. The Nazis also acquired their first tanks-the Panther-3 and Tiger-3 from the E series. The Panther-3, an E-50, was not yet a particularly advanced vehicle. It weighed sixty-three tons, but had an engine capable of producing up to 1,200 horsepower. Its armor thickness was roughly the same as that of the Tiger-2, but the turret was smaller and narrower, and the gun was more powerful: an 88-millimeter, 100EL-long caliber gun, requiring a larger gun mantlet to balance the barrel. So the turret's frontal armor is protected to a depth of 285 millimeters. It's also better protected due to its steeper slope. The chassis is lighter, easier to repair, and doesn't get clogged with mud.
  It's not a perfect vehicle yet, as the layout hasn't been completely changed, but the Nazis are already working on it. So, a bad start is a bad start. The Tiger-3 is an E-75. It's also a bit heavy, at ninety-three tons. It's well protected, though: the turret's front is 252 mm thick, and the sides are 160 mm. And the 128 mm 55EL gun is a powerful weapon. The front is 200 mm thick, the lower is 150 mm, and the sides are 120 mm-the hull is sloped. Plus, you can attach additional 50 mm plates to them, bringing the total to 170 mm. In other words, this tank, unlike the Panther-3, whose side armor is only 82 mm, is well protected from all angles. But the engine is the same-1,200 horsepower at full boost-and the vehicle is slower and breaks down more often. The Tiger-3 is a significantly larger Tiger-2, with improved armament and especially side armor, but slightly reduced performance.
  Both German tanks have just entered production. The USSR's most widely produced tank, the T-34-85, is still in development. The IS-2, which could give the Germans a run for their money, is also in production. The IS-3 has entered production. It has much better protection on the turret and front, as well as the lower hull. But the tank is three tons heavier, with the same engine and transmission, and breaks down more often, and its driving performance is even worse than that of the already poor IS-2. Furthermore, the new tank is more complex to manufacture, so it is produced in small quantities, and the IS-2 is still in production.
  So, the Germans are ahead in tanks. But in aviation, the USSR is generally lagging behind. The Nazis developed a new modification of the ME-262X with swept wings, a higher speed of up to 1,100 kilometers per hour, and five cannons, and, of course, it's more reliable and crash-prone. And the ME-163, which can fly for twenty minutes instead of six. The newest development, the Ju-287, also appeared in the second half of 1945. And the TA-400 with jet engines. They really took on the USSR in earnest.
  In August, the offensive resumed. By mid-October, Moscow found itself completely encircled. The corridor to the west was no more than a hundred kilometers long and was almost completely exposed to long-range artillery fire. Fighting also erupted for Ulyanovsk, which Soviet troops attempted to defend at all costs. The Germans took Orenburg and now, having advanced along the Uralsk River, reached Ufa, and from there, the Urals were not far away.
  In the north, the Nazis also managed to take Murmansk and all of Karelia, and Sweden also entered the war on the side of the Third Reich. This greatly exacerbated the situation. The Nazis had already surrounded Arkhangelsk, where fierce fighting was underway. Leningrad held out for now, but under a complete siege, it was doomed.
  In November, Soviet troops attempted to counterattack on the flanks and expand the corridor to Moscow, but were unsuccessful. Ulyanovsk fell in December.
  1946 arrived. Until May, there was a lull, as both sides gathered their strength. The Nazis acquired the Panther-4 tank, which featured a new layout-the engine and transmission were integrated into a single unit, with the gearbox on the engine and one fewer crew member. The new vehicle now weighed forty-eight tons, with an engine producing up to 1,200 horsepower, and was smaller in size and lower in profile.
  Its speed increased to seventy kilometers per hour, and it practically stopped breaking down. And the Tiger-4, with a new layout, reduced its weight by twenty tons, also began to move better.
  Well, the Germans launched a new offensive in May. They added jet aircraft, both in quality and quantity, and a larger fleet of aircraft. And a new jet bomber appeared, the B-28, a fuselage-less, very powerful "flying wing" design. And they began to pound the Soviet troops thoroughly.
  After two months of fierce fighting, having committed more than one hundred and fifty divisions to the battle, the encirclement was sealed. Moscow found itself completely surrounded. Fierce battles erupted for its safety. And in August, the Nazis took Ryazan and encircled Kazan. Ufa also fell, and the Germans captured Tashkent. In short, things became very tight. And the Red Army was under severe pressure. Hitler demanded an immediate end to the war.
  Moreover, the US now has an atomic bomb, and that's serious. The Germans finally took Leningrad in September. And Lenin's city fell.
  And in October, Kazan fell and the city of Gorky was surrounded. The situation was extremely dire. Stalin wanted to negotiate with the Germans. But Hitler wanted an unconditional surrender.
  In November, fierce fighting raged in Moscow. And in December, the capital of the USSR fell, and with it, the city of Gorky.
  Stalin was in Novosibirsk. Thus, the USSR lost almost its entire European territory. But it continued to fight. 1947 arrived. The winter was quiet until May. In May, the USSR finally acquired the T-54 tank, and the Germans acquired the Panther-5. The new German tank was well protected both frontally and on the sides, with 170-millimeter armor. It was equipped with a 1,500-horsepower gas turbine engine. And despite its increased weight to seventy tons, the tank remained quite agile.
  And its armament was upgraded: a 105-millimeter cannon with a 100-liter barrel. Such a new breakthrough vehicle. And the Tiger-5, an even heavier vehicle at 100 tons, had 300-millimeter frontal armor and 200-millimeter side armor. And the cannon was more powerful: 150-millimeter with a 63-liter barrel. Such a powerful vehicle. And a new gas turbine engine with 1,800 horsepower.
  These are the two main tanks. Then there's the "Royal Lion," whose main difference is its gun, which has a shorter barrel but a larger caliber of 210 mm.
  Well, a new fighter has appeared, the ME-362, a very powerful machine with even more powerful armament - seven aircraft cannons and a speed of one thousand three hundred and fifty kilometers per hour.
  And so, in May of 1947, the German offensive into the Urals began. The Nazis fought their way into Sverdlovsk and Chelyabinsk, and to the north, Vologda. And they continued to advance. Over the summer, the Germans occupied the entire Urals. But the Red Army continued to fight. They even acquired a new tank, the IS-4, which was simpler in design than the IS-3, better protected on the sides, and weighed sixty tons.
  The Germans continued to advance beyond the Urals. Communication lines were greatly extended. The Nazis also advanced in Central Asia. They took Ashgabat, Dushanbe, and Bishkek, and in September they reached Alma-Ata and began storming that city. The Red Army fought desperately. And the battles were very bloody.
  October arrived. The rains poured. Or the front line quieted down. Negotiations were quietly underway. Hitler still wanted to take over the entire USSR. And he denied negotiations. But from November until the end of April, there was a lull. And then, at the end of April, 1948, the Nazis began their offensive again. And they were already advancing, breaking the Soviet order. But, for example, even in these difficult conditions, the USSR managed to assemble two IS-7 tanks with a 130-millimeter gun, a barrel length of 60 EL, weighing 68 tons, and a diesel engine producing 1,80 horsepower. And this tank could fight the German Panther-5, which is quite serious. But there were only two of them; what could they do?
  The Nazis advanced, first taking Tyumen, then Omsk, and Akmola. By August, they had reached Novosibirsk. The Soviet troops were no longer numerous, and their morale had plummeted. Novosibirsk held out for two weeks. Then Barnaul and Stalysk fell.
  The USSR was lucky that the Western allies finished off Japan and didn't have to fight on two fronts. The Nazis managed to capture Kemerovo, Krasnoyarsk, and Irkutsk by the end of October. Then the Siberian frosts hit, and the Nazis stopped at Lake Baikal. Another operational pause ensued until May.
  During this time, the Nazis developed the Panther-6. This vehicle was slightly lighter than the previous model, at sixty-five tons, thanks to compacted components, and had a more powerful, eighteen-hundred-horsepower engine, improving handling, and slightly more rationally sloped armor. The Tiger-6, meanwhile, weighed seven tons less, had a two-thousand-horsepower gas turbine engine, and had a slightly lower profile.
  These tanks are quite good, and the USSR has no countermeasures. The T-54 never replaced the T-34-85, which was still in production at factories in Khabarovsk and Vladivostok. However, this tank is powerless against German vehicles.
  The Germans also had lighter vehicles in the E series-the E-10, E-25, and even the E-5. However, Hitler was lukewarm towards these vehicles, especially since they were primarily self-propelled guns. If they were produced at all, it was as reconnaissance vehicles, and the E-5 self-propelled gun was also produced in an amphibious version. In reality, by the end of the war, the Third Reich produced more self-propelled guns than tanks, and the E series could only be mass-produced in a light, self-propelled version.
  But for a number of reasons, the self-propelled guns were put on hold at the time. Hitler deemed the E-10 self-propelled gun too weakly armored. And when the armor was reinforced, the vehicle's weight increased from ten tons to fifteen sixteen.
  Hitler then ordered a more powerful engine, not 400, but 550 horsepower. But this delayed development until the end of 1944. And under bombardment and a shortage of raw materials, it was too late to develop a vehicle with a fundamentally new layout. The same thing happened with the E-25 self-propelled gun. Initially, they wanted to make it simpler-a Panther-style cannon, a low-profile design, and a 400-horsepower engine. But Hitler ordered the armament upgraded to an 88-millimeter cannon in the 71 EL, which led to delays in development. Then the Führer ordered the turret to be equipped with a 20-millimeter cannon, and then a 30-millimeter cannon. All this took a long time, and only a few of these vehicles were produced, which were caught in the Soviet offensive.
  Several E-5s armed with machine guns were present in the battles over Berlin. In an alternate history, these self-propelled guns also never became widespread, despite the time available.
  The Maus didn't catch on due to its weight and frequent breakdowns. And the E-100 wasn't widely produced, partly due to the difficulties of transporting it by rail. And in the USSR, long distances meant tanks needed to be transported with skill.
  In any case, in 1949, the offensive of Hitler's troops began in May in the Far East, in the Transbail Steppe.
  The USSR produced the last two new SPG-203 vehicles, only five of which were equipped with a 203-mm anti-tank gun, capable of penetrating even a Tiger-6 from the front. The IS-11 tank, with its 152-caliber gun and 70 EL-long barrel, was also capable of defeating the Nazi behemoths.
  But that was the last straw. The Nazis first took Verkhneudinsk, and then Chita, where they were met by these new Soviet self-propelled guns. Yakutsk was also captured.
  There were no major cities between Chita and Khabarovsk, and the Germans moved practically in marches during the summer. The distance was vast. Then came the battle for Khabarovsk, a city with an underground tank factory. Until the very last moment, they continued to produce tanks, including the T-54 and IS-4, which fought to the bitter end. After the fall of Khabarovsk, some Nazi troops turned to Magadan, while others turned to Vladivostok. This city on the Pacific Ocean had strong forts and resisted desperately until the end of September. And in mid-October, the last major settlement in the USSR, Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsk, was captured. The very last city captured by the Nazis was Anadyr, which was captured on November 7, the anniversary of the Munich Putsch.
  Hitler declared victory in World War II. But Stalin is still alive and hasn't even considered surrendering, ready to resist to the bitter end, hiding in the Siberian forests. And there are plenty of bunkers and underground shelters there.
  So Koba tries to wage guerrilla warfare. But the Nazis are looking for him and pressuring the local population. And they're looking for others, too. In March 1950, Nikolai Voznesensky was killed, and in November, Molotov. Stalin is very much in hiding somewhere.
  Partisans mostly fight in small groups, commit sabotage, and carry out stealthy attacks. There is also underground work.
  The Nazis were also developing technology. At the end of 1951, they developed the ME-462, a very capable fighter-attack aircraft with jet engines and a speed of 2,200 kilometers per hour. A powerful machine.
  And in 1952, the Panther-7 appeared; it had a special high-pressure gun, active armor, a two-thousand-horsepower gas turbine engine, and a vehicle weight of fifty tons.
  This tank was better armed and protected than the Panther-6. And the Tiger-7, with a 2,500-horsepower engine and a 120-millimeter high-pressure gun, weighed sixty-five tons. The German vehicles proved to be quite agile and powerful.
  But then Stalin died in March 1953. And then Beria was killed in a targeted strike in August.
  Beria's successor, Malenkov, seeing the hopelessness of further guerrilla warfare, offered the Germans a treaty and his own honorable surrender in exchange for his life and amnesty. Then, in May 1954, the date for the end of the guerrilla war and the Great Patriotic War was finally signed. Thus, another page of history was turned. Hitler ruled until 1964 and died in August at the age of seventy-five. Before that, the astronauts of the Third Reich had managed to fly to the moon ahead of the Americans. And so, for now, history ended.
  's Preventive War 13
  ANNOTATION
  The situation is getting worse. December 1942 - severe frosts are raging. The Nazis outside Moscow are holding a fierce defense, trying to escape the cold. Leningrad is under total siege, doomed to starvation. But barefoot girls in bikinis are unafraid of the Nazis and launch daring raids.
  CHAPTER 1
  Now it was December 1942. The frosts had become much more severe. Hitler and the coalition were holding their ground near Moscow. Leningrad was completely blockaded and surrounded by a double ring. The city was practically doomed to starvation. Everything was very dire here.
  Stalin ordered the capture of Tikhvin and the return of the lifeline to the Red Army. Fierce fighting ensued.
  T-34 tanks, though clearly in short supply, went into battle. The enemy fielded Shermans and other types of weapons. And, of course, Panthers and Tigers. The latter tank has even become legendary.
  This is how a difficult situation has developed.
  The fighting raged like boiling water. The Germans and their allies hid in bunkers, the frost baking them. And the Red Army advanced.
  But the problem was the coalition's air superiority. Here, for example, are the female aces Albina and Alvina from the USA. And they did quite well, shooting down fifty aircraft each-the best result among the Americans and receiving awards. Among the Germans, the undisputed best was Johann Marseille. He managed to surpass the three-hundred-aircraft mark in December. For this, he was awarded a special decoration, the fifth class of the Knight's Cross-specifically, the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with golden oak leaves, swords, and diamonds. And for two hundred aircraft, he was awarded the Luftwaffe Cup with diamonds.
  And this is truly a pilot who fought very well.
  He became a truly unique legend. Songs have even begun to be written about him.
  Because Johann Marseille had black hair, he was known in Soviet circles as the "black devil." He battered the Russian air force, giving them no chance, throwing himself into the thick of battle. Among the USSR's most successful fighters were Pokryshkin and Anastasia Vedmakova. The latter, a redhead, even received two Hero of the USSR medals for shooting down more than fifty Japanese aircraft. She fought in the east, while Pokryshkin fought more in the west.
  He dreamed of meeting Marseille, but so far it hadn't happened. Hitler ordered Kharkov to be held at any cost. But Stalin also ordered Stalingrad to be taken and recaptured at any cost.
  The young pioneer Gulliver fought desperately. He went on the attack alongside the Komsomol warrior girls. The eternal child was barefoot and wearing shorts, despite the winter frosts.
  So, being a boy without shoes and almost no clothes, he is much more agile. He attacks his opponents with great enthusiasm.
  A boy throws grenades at coalition troops with his bare feet and sings;
  Born in the twenty-first century,
  The age of technology and heights...
  A guy needs nerves of steel,
  And life will last for about seven hundred years!
  
  But here I am in the past century,
  Where everyone has a hard time in life...
  It is not the groves of paradise that bloom there,
  There, lift the oar quickly!
  
  I began to fight with the evil horde,
  Kill the ardent fascists...
  They are in league with Satan -
  The army of demons is innumerable!
  
  But it's hard for the boy, you know,
  When the prickly winter...
  I can't sit still at my desk,
  Come victorious spring!
  
  I love it when it's warm and sunny,
  Running barefoot on the grass...
  Fatherland, I believe, I will be saved,
  The fascist will not be carried away by force!
  
  I signed up to be a Pioneer,
  And soon the brothers will join the Komsomol...
  There's only a year left until then,
  And the Wehrmacht will be defeated!
  
  Our world is so extraordinary,
  There are a series of battles in it...
  Why is Ilyich sad?
  You know your dream will come true!
  
  We will defeat the fascists, I believe,
  Moscow is just a stone's throw away...
  The beast cannot rule the universe,
  Nazism in alliance with Satan!
  
  Jesus will help us in our fight,
  And the planet-paradise will blossom...
  No need to lie on the bed,
  Bright, warm May will come!
  This is how the boy sings with feeling and a very passionate expression in his eyes.
  And the Komsomol girls go into battle and fight very beautifully. And their feet are very bare and nimble.
  And the beautiful warriors hurl grenades made of coal. And scatter soldiers of all stripes in all directions.
  IL-2 attack aircraft circle the sky. They look so hunchbacked. And clumsy. And German, American, and British fighters engage and destroy them.
  But some still manage to join the fight.
  These are very pretty girls. And everything here is respectable.
  There's a lull on the Soviet-Japanese front. It's very cold in Siberia in December. And the Japanese have taken to hiding in burrows and bunkers to keep warm. And it must be said that their tactics are unique and effective.
  But the fighting in the sky continues.
  Akulina Orlova and Anastasia Vedmakova work together. They fight, despite the winter, wearing only bikinis. And press their bare toes against the shooting devices.
  Akulina noted with a laugh:
  - Stalin fell into the trap after all!
  Anastasia remarked angrily:
  - Not just Stalin, but all of Russia!
  Akulina agreed:
  - We're in a trap!
  And the girls burst into tears. And they looked so aggressive and combative.
  The Japanese captured a young female spy. She wasn't just any girl, by the way, but rather of noble birth. Perhaps even a descendant of Genghis Khan. And so they began interrogating her.
  First, they simply stripped her down to her underwear and led her out into the cold. They led her like that, with her hands tied behind her back, a very beautiful and curvy girl. She also had a very luxurious, and quite seductive, pelvis.
  Despite this pressure, the spy remained silent. And so the interrogation continued.
  There she was, secured in a special chair with clamps for her hands and feet. Her bare soles were lubricated with olive oil. They were thoroughly wiped and soaked.
  Then they attached electrodes to the female spy's muscular, strong body. And then they turned on the current.
  It was very painful.
  But the beautiful girl not only was not embarrassed or broke down, but also sang with feeling and expression;
  I was born a princess in a palace,
  Father King, the courtiers are obedient...
  I myself am forever in a diamond crown,
  But sometimes it seems that the girl is bored!
  
  But then the fascists came and that was the end,
  The time has come for a life of abundance and beauty...
  Now a crown of thorns awaits the girl,
  Even though it seems unfair!
  
  They tore off the dress, took off the boots,
  They drove the princess barefoot through the snow...
  These are the pies that turned out,
  Abel is defeated, Cain triumphs!
  
  Fascism showed its fierce grin,
  Fangs of steel, bones of titanium...
  The Fuhrer himself is the Devil's ideal,
  Of course, land is never enough for him!
  
  I was a beautiful girl,
  And she wore silks and precious beads...
  And now half naked, barefoot,
  And I became poorer than the poorest!
  
  The fascist made the wheel turn,
  The cruel executioner drives with a whip...
  She was especially noble, but suddenly nothing,
  What was once paradise has turned into hell!
  
  Cruelty reigns in the universe, know that,
  The bloody cat spread its claws furiously...
  O where is the knight who will lift the shield,
  I want the fascists to die quickly!
  
  But the whip is again walking along the back,
  Under my bare heel, the stones sharply prick...
  Where is the justice on Earth?
  Why did the Nazis get into the top spots?
  
  There will soon be a whole world beneath them,
  Their tanks were even near New York...
  Lucifer is probably their idol,
  And laughter rings out, terribly ringing!
  
  How cold it is to walk barefoot in the snow,
  And the legs turned into goose feet...
  Oh, I'll hit you with my Hitler fist,
  So that the Fuhrer doesn"t steal money with a shovel!
  
  Well, where is the knight, hug the girl,
  Almost naked, barefoot blonde...
  The Wehrmacht built happiness on blood,
  And my back is covered in stripes of whip!
  
  But then a boy ran up to me,
  He kissed her bare feet quickly...
  And the boy whispered very quietly,
  I don't want my darling to be sad!
  
  Fascism is strong and the adversary is cruel,
  His fangs are stronger than a titan's...
  But Jesus the Most High God is with us,
  And the Fuhrer is just a monkey!
  
  He will meet his end in Russia,
  They'll cut him up like a piglet in tanks...
  And the Lord will present a bill to fascism,
  You will know that ours have won!
  
  And flashing her bare heels,
  A crazy boy ran away under the whip...
  It won't happen, I know the world under Satan,
  Although fascism is strong, even too strong!
  
  The soldier will come to Berlin with freedom,
  He will smear the Fritzes and all sorts of fanatics...
  And there will be, know the victorious result,
  Successes of the evil, vile chimera!
  
  And immediately I felt much warmer,
  As if the snow had become a soft blanket...
  You will find friends everywhere, believe me,
  Although, alas, there are already plenty of enemies!
  
  Let the wind blow your bare footprints,
  But I warmed up and laughed loudly...
  The era of evil misfortune will end,
  All that remains is to be patient for a little while!
  
  And after the dead the Lord will resurrect,
  Raise the banner of glory over the Fatherland!
  Then we will receive the flesh of eternal youth,
  And God Christ will be with us forever!
  That's how she sang and carried herself so courageously and heroically. She truly is a girl to be proud of. And the samurai nodded their heads in respect.
  They stopped the torture and even gave her a luxurious robe, sending her to a hotel for distinguished guests. And then the Japanese General Nogi himself knelt before the girl and kissed her bare, blistered soles.
  This is an example of great courage.
  And fighting is raging on the Ottoman front. The Turks are trying to break through to Tbilisi. And the Soviet troops are counterattacking. KV-8 tanks, each with three barrels, are in action. And that's an interesting innovation. So why are American Shermans fighting against them? They're also formidable opponents. And the fighting is brutal, very aggressive, and merciless.
  Meanwhile, Gulliver also fought and demonstrated his high level of skill as a fighter, unafraid of both the cold and enemy bullets. And he fought like a wonderful boy who looked no older than twelve.
  The girls fight with him.
  Natasha notes:
  - It's not easy for us with enemies like these!
  Alice agreed:
  "The enemy is cunning and cruel, and quite combative. And fighting him is difficult. But we are Komsomol members, who are super-level warriors."
  Augustine laughed and suggested:
  - Let's get going, girls, and sing!
  Zoya also laughed and cooed:
  - Yes, if we start singing, then no one will feel bad.
  And so the Komsomol girls started singing at the top of their lungs;
  SONG OF A BAREFOOT AND BRAVE KOMSOMOL MEMBER!
  I joined the Komsomol during the war,
  I wanted to become a good partisan...
  Fascism has sacrificed us to Satan.
  He wants to make me a partisan!
  
  But now, in Hitler"s rear,
  There she sent a train down the drain...
  I don't understand where so many Fritzes come from,
  When it comes, the Wehrmacht will know defeat!
  
  I ran barefoot through the snow,
  And she walked around half-naked in the bitter frost...
  Until we resign ourselves to the power of fascism,
  We'll break the Wehrmacht worse than a crocodile!
  
  We have comrade Stalin as our commander,
  A great man, always cheerful...
  For us he is like a genius and an idol -
  Let's build a world - a radiantly new one!
  
  We will achieve everything, I firmly believe,
  We will conquer the boundless universe...
  Yes, I'm barefoot, but I don't care,
  I hope to become a hero without complexes!
  
  Let's share a crust of bread among three people,
  Girls and boys without shoes...
  We don't need any expensive updates,
  We prefer communists to books!
  
  The girl, blonde and beautiful,
  But in the frost, barefoot and in rags...
  But I do such miracles,
  With your strong, Komsomol flesh!
  
  So, just jokingly, I knocked out a Fritz tank,
  And she even set fire to a self-propelled gun...
  And I would have punched the Fuhrer in the snout,
  Just know, she sank even a submarine!
  
  I'm a young pioneer in a squad with me,
  They are fearless, even though they are very thin...
  They carry the red flag with honor and pride,
  At least they can run barefoot through the snowdrifts!
  
  The Germans really pressed us hard,
  But I swear I will not surrender into shameful captivity...
  Let there be a battle, at least for the last time,
  I believe I will not give in to the fascist horde!
  That's how the girls sang... and Gulliver continued to fight desperately and furiously. And he did it very beautifully, demonstrating outstanding aerobatics and strength.
  The boy was a flame and a geyser all rolled into one. And then, while crushing the coalition forces, he unleashed a machine-gun-like volley of pithy aphorisms that hit the nail on the head;
  A strong enemy is a strong bridge over the abyss of complacency!
  Cowardice is the strongest chain for a slave, because he forged it himself!
  Indifference is the most terrible vice - it becomes a habit too quickly!
  The more sophisticated the brain's "twisting", the more force majeure twists it!
  A beggar is not he who is barefoot in body, but he who is not a boss in spirit!
  He who has a brain made of sand, without a cent of ingenuity, will not knead the foundations of success!
  You can't build a foundation for well-being if your brain is made of sand!
  The body is the most insidious traitor, you can"t get rid of it, you can"t negotiate with it, you can"t run away from it, you can"t hide from it!
  Struggle is like light to the eyes, it may tire, but woe to the man if it disappears completely!
  Earning money in a casino is different from carrying water in a sieve, in that the water in a sieve soaks your feet, while in a casino it washes your brain!
  War gives off an icy cold, it"s not so bad if it freezes your heart, but it"s a disaster if it freezes your brain!
  For military leadership talent to mature, the blood of soldiers must abundantly water the battlefields!
  A soft character is too hard a soil for the seeds of success to sprout!
  The strongest metal, softer than plasticine - without the tempering of a fiery heart and icy composure!
  The black hole is brighter: when in the icy ether, a pair of passionate hearts burns!
  Will is the index finger that holds the trigger of a ray gun - its weakness is suicidal!
  Advertising: like a mirage in the desert, only the sun is never visible, although it shines brilliantly!
  War is boxing, only after a knockout you don't shake hands!
  Those who stuff their bellies with sweets oversalt their brains!
  The best armor in war is a strong character and a strong mind!
  Why does the light turn red? Because the photon is ashamed of the fleeing star!
  Better to go to Heaven alone than to Hell with bad company!
  No matter how small a photon is, you can"t see a quasar without it!
  The commander's heart is a fiery furnace, his head is ice, his will is iron: all together - the crushing steel of victory!
  A clever scoundrel is like a diamond cutter - to use him you need a soft handle of flattery, with a steel core of will!
  Evil is like a flame in a burner: if you don"t regulate it, it will burn you!
  Advertising is unlike a rapist: it doesn't chase its victims, they run after it themselves!
  Wine is like a gun's lubricant, only instead of bullets it spews forth eloquence!
  If a priest says: the ways of the Lord are inscrutable, it means he wants to build a highway to your wallet!
  Religious ministers: weeds that do not allow the light of Christ to reach the timid shoots of morality!
  Atheism creates voids in the sky through which rain flows, irrigating the shoots of progress!
  Wine is unlike gun grease: it jams the entire thought process!
  Beauty cannot be killed - beauty itself is deadly!
  The glitter of luck without intelligence is like the glitter of money without value!
  In life, as in a movie, only the main character becomes known at the last moment!
  The only difference between believing in God and Santa Claus is that it is harder for Santa Claus to make money!
  Laughter is the most terrible weapon - accessible to a baby, knows no bounds, and can turn even the most skilled strategist into a nonentity!
  You have to be friends with the leader if you want to live like a king!
  Personal sympathy is a slight feeling, but it outweighs everything else when making a decision!
  The art of making difficult decisions with a light heart is a quality of balanced natures!
  To keep a stallion, you need to train him to satisfy his thirst from one well! (about men!)
  The difference between your own and your family's is like the difference between a fish in a frying pan and in a lake!
  Flying a monoplane is so sexy, the acceleration takes the fun out of it!
  Better is high-quality banality than hackneyed originality!
  Not all that glitters is gold, but what has glitter is always valuable!
  Christianity teaches morality, but the priest profits from vice! Christian language is sweet-sounding, but the Church's actions evoke only bitterness!
  There are only two impossible things: surpassing God and satisfying a woman's vanity! The latter, however, is the more difficult!
  Consolidation around a tyrant is the unity of sheep in the wolf's stomach!
  Knowing notes and being able to play are two very different things, but if there is a violin, there will be a maestro!
  Beauty is also subject to inflation if the main source of emission is plastic surgery!
  A full wallet is incompatible with an empty head, and a long ruble with a short mind!
  It's not bad when food runs away, it's bad when food talks!
  Without shaking there is no movement, without death there is no evolution!
  He who barks a lot will crow sooner or later!
  The easiest way is to take the crooked road that leads straight to the scaffold with a heavy axe!
  The romance of war differs from cigarette smoke in that the latter repels mosquitoes, while the former attracts flies!
  Weakness is not always kindness, but kindness is always weakness!
  Everything in this world is relative; and God is not an angel and the Devil is not a devil!
  The tongue is a small muscle, but it does great things and leads to big troubles!
  Death is not always beautiful - but beauty is always deadly!
  When you create: better vulgar vulgarity than banal banality!
  Man is equal to God in creative power, but superior in egoism and arrogance!
  Man is inferior to God in power, but superior in the ability to use little!
  A soldier is an instrument of God's will in the Devil's hands!
  A man differs from a dog in that he demands meat from a woman, not a bone!
  In war, the concept of rest differs from betrayal, only in its greater temptation!
  The highest art of diplomacy: don't wait for a slap, but hit before your opponent raises his hand!
  To become the Sun, you have to kill your enemies without waiting for the clouds!
  Better a vile rise than a noble fall!
  If you want bows, hit me in the solar plexus!
  Why do the halos of saints glow bright yellow? This is a symbol of a golden stream into the pocket of the minister!
  Religion is a fishing rod for catching fools, only the bait is always inedible and the hook is rusty!
  Honor is good, of course, but life is better!
  A noble death leads to immortality - a vile life to damnation and decay!
  Love for oneself is dust, love for one's wife is the road, love for one's country is the summit!
  Even cake will make you sick if you get stuck in it up to your nostrils!
  A clinch is to a boxer what glue in the mouth is to a politician!
  Most often, a politician has glue on his hands and shit coming out of his mouth!
  The worst nightmare cannot eclipse the most banal horrors of reality!
  Beauty is cruel: time spoils it, wisdom deprives it of value!
  Camouflage in war is like soap in a bath - if you don't wash it off with blood, you won't cleanse the land of the enemy!
  Of course, war does not have a woman's face, but its womb is much more lustful, devouring male bodies!
  A woman's strongest muscle is her tongue, but without a smart head: there is no weaker muscle!
  There is still a difference between the concept of concentrating forces and everyone huddling together!
  The ending of a fight is different from the untying of a shoelace, so much so that your fingers stick with blood!
  Starting a war is easier than untying your shoelaces: although the motivation is the same: to gain more freedom!
  Freedom comes naked, barefoot, and equality comes without pants!
  Time is what a great warrior cannot kill, but a small lazy person can destroy!
  The joy of love: it's the only thing worth sacrificing time for! Time is queen, love is king!
  Give freedom to the cattle, and the air will become a pittance!
  A shot that misses the goal is like a spoon that misses the mouth, and in doing so you get dirty not with food, but with the verbal diarrhea of the public!
  The weak are always stupid, so afraid to use wit!
  Weak because stupid, because he lacks the strength to lift the spear of wit!
  A rebellion cannot end successfully - otherwise it would have a different name!
  A pig with tusks is called a boar, the king has become broken, in fact - a rabble!
  Negotiations are like blank artillery, only a little quieter, but much more deadly!
  Only someone who is already on their knees can be broken over the knee!
  Great rudeness is a sign of little intelligence!
  To be rude in front of everyone is to sleep through success!
  Everyone needs freedom - except the tongue of a fool!
  Fear strangles like a rope on a gallows, only unlike a rope, it doesn"t support you, but immediately drops you!
  Don't judge a book by its cover if you don't want to die!
  If you want to ruin a country, imitate the richest power in the world!
  What the dollar fears most is the devaluation of human stupidity!
  Not every woodpecker is kind, but every kind one is a woodpecker!
  It's better to kill once than to curse a hundred times!
  The killer is like an axe, only his heart is made of steel, and the rest is numb to the extreme!
  The more enemies, the more trophies, and those with a head full of ideas will never be overwhelmed when collecting loot!
  Even a small saving on brains cannot be compensated by a large increase in muscle mass!
  A horse is such a thing that you can"t put it in a barn!
  The tree of power and success needs to be watered with the tears of losers, the sweat of fools, the blood of the noble!
  You can't create without destroying, you can't make everyone happy at once! Violence is the titanium that strengthens the soul! War elevates the spirit and the mind!
  The most difficult peak is not the one above the clouds, but the one beyond imagination!
  If you want to manage people like a shepherd, don"t be a sheep yourself!
  He who strikes first, dies last!
  He who pities others is merciless to his own!
  He who extends a hand to the unworthy will stretch out his legs without dignity!
  Big size is good when your mind isn't a Lilliputian!
  For every Know-It-All there is a Dunno.
  Wisdom always has a limit, only stupidity is infinite!
  He who sculpts a hunchback through life will straighten his figure in the gallows noose!
  Indifference is the shell of scoundrels, which drowns the individual in the quagmire of meanness!
  If a warrior gets fat, he will inevitably become a pig!
  A quasar would sooner shrink to the size of a photon than a Russian soldier would lose his nerve!
  
  Stalin's Preventive War
  ANNOTATION.
  Gulliver finds himself in a world where Stalin initiates the war against Hitler's Germany. As a result, the USSR is now the aggressor, and the Third Reich the victim. Hitler also repeals anti-Semitic laws. And now the United States, Britain, and their allies are helping the Third Reich repel the aggression of Stalin's treacherous attack.
  CHAPTER 1
  And Gulliver was thrown into a parallel world by a magic mirror. The little viscountess had a hand in this. Indeed, even a donkey can turn a millstone. So let the eternal boy fight, and she and her friends watch.
  Once again, this is an alternative history of World War II.
  On June 12, 1941, Stalin launched a preemptive war against the Third Reich and its satellites. The decision was not an easy one for the leader. The Third Reich's military prestige was very high, while the USSR's was not. But Stalin decided to preempt Hitler, as the Red Army was not prepared for a defensive war.
  And the Soviet troops crossed the border. Such was the courageous move. And a battalion of barefoot Komsomol girls rushed into the attack. The girls were ready to fight for a brighter tomorrow. And for communism on a global scale, with an international dimension.
  The girls attack and sing;
  We are proud Komsomol girls,
  Born in that great country...
  We're used to always running around with a machine gun,
  And our guy is so cool!
  
  We love to run barefoot in the cold,
  A snowdrift is pleasant with a bare heel...
  The girls bloom luxuriantly, like roses,
  Driving the Fritzes straight, straight into the grave!
  
  There are no girls more beautiful and wonderful,
  And you won"t find better Komsomol members...
  There will be peace and happiness throughout the planet,
  And we look no more than twenty!
  
  We girls are fighting tigers,
  Imagine a tiger with a grin...
  In our own way, we are just devils,
  And fate will strike a blow!
  
  For our turbulent Motherland Russia,
  We will boldly give our soul and heart...
  And let us make the country of all countries more beautiful,
  Let us stand firm and win again!
  
  The Fatherland will become young and beautiful,
  Comrade Stalin is simply ideal...
  And in the universe there will be mountains of happiness,
  After all, our faith is stronger than metal!
  
  We have a very strong friendship with Jesus,
  For us, the great God and idol...
  And we, the coward, are not given the opportunity to celebrate,
  Because the world looks at girls!
  
  Our homeland is flourishing,
  In the wide color of grass and meadows...
  Victory will come, I believe in the magnificent May,
  Although sometimes fate is harsh!
  
  We will do something wonderful for the Motherland,
  And there will be communism in the universe...
  Yes, we will win, I honestly believe in it,
  That furious fascism has been destroyed!
  
  The Nazis are very strong bandits,
  Their tanks are like a hellish monolith...
  But the enemies will be soundly beaten,
  Fatherland, this is a sharp sword and shield!
  
  You won"t find anything more beautiful for your homeland,
  Instead of fighting for her, it"s a joke with the enemy...
  There will be a storm of happiness in the universe,
  And the child will grow into a hero!
  
  There is no homeland, believe in the Fatherland above,
  She is our Father and our own mother...
  Although war roars and blows away roofs,
  Grace has been poured out from the Lord!
  
  Russia is the Motherland of the Universe,
  Fight for her and don"t be afraid...
  With your strength in battles, unchanging,
  We will prove that Rus' is the torch of the universe!
  
  For our most radiant Fatherland,
  We will dedicate our soul, heart, and hymns...
  Russia will live under communism,
  After all, we all know this - the Third Rome!
  
  This is the soldier's song,
  And the Komsomol girls are running barefoot...
  Everything in the universe will become more interesting,
  The guns fired, a salute - a salute!
  
  And therefore we, Komsomol members, unite together,
  Let's shout a loud hurray!
  And if you need to be able to take care of the land,
  Let's get up, even though it's not morning yet!
  The girls sang with great passion. They fought, taking off their boots so their bare feet could move more easily. And it really worked. And the girls' bare heels flashed like propeller blades.
  Natasha also fights and throws grenades with her bare toes,
  humming:
  I will show you everything that is in me,
  The girl is red, cool, and barefoot!
  Zoya giggled and noted with a laugh:
  - I'm also a cool girl, and I'll kill everyone.
  In the very first days, Soviet troops were able to advance deep into German positions. But they suffered heavy losses. The Germans launched counterattacks and demonstrated the superior quality of their troops. Furthermore, the Red Army's significantly inferior infantry made a difference. And the Germans' infantry was more mobile.
  And it also turned out that the newest Soviet tanks-the T-34, KV-1, and KV-2-weren't ready for combat use. They didn't even have technical documentation. And the Soviet troops, it turned out, couldn't easily penetrate everything. Their main weapon was blocked and unready for battle. Now that was a real disaster.
  The Soviet military didn't quite measure up to the task. And then there's this...
  Japan decided that it was necessary to comply with the provisions of the Anti-Commissioner's Pact and, without declaring war, dealt a crushing blow to Vladivostok.
  And so the invasion began. The Japanese generals were eager for revenge for Khalkhin Gol. Furthermore, Britain immediately offered a truce to Germany. Churchill argued that Hitlerism wasn't so good, but communism and Stalinism were even greater evils. And that, in any case, killing each other just so the Bolsheviks could take over Europe wasn't worth it.
  So Germany and Britain ended the war abruptly. As a result, considerable German forces were freed up. Divisions from France, and even the French legions, joined the battle.
  The fighting turned bloody. While crossing the Vistula, German troops launched a counterattack and pushed back the Soviet regiments. Not all was going well for the Red Army in Romania, although they managed to initially break through. All of Germany's satellites entered the war against the USSR, including Bulgaria, which historically had remained neutral. Even more dangerously, Turkey, Spain, and Portugal also entered the war against the USSR.
  Soviet troops also launched an offensive on Helsinki, but the Finns fought heroically. Sweden also declared war on the USSR and deployed its troops.
  As a result, the Red Army received several additional fronts.
  And the battles were fought with great fury. Even the children, pioneers and Komsomol members, were eager to join in the fight and sang with great enthusiasm;
  We, children, were born for the Motherland,
  Dashing Young Pioneers of the Komsomol...
  In essence, we are knights-eagles,
  And the girls' voices are very clear!
  
  We were born to defeat the fascists,
  The faces of the young people shine with joy...
  It's time to pass the exams with an A,
  So that the whole capital can be proud of us!
  
  To the glory of our holy Motherland,
  Children are actively defeating fascism...
  Vladimir, you are like a golden genius,
  Let the relics rest in the mausoleum!
  
  We love our homeland very much,
  Endless great Russia...
  The Fatherland will not be torn apart ruble by ruble,
  Even the fields were irrigated with blood!
  In the name of our great Motherland,
  We will all fight with confidence...
  Let the globe spin faster,
  And we just hide the grenades in our backpacks!
  
  To the glory of new, furious victories,
  Let the cherubs sparkle with gold...
  The Fatherland will have no more troubles,
  After all, Russians are invincible in battle!
  
  Yes, tough fascism has become very strong,
  The Americans got their change...
  But still there is great communism,
  And know that it can"t be any other way here!
  
  Let us raise my empire high,
  After all, the Motherland doesn"t know the word - coward...
  I keep faith in Stalin in my heart,
  And God will never break it!
  
  I love my great Russian world,
  Where Jesus is the most important ruler...
  And Lenin is both a teacher and an idol...
  He is a genius and a boy, oddly enough!
  
  We will make the Fatherland stronger,
  And we will tell people a new fairy tale...
  You punch the fascist in the face harder,
  Let flour and soot fall from it!
  
  You can achieve anything, you know,
  When you draw on your desk...
  Victorious May will come soon, I know,
  Although of course it would be better to finish in March!
  
  We girls are also good at making love,
  Although the boys are not inferior to us...
  Russia will not sell out for pennies,
  We will find a place for ourselves in a bright paradise!
  
  For the Motherland the most beautiful impulse,
  Hug the red flag to your chest, the flag of victory!
  The Soviet troops will go on a breakthrough,
  Let our grandmothers and grandfathers live in glory!
  
  We are bringing a new generation,
  Beauty, shoots in the color of communism...
  Let us know that we will save our homeland from fires,
  Let's trample the evil reptile of fascism!
  
  In the name of Russian women and children,
  Knights will fight against Nazism...
  And kill the damned Fuhrer,
  No more intelligent than a pathetic clown!
  
  Long live the great dream,
  The sky shines brighter than the sun...
  No, Satan will not come to Earth,
  Because there are no cooler ones than us!
  
  So fight boldly for your Fatherland,
  And both the adult and the child will be happy...
  And in eternal glory, faithful communism,
  Let us build the Eden of the universe!
  And so the brutal battles unfolded. The girls fought. And Gulliver found himself on Soviet territory. He was just a boy of about twelve, wearing shorts and stamping his bare feet.
  His soles were already roughened by slavery, and he was quite comfortable wandering the paths. Even healthy in its own way. And if the opportunity arose, the white-haired child would be fed in the village. So, all in all, it was great.
  And there's fighting on the front lines. Natasha and her team are busy, as always.
  Young Komsomol girls go into battle wearing nothing but bikinis, firing submachine guns and rifles. They're so perky and aggressive.
  Things aren't going well for the Red Army. Heavy losses, especially in tanks, and in East Prussia, where the Germans had strong fortifications. And it also turned out that the Poles weren't happy with the Red Army either. Hitler was hastily forming a militia from ethnic Polish troops.
  Even the Germans are ready to forget about the persecution of Jews for now. They're drafting everyone they can into the army. Officially, the Führer has already softened anti-Semitic laws. In response, the US and Britain unblocked German bank accounts and began to restore trade.
  For example, Churchill expressed a desire to supply the Germans with Matilda tanks, which were better armored than any German vehicles or Soviet T-34s.
  Rommel's corps has returned from Africa. It's not much, just two divisions, but they are elite and powerful. And their counterattack in Romania is quite significant.
  The Komsomol members, led by Alena, took the blows of the German and Bulgarian troops and began to sing a song with passion;
  It's very difficult in a predictable world,
  It is extremely unpleasant for humanity...
  The Komsomol member holds a powerful oar,
  To make it clear to the Fritzes, I'll give them a punch in the eye and that's it!
  
  A beautiful girl fights in the war,
  A Komsomol member is jumping barefoot in the frost...
  The evil Hitler will be given a double punch,
  Even going AWOL won't help the Fuhrer!
  
  So good people, fight fiercely,
  To be a warrior you have to be born one...
  The Russian knight soars upward like a falcon,
  Let the knights of grace support their faces!
  
  Young pioneers with the strength of a giant,
  Their power is the greatest, stronger than the entire universe...
  I know you'll see it's a furious layout,
  To cover everything with daring, imperishable to the end!
  
  Stalin is the great leader of our Motherland,
  The greatest wisdom, the banner of communism...
  And he will make Russia's enemies tremble,
  Dispersing the clouds of menacing fascism!
  
  So, proud people, believe the king,
  Yes, if it seems that he is too strict...
  I give a song to my Motherland,
  And the girls' bare feet are wild in the snow!
  
  But our strength is very great,
  Red Empire, the mighty spirit of Russia...
  The wise will rule, I know for centuries,
  In that infinite power without any boundaries!
  
  And don"t slow us down, Russians, in any way,
  The strength of a hero cannot be measured by a laser...
  Our life is not fragile, like a silk thread,
  Know that the dashing knights are in good shape until the end!
  
  We are faithful to our homeland, our hearts are like fire,
  We rush into battle, cheerful and full of rage...
  We'll soon drive a stake into that damned Hitler,
  And the vile and bad old age will disappear!
  
  That's when Berlin will fall, believe the Führer.
  The enemy is capitulating and will soon fold its paws...
  And above our Motherland there is a cherub in the wings,
  And hit the evil dragon in the face with a mace!
  
  The beautiful Motherland will bloom luxuriantly,
  And huge lilac petals...
  There will be glory and honor to our knights,
  We will get more than we have now!
  The Komsomol girls fight desperately and demonstrate their highest level of skill and class.
  These are real women. But overall, the battles are tough. The German tanks aren't very good. But the Matilda, that's a bit better. While its gun isn't particularly powerful-47mm caliber, no more so than the German T-3 gun-its protection is solid-80mm. And try and penetrate that.
  The first Matilda tanks are already arriving in German ports and being transported east by rail. Naturally, there's a clash between the Matilda and the T-34, which proves serious and quite bloody. And there are some demonstrative battles. Soviet tanks-especially the KV-can't penetrate the German tanks' guns. But they do manage to penetrate the 88-millimeter anti-aircraft guns and some captured guns.
  But the wheeled and tracked BTs burn like candles. And even the German machine guns are capable of setting them on fire.
  In short, the blitzkrieg failed and the Soviet offensive fizzled out. And a ton of Russian vehicles were figuratively burning, like torches. This turned out to be extremely unpleasant for the Red Army.
  But the soldiers still sing it with enthusiasm. One of the young pioneers even composed a rainbow song with great enthusiasm;
  What other country has a proud infantry?
  In America, of course, the man is a cowboy.
  But we will fight from platoon to platoon,
  Let every guy be energetic!
  
  No one can overcome the power of the councils,
  Although the Wehrmacht is also undoubtedly cool...
  But we can crush a gorilla with a bayonet,
  The enemies of the Fatherland will simply die!
  
  We are loved and of course cursed,
  In Russia, every warrior from the nursery...
  We will win, I know it for sure,
  May you, villain, be cast into Gehenna!
  
  We pioneers can do a lot,
  For us, you know, the automatic machine is not a problem...
  Let us serve as an example to humanity,
  Let each of the guys be in glory!
  
  Shooting, digging, know it's not a problem,
  Give the fascist a good whack with a shovel...
  Know that big changes are ahead,
  And we will pass any lesson with an A!
  
  In Russia, every adult and boy,
  Capable of fighting very fiercely...
  Sometimes we are even too aggressive,
  In the desire to trample the Nazis!
  
  For a pioneer, weakness is impossible,
  The boy is hardened almost from the cradle...
  You know, it's extremely difficult to argue with us.
  And there are a whole legion of arguments!
  
  I won't give up, you guys believe me,
  In winter I run barefoot through the snow...
  The devils will not overcome the pioneer,
  I will sweep away all the fascists in my rage!
  
  No one will humiliate us pioneers,
  We are strong fighters by birth...
  Let us serve as an example to humanity,
  Such sparkling archers!
  
  The cowboy is of course also a Russian guy,
  For us, both London and Texas are native...
  We'll destroy everything if the Russians are in good shape,
  We'll hit the enemy right in the eye!
  
  The boy also ended up in captivity,
  He was roasted on the rack by fire...
  But he only laughed in the faces of the executioners,
  He said that we will soon take Berlin too!
  
  The iron was heated to a bare heel,
  They pressed the pioneer, but he remained silent...
  The boy must have been of Soviet training,
  His Fatherland is his faithful shield!
  
  They broke fingers, the enemies turned on the current,
  The only response is laughter...
  No matter how much the Fritzes beat the boy,
  But success came to the executioners!
  
  These beasts are already taking him to be hanged,
  The boy walks all wounded...
  He said at the end: I believe in Rod,
  And then our Stalin will come to Berlin!
  
  When it calmed down, the soul rushed to the Family,
  He received me very kindly...
  He said you will get complete freedom,
  And my soul was embodied again!
  
  I started shooting at the mad fascists,
  For the glory of the Fritz clan, he killed them all...
  A holy cause, a cause for communism,
  It will give the pioneer strength!
  
  The dream came true, I'm walking through Berlin,
  Above us is a golden-winged cherub...
  We brought light and happiness to the whole world,
  People of Russia - know that we will not win!
  The children also sing quite well, but they're not yet going into battle. Meanwhile, the Swedish divisions, along with the Finns, have already launched a counterattack. The Soviet troops, having broken through to Helsinki, suffered heavy blows on their flanks and outflanked the enemy's positions. And so they advance with force and cut off the Red Army's communications. Stalin forbade retreat, and the Swedish and Finnish forces break through to Vyborg.
  There is a general mobilization in the country of Suomi; the people are happily ready to fight Stalin and his gang.
  In Sweden, they also remembered Charles XII and his glorious campaigns. Or rather, they remembered that he lost, and now the time has come for revenge. And it's a very cool thing - when an entire army of Swedes mobilizes for new exploits.
  Moreover, the USSR itself attacked the Third Reich and, in fact, all of Europe. And volunteer battalions even arrived from Switzerland along with the Germans. And Salazar and Franco officially entered the war with the USSR and declared general mobilization. And this, it must be said, was a drastic move on their part-one that created major problems for the Red Army.
  More and more troops are entering the battle, especially from the Romanian side, which has left Soviet tanks completely cut off.
  The situation was also exacerbated by a prisoner exchange-all for all-from Germany, Britain, and Italy. As a result, many pilots shot down over Britain returned to the Luftwaffe. But even more Italians returned-over half a million soldiers. And Mussolini threw all his forces against the USSR.
  And Italy, not counting the colonies, has a population of fifty million, which is not a small amount.
  So the USSR's situation became extremely dire. Although Soviet troops were still in Europe, they found themselves at risk of being outflanked and encircled.
  And in some places, the fighting spilled over into Russian territory. The assault on Vyborg, under attack by the Finns and Swedes, had already begun.
  
  RUSSIAN MAFIA SHOWDOWNS - A COMPILATION
  ANNOTATION
  The Russian mafia has spread its tentacles across virtually the entire globe. Interpol, the FSB, the CIA, and various agents, including the infamous Mossad, are all fighting the gangsters, and the struggle is a life-and-death one, with varying success.
  Prologue
    
    
  Winter never frightened Misha and his friends. In fact, they enjoyed the fact that they could walk barefoot where tourists didn't even dare leave their hotel lobbies. Misha found it a great amusement to watch tourists, not only because their penchant for luxury and comfortable climate delighted him, but also because they paid. And they paid well.
    
  Many, in the heat of the moment, mixed up their currencies, if only to get him to point them to the best spots for photo ops or pointless reports on the historical events that once haunted Belarus. This happened when they overpaid him, and his friends were only too happy to split the spoils when they gathered at a deserted train station after sunset.
    
  Minsk was large enough to have its own criminal underworld, both international and small-scale. Nineteen-year-old Misha was a good example in his own right, but he'd done what he had to do to graduate from college. His lanky, blond appearance was attractive in an Eastern European way, attracting plenty of attention from foreign visitors. Dark circles under his eyes suggested late nights and malnutrition, but his striking light blue eyes made him attractive.
    
  Today was a special day. He was staying at the Kozlova Hotel, a modest establishment that passed for decent lodgings given the competition. The afternoon sun was pale in the cloudless autumn sky, but its rays illuminated the dying branches of the trees lining the paths throughout the park. The temperature was mild and pleasant, the perfect day for Misha to earn some money. Thanks to the pleasant surroundings, he was bound to convince the Americans at the hotel to visit at least two more locations for photographic pleasure.
    
  "New kids from Texas," Misha told his buddies, sucking on a half-smoked Fest cigarette as they gathered around a fire at the train station.
    
  "How much?" asked his friend Victor.
    
  "Four. Should be easy. Three women and a fat cowboy," Misha laughed, his giggles sending rhythmic puffs of smoke through his nostrils. "And the best part is, one of the women is a pretty little thing."
    
  "Edible?" Mikel, a dark-haired drifter at least a foot taller than them all, asked curiously. He was an odd-looking young man with skin the color of old pizza.
    
  "Young girl. Stay away," Misha warned, "unless she tells you what she wants where no one can see."
    
  A group of teenagers howled like wild dogs in the cold of the gloomy building they ran. It took them two years and several hospital visits before they fairly won the territory from another group of clowns from their high school. While they planned their scam, broken windows whistled hymns of suffering, and a strong wind defied the gray walls of the old, abandoned station. Next to the crumbling platform, the silent tracks lay rusty and overgrown.
    
  "Mikel, you play the role of the brainless stationmaster while Vic whistles," Misha instructed. "I'll make sure the car stalls before reaching the side track, so we'll have to get out and walk up the platform." His eyes lit up at the sight of his tall friend. "And don't screw up like last time. They made a complete fool of me when they saw you peeing on the railing."
    
  "You were early! You were only supposed to bring them in ten minutes, you idiot!" Mikel defended himself heatedly.
    
  "It doesn't matter, idiot!" Misha hissed, tossing his cigarette aside and stepping forward to growl. "You have to be prepared, no matter what!"
    
  "Hey, you're not giving me a big enough cut for me to take this shit from you," Mikel growled.
    
  Victor jumped up and separated the two testosterone-fueled monkeys. "Listen! We don"t have time for this! If you start fighting now, we can"t continue this fuss, understand? We need every gullible group we can get. But if you two want to fight right now, I"m out!"
    
  The other two stopped fighting and adjusted their clothes. Mikel looked worried. He muttered quietly, "I don't have any pants for tonight. These are my last pair. My mother will fucking kill me if I get these dirty."
    
  "For God's sake, stop growing," Victor snorted, playfully slapping his monstrous friend. "Soon you'll be able to steal ducks in mid-flight."
    
  "At least then we can eat," Mikel chuckled, lighting a cigarette behind his hand.
    
  "They don't need to see your legs," Misha told him. "Just stay behind the window frame and move along the platform. As long as they can see your body."
    
  Mikel agreed it was a good decision. He nodded, looking through the broken windowpane, where the sun tinted the sharp edges a bright red. Even the bones of the dead trees glowed crimson and orange, and Mikel imagined the park on fire. Despite all its loneliness and abandoned beauty, the park was still a peaceful place.
    
  In summer, the leaves and lawns were deep green, and the flowers were unusually vibrant-it was one of Mikel's favorite spots in Molodechno, where he was born and raised. Unfortunately, in the colder seasons, the trees seemed to shed their leaves, turning into colorless tombstones, their claws scraping against each other. They creaked and jostled, seeking the attention of the crows, begging for warmth. All these thoughts raced through the tall, thin boy's mind as his friends discussed the prank, but he was nonetheless focused. Despite his daydreams, he knew today's prank would be something else. Why, he couldn't explain.
    
    
  1
  Misha's prank
    
    
  The three-star Kozlova Hotel was practically deserted, save for a bachelor party from Minsk and a few temporary guests heading to St. Petersburg. It was a terrible time of year for business; summer had just ended, and most of the tourists were older, reluctant spenders who had come to see the historical sites. Just after 6:00 PM, Misha showed up at the two-story hotel in his Volkswagen Kombi, his lines well-rehearsed.
    
  He glanced at his watch in the gathering shadows. The cement-and-brick façade of the hotel overhead swayed in silent reproach for his wayward ways. The Kozlova was one of the city's original buildings, as evidenced by its turn-of-the-century architecture. Since Misha was a little boy, his mother had told him to stay away from the old place, but he never listened to her drunken mutterings. In fact, he didn't even listen when she told him she was dying-a small regret on his part. From then on, the teenage scoundrel cheated and squirreled his way through what he considered his last attempt to atone for his miserable existence-a short course in basic physics and geometry in college.
    
  He hated the subject, but in Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus, it was the path to a respectable job. It was the only advice Misha received from his late mother after she told him his late father had been a physicist at the Dolgoprudny Institute of Physics and Technology. She said it was in Misha's blood, but he initially dismissed it as a parental whim. It's amazing how a short stint in juvenile prison can change a young man's need for guidance. However, with neither money nor a job, Misha had to resort to street smarts and cunning. Since most Eastern Europeans were conditioned to see through bullshit, he had to shift his sights to unassuming foreigners, and Americans were his favorites.
    
  Their naturally energetic manners and generally liberal attitudes made them very open to the stories of Third World struggle that Misha told them. His American clients, as he called them, gave the best tips and were delightfully trusting of the "extras" his guided tours offered. As long as he could evade the authorities who required permits and guide registration, he was doing well. This was supposed to be one of those evenings when Misha and his fellow con artists would earn some extra cash. Misha had already egged on a fat cowboy, a certain Mr. Henry Brown III from Fort Worth.
    
  "Ah, speaking of the devil," Misha chuckled as a small group emerged from the front doors of the Kozlov. He peered closely at the tourists through the newly polished windows of his van. Two elderly ladies, one of whom was Mrs. Brown, were chatting animatedly in high voices. Henry Brown was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, partially concealed by a sleeveless vest that reminded Misha of Michael J. Fox from Back to the Future-four sizes too big. Contrary to expectations, the wealthy American opted for a baseball cap instead of a ten-gallon hat.
    
  "Good evening, son!" Mr. Brown called loudly as they approached the old minivan. "I hope we're not late."
    
  "No, sir," Misha smiled, jumping out of his car to open the sliding door for the ladies while Henry Brown rocked the seat of his shotgun. "My next group isn't until nine o'clock." Misha, of course, was lying. It was a necessary lie to exploit the ruse that his services were in high demand, thereby increasing his chances of receiving a higher fee when the shit was presented in a trough.
    
  "Then we better hurry," the charming young lady, presumably Brown's daughter, rolled her eyes. Misha tried not to show his attraction to the spoiled blonde teenager, but he found her practically irresistible. He liked the idea of playing the hero tonight, when she would undoubtedly be horrified by what he and his comrades had planned. As they drove toward the park and its World War II memorial stones, Misha began to apply his charm.
    
  "It's a shame you won't see the station. It's also rich in history," Misha remarked as they turned onto Park Lane. "But I imagine its reputation puts off many visitors. I mean, even my nine-hour group turned down the night tour."
    
  "What reputation?" young Miss Brown inquired hastily.
    
  "It caught my attention," thought Misha.
    
  He shrugged, "Well, this place has a reputation," he paused dramatically, "for being haunted."
    
  "With what?" Miss Brown nudged, amusing her grinning father.
    
  "Damn it, Carly, he's just messing with you, honey," Henry chuckled, keeping his eyes on the two women taking photos. Their incessant yapping faded as they moved further away from Henry, the distance soothing his ears.
    
  Misha smiled: "It's not just empty talk, sir. Locals have been reporting sightings for years, but we mostly keep it a secret. Look, don't worry, I understand most people don't have the courage to go out to the station at night. It's natural to be afraid."
    
  "Daddy," Miss Brown whispered, tugging at her father"s sleeve.
    
  "Come on, you"re not seriously buying this," Henry smirked.
    
  "Dad, everything I've seen since we left Poland has bored me to death. Can't we just do this for me?" she insisted. "Please?"
    
  Henry, a seasoned businessman, gave the young man a flickering, predatory look. "How much?"
    
  "Don't feel awkward right now, Mr. Brown," Misha replied, trying not to meet the eyes of the young lady standing next to his father. "For most people, these tours are a bit steep due to the danger involved."
    
  "Oh my God, Daddy, you have to take us with you!" she cried excitedly. Miss Brown turned to Misha. "I just, like, love dangerous things. Ask my dad. I'm such an adventurous man..."
    
  'I bet you do,' Misha's inner voice agreed with lust as his eyes studied the smooth marbled skin between her scarf and the seam of her open collar.
    
  "Carly, there's no such thing as a haunted train station. It's all part of the show, isn't it, Misha?" Henry roared cheerfully. He leaned toward Misha again. "How much?"
    
  "... line and sinker!" Misha shouted within the confines of his intriguing mind.
    
  Carly rushed to call her mother and aunt back to the van as the sun kissed the horizon goodbye. The soft breeze quickly turned into a cool breath as darkness descended on the park. Shaking his head at his weakness to his daughter's pleas, Henry struggled to fasten his seatbelt across his stomach while Misha started the Volkswagen Estate.
    
  "Will it take long?" Auntie asked. Misha hated her. Even her calm expression reminded him of someone who smelled something rotten.
    
  "Would you like me to give you a ride to the hotel first, ma"am?" Misha moved deliberately.
    
  "No, no, can we just go to the station and finish the tour?" Henry said, disguising his firm decision as a request to sound tactful.
    
  Misha hoped his friends would be prepared this time. This time there would be no hiccups, especially not a urinating ghost caught on the tracks. He was relieved to find the eerily deserted station as planned-secluded, dark, and dreary. The wind scattered autumn leaves across the overgrown paths, bending the weeds in the Minsk night.
    
  "So the story goes that if you stand at night on platform 6 of the Dudko train station, you'll hear the whistle of the old locomotive that transported condemned prisoners of war to Stalag 342," Misha recounted the fabricated details to his clients. "And then you see the station master searching for his head after NKVD officers beheaded him during interrogation."
    
  "What is Stalag 342?" asked Carly Brown. By this time, her father seemed a little less cheerful, as the details sounded too realistic to be a hoax, and he answered her solemnly.
    
  "It was a prisoner of war camp for Soviet soldiers, hun," he said.
    
  They walked in close quarters, reluctantly crossing Platform 6. The only light on the gloomy building came from the rafters of a Volkswagen van a few metres away.
    
  "Who is NK... what again?" Carly asked.
    
  "The Soviet secret police," Misha boasted, to add credibility to his story.
    
  He took great pleasure in watching the women tremble, their eyes like saucers, as they waited to see the ghostly form of the stationmaster.
    
  "Come on, Victor," Misha prayed for his friends to pull through. Immediately, a lone train whistle sounded from somewhere along the tracks, carried by the icy northwest wind.
    
  "Oh, good heavens!" Mr. Brown"s wife shrieked, but her husband was skeptical.
    
  "It's not real, Polly," Henry reminded her. "There's probably a group of people working with it."
    
  Misha ignored Henry. He knew what was coming. Another, louder howl came closer to them. Desperately trying to smile, Misha was most impressed by the efforts of his accomplices when a faint, cyclopean glow appeared from the darkness on the tracks.
    
  "Look! Holy shit! There he is!" Carly whispered in panic, pointing across the sunken tracks to the other side, where Michael's slender figure appeared. Her knees buckled, but the other terrified women barely supported her in their own hysteria. Misha didn't smile, continuing his ruse. He looked at Henry, who simply watched the trembling movements of the towering Michael, impersonating the headless stationmaster.
    
  "Do you see that?" Henry's wife whined, but the cowboy said nothing. Suddenly, his gaze fell on the approaching light of a roaring locomotive, puffing like a leviathan dragon as it tore toward the station. The fat cowboy's face flushed as the ancient steam engine emerged from the night, gliding toward them with a pulsating roar.
    
  Misha frowned. It was all a bit too well-done. There shouldn't have been a real train, and yet there it was, racing toward them. No matter how hard he racked his brains, the attractive young charlatan couldn't comprehend what was happening.
    
  Mikel, under the impression that Victor was responsible for the whistle, stumbled onto the tracks to cross them, giving the tourists quite a fright. His feet fumbled along the iron bars and loose stones. Hidden beneath his coat, his face giggled with glee at the sight of the women's terror.
    
  "Mikel!" Misha screamed. "No! No! Come back!"
    
  But Mikel stepped across the tracks, heading toward where he'd heard the sighs. His vision was obscured by the cloth covering his head, effectively resembling a headless man. Victor emerged from the empty ticket booth and rushed toward the group. At the sight of another silhouette, the entire family screamed and rushed to save the Volkswagen. In reality, Victor was trying to warn his two friends that he wasn't responsible for what was happening. He jumped onto the tracks to push the unsuspecting Mikel to the other side, but he misjudged the speed of the anomalous manifestation.
    
  Misha watched in horror as the locomotive crushed his friends, killing them instantly and leaving nothing behind but a sickeningly crimson mess of bone and flesh. His large blue eyes were frozen in place, as was his slack jaw. Shocked to the core, he watched as the train vanished into thin air. Only the screams of the American women competed with the fading whistle of the murderous machine as Misha's senses abandoned him.
    
    
  2
  The Maid of Balmoral
    
    
  "Now listen, boy, I"m not letting you walk through that door until you empty your pockets! I"ve had enough of these fake bastards acting like the real Wallys and walking around here calling themselves K-squad. Over my dead body!" Seamus warned, his red face shaking as he laid down the law to the man trying to leave. "K-squad isn"t for losers. Yeah?"
    
  The group of burly, angry men standing behind Seamus gave a roar of approval.
    
  Yes!
    
  Seamus narrowed one eye and growled, "Now! Now, fucking now!"
    
  The pretty brunette crossed her arms over her chest and sighed impatiently, "Jesus, Sam, just show them the goods already."
    
  Sam turned and looked at her in horror. "In front of you and the ladies present? I don't think so, Nina."
    
  "I saw that," she chuckled, but looked the other way.
    
  Sam Cleave, a journalistic elite and prominent local celebrity, had become a blushing schoolboy. Despite his rugged appearance and fearless attitude, compared to the Balmoral K-squad, he was nothing more than a prepubescent altar boy with an inferiority complex.
    
  "Turn out your pockets," Seamus grinned. His thin face was crowned by the knitted cap he wore at sea while fishing, and his breath smelled of tobacco and cheese, both laced with thin beer.
    
  Sam bit the bullet, otherwise he would never have been accepted into the Balmoral Arms. He lifted his kilt, revealing his bare equipment to the group of louts who called the pub home. For a moment, they froze in disapproval.
    
  Sam whined, "It's cold, guys."
    
  "Wrinkled-that's what it is!" Seamus roared jokingly, leading the chorus of patrons in a deafening greeting. They opened the door to the establishment, allowing Nina and the other ladies to enter first, before ushering handsome Sam in, patting him on the back. Nina winced at his embarrassment and winked, "Happy birthday, Sam."
    
  "Yes," he sighed, happily accepting the kiss she planted on his right eye. The latter had been a ritual between them even before they became ex-lovers. He kept his eyes closed for a moment after she pulled away, savoring the memory.
    
  "For God's sake, give the man a drink!" shouted one of the pub patrons, pointing at Sam.
    
  "So, K-squad means wearing a kilt?" Nina guessed, referring to the gathering of raw Scotsmen and their various tartans.
    
  Sam took a sip of his first Guinness. "Actually, the "K" stands for pen. Don"t ask."
    
  "That"s not necessary," she replied, pressing the neck of the beer bottle to her dark burgundy lips.
    
  "Seamus is old school, as you can see," Sam added. "He's a traditionalist. No underwear under his kilt."
    
  "Of course," she smiled. "So, how cold is it there?"
    
  Sam laughed and ignored her teasing. He was secretly thrilled that Nina was with him on his birthday. Sam would never admit it, but he was thrilled that she had survived the horrific injuries she sustained during their last expedition to New Zealand. If not for Purdue's foresight, she would have died, and Sam didn't know if he would ever get over the death of another woman he loved. She was very dear to him, even as a platonic friend. At least she still allowed him to flirt with her, which kept alive his hopes for a possible future rekindling of what they once had.
    
  "Have you heard anything from Purdue?" he asked suddenly, as if trying to avoid the obligatory question.
    
  "He's still in the hospital," she said.
    
  "I thought Dr. Lamar gave him a clean bill," Sam frowned.
    
  "Yes, he was. It took him a while to recover from the initial medical treatment, and he's now moving on to the next stage," she said.
    
  "Next step?" Sam asked.
    
  "They're prepping him for some kind of corrective surgery," she replied. "You can't blame the man. I mean, what happened to him left some ugly scars. And since he has money..."
    
  "I agree. I would do the same," Sam nodded. "I"m telling you, this man is made of steel."
    
  "Why do you say that?" She smiled.
    
  Sam shrugged and exhaled, thinking about their mutual friend's resilience. "I don't know. I believe wounds heal, and plastic surgery restores, but God, the mental anguish that day, Nina."
    
  "You're too right, love," she replied with equal concern. "He'd never admit it, but I think Purdue's mind must be haunted by unfathomable nightmares about what happened to him in the Lost City. Jesus."
    
  "That bastard's a tough cookie," Sam shook his head in admiration of Perdue. He raised his bottle and looked Nina in the eyes. "Perdue... may the sun never burn him, and may the snakes know his wrath."
    
  "Amen!" Nina echoed, clinking her bottle with Sam"s. "To Purdue!"
    
  Most of the noisy crowd at the Balmoral Arms didn't hear Sam and Nina's toast, but there were a few who did-and knew the meaning of their chosen phrases. Unbeknownst to the celebrating duo, a silent figure watched them from the far side of the pub. The heavily built man watching them drank coffee, not alcohol. His hidden eyes secretly gazed at the two people he'd spent weeks tracking down. Tonight would be different, he thought, watching them laugh and drink.
    
  All he needed was to wait long enough for their libations to effectively dull their perceptions enough to react. All he needed was five minutes alone with Sam Cleve. Before he could even ask when such an opportunity would arise, Sam struggled to his feet.
    
  Amusingly, the renowned investigative journalist grabbed the edge of the counter while tugging at his kilt, fearing his buttocks would be captured on one of the attendees' mobile phones. To his dismay, this had happened before, when he was photographed in the same outfit on an unstable plastic display table at the Highland Festival several years earlier. An unsteady gait and an unfortunate swing of the kilt soon led to him being voted the Sexiest Scot in 2012 by the Women's Auxiliary Corps in Edinburgh.
    
  He crept cautiously toward the darkened doors on the right side of the bar, labeled "Chickens" and "Roosters," hesitantly heading toward the corresponding door. Nina watched him with great amusement, ready to rush to his aid if he confused the two genders in a moment of drunken semantics. In the noisy crowd, the loud football on the large wall-mounted flat-screen provided a soundtrack of culture and tradition. Nina took it all in. After her stay in New Zealand last month, she longed for the Old Town and tartans.
    
  Sam disappeared into the necessary restroom, leaving Nina to focus on her single malt and the cheerful men and women around her. Despite all their frantic shouting and pushing, it was a peaceful crowd visiting Balmoral tonight. Amid the chaos of spilling beer and stumbling drinkers, the movement of darts opponents and dancing ladies, Nina quickly noticed one anomaly-a figure sitting alone, practically motionless, and quietly alone. It was rather intriguing how out of place this man looked, but Nina decided he probably hadn't come to celebrate. Not everyone drank to celebrate. She knew that all too well. Every time she lost someone close or mourned some regret from the past, she got drunk. This stranger seemed to be there for a different reason: to drink.
    
  He seemed to be waiting for something. That was enough to keep the sexy historian watching him. She watched him in the mirror behind the bar, sipping her whiskey. It was almost ominous, the way he remained motionless, save for the occasional lift of his hand to take a drink. Suddenly, he rose from his stool, and Nina perked up. She watched his surprisingly quick movements, then discovered he wasn't drinking alcohol, but an Irish iced coffee.
    
  "Oh, I see a sober ghost," she thought to herself, watching him go. She pulled a pack of Marlboros from her leather purse and pulled a cigarette from its cardboard box. The man glanced her way, but Nina remained oblivious, lighting her cigarette. Through her deliberate puffs of smoke, she could watch him. She was silently grateful that the establishment didn't enforce smoking laws, as it was on land owned by David Perdue, the rebel billionaire she was dating.
    
  Little did she suspect that the latter was the very reason this man had chosen to visit the Balmoral Arms that evening. A non-drinker and obviously non-smoker, the stranger had no reason to choose this pub, Nina thought. This aroused her suspicions, but she realized she had been overly protective, even paranoid, before, so she left it alone for now and returned to the task at hand.
    
  "Another one, please, Rowan!" she winked at one of the bartenders, who immediately complied.
    
  "Where"s that haggis you had here?" he joked.
    
  "In the swamp," she chuckled, "doing God knows what."
    
  He laughed, pouring her another amber pacifier. Nina leaned forward to speak as quietly as possible in the noisy environment. She pulled Rowan's head to her mouth and stuck a finger in his ear to make sure he could hear her. "Did you notice the man sitting in the corner over there?" she asked, nodding toward the empty table with the half-finished iced coffee. "I mean, do you know who he is?"
    
  Rowan knew who she was talking about. Such docile characters were easy to spot at the Balmoral, but he had no idea who the customer was. He shook his head and continued the conversation in the same tone. "A virgin?" he shouted.
    
  Nina frowned at the epithet. "He's been ordering virgin drinks all night. No alcohol. He'd been here for three hours when you and Sam showed up, but he only ordered iced coffee and a sandwich. He never mentioned anything, you understand?"
    
  "Oh, okay," she accepted Rowan"s information and raised her glass with a smile to dismiss him. "Ta."
    
  It had been some time since Sam had been in the restroom, and by now she was starting to feel a hint of uneasiness. Especially since the stranger had followed Sam to the men's room, and he, too, was still absent from the main room. Something was bothering her. She couldn't help it, but she was just one of those people who couldn't let something go once it bothered her.
    
  "Where are you going, Dr. Gould? You know what you'll find there can't be anything good, right?" Seamus roared. His group erupted in laughter and defiant shouts, which only elicited a smile from the historian. "I didn't know you were such a doctor!" Amid their cheers, Nina knocked on the door of the men's room and leaned her head against it to better hear any response.
    
  "Sam?" she exclaimed. "Sam, are you okay in there?"
    
  Inside, she could hear men's voices in animated conversation, but it was impossible to discern whether any of them belonged to Sam. "Sam?" she continued to pursue the tenants, knocking. The argument degenerated into a loud crash on the other side of the door, but she didn't dare enter.
    
  "Damn," she smirked. "It could have been anyone, Nina, so don't go in and make a fool of yourself!" While she waited, her high-heeled boots tapped impatiently on the floor, but still no one emerged from the 'Rooster' door. Immediately, another loud noise erupted from the restroom, sounding quite serious. It was so loud that even the wild crowd noticed, somewhat muffling their conversations.
    
  The porcelain shattered and something large and heavy hit the inside of the door, striking Nina's tiny skull hard.
    
  "Oh, my God! What the hell is going on?" she shrieked angrily, but at the same time, she was afraid for Sam. Not a second later, he yanked the door open and ran straight into Nina. The force knocked her off her feet, but Sam caught her just in time.
    
  "Come on, Nina! Now! Let's get the fuck out of here! Now, Nina! Now!" he thundered, dragging her by the wrist through the crowded pub. Before anyone could ask, the birthday boy and his friend disappeared into the cold Scottish night.
    
    
  3
  Watercress and pain
    
    
  When Perdue struggled to open his eyes, he felt like a lifeless piece of roadkill.
    
  "Well, good morning, Mr. Purdue," he heard, but couldn't locate, the friendly female voice. "How are you feeling, sir?"
    
  "I'm feeling a little nauseous, thank you. Could I have some water, please?" he wanted to say, but what Perdue was upset to hear coming from his own lips was a request best left outside the brothel. The nurse tried desperately not to laugh, but she, too, surprised herself with a giggle that instantly shattered her professional demeanor, and she sank to her haunches, covering her mouth with both hands.
    
  "Oh my God, Mr. Purdue, I apologize!" she muttered, covering her face with her hands, but her patient looked clearly more ashamed of his behavior than she ever could. His pale blue eyes stared at her with horror. "No, please," he assessed the precision of his intended words. "I'm sorry. I assure you, it was an encrypted transmission." Finally, Purdue dared to smile, though it looked more like a grimace.
    
  "I know, Mr. Purdue," the kindly green-eyed blonde admitted, helping him sit up just long enough to take a sip of water. "Would it help if I told you I've heard much, much worse and much more confusing things than this?"
    
  Purdue splashed some cool, clean water over his throat and replied, "Would you believe it wouldn't have brought me some comfort knowing that? I still said what I said, even though others were making fools of themselves, too." He burst out laughing. "That was pretty obscene, wasn't it?"
    
  Nurse Madison, when her name was written on her badge, giggled heartily. It was a genuine giggle of delight, not something she staged to make him feel better. "Yes, Mr. Purdue, that was beautifully aimed."
    
  The door to Purdue's private office opened and Dr. Patel peered out.
    
  "You seem to be doing well, Mr. Purdue," he smiled, raising one eyebrow. "When did you wake up?"
    
  "Actually, I woke up a while ago feeling pretty refreshed," Perdue said, smiling at Nurse Madison again, repeating their private joke. She pursed her lips to suppress a chuckle and handed the doctor the board.
    
  "I"ll be right back with breakfast, sir," she informed both gentlemen before leaving the room.
    
  Perdue turned up his nose and whispered, "Dr. Patel, I'd prefer not to eat right now, if you don't mind. I think the drugs will make me nauseous for a while."
    
  "I'm afraid I'll have to insist, Mr. Purdue," Dr. Patel insisted. "You've already been sedated for over a day, and your body requires some hydration and nutrition before we begin the next treatment."
    
  "Why was I under the influence for so long?" Perdue asked immediately.
    
  "Actually," the doctor said under his breath, looking very concerned, "we have no idea. Your vital signs were satisfactory, even good, but you seemed to be asleep, so to speak. Typically, this kind of surgery isn't too dangerous, with a 98% success rate, and most patients wake up about three hours later."
    
  "But it took me another day, give or take, to come out of my sedated state?" Purdue frowned, trying to sit up properly on the hard mattress that clasped his buttocks uncomfortably. "Why did that have to happen?"
    
  Dr. Patel shrugged. "Look, everyone"s different. It could be anything. It could be nothing. Perhaps your mind was tired and decided to take a time-out." The doctor from Bangladesh sighed. "God knows, judging by your incident report, I think your body decided it"s had enough for today-and for good reason, by the way!"
    
  Purdue took a moment to consider the plastic surgeon's statement. For the first time since his ordeal and subsequent hospitalization in a private clinic in Hampshire, the reckless and wealthy explorer reflected a little on his misfortunes in New Zealand. In truth, it hadn't yet dawned on him how horrific his experience there had been. Apparently, Purdue's mind dealt with the trauma with a belated sense of ignorance. I'll feel sorry for myself later.
    
  Changing the subject, he turned to Dr. Patel. "Should I eat? Can I just have some watery soup or something?"
    
  "You must be a mind reader, Mr. Purdue," Nurse Madison remarked, wheeling a silver cart into the room. On it sat a mug of tea, a tall glass of water, and a bowl of watercress soup, which smelled wonderful in this sterile environment. "Soupy, not watery," she added.
    
  "It does look very appetizing," Perdue admitted, "but frankly, I can"t."
    
  "I'm afraid these are doctor's orders, Mr. Purdue. Even you only eat a few spoonfuls?" she coaxed. "As long as you have something, we'd be grateful."
    
  "Exactly," Dr. Patel smiled. "Just try it, Mr. Purdue. As I'm sure you'll appreciate, we can't continue treating you on an empty stomach. The medication will cause damage to your system."
    
  "Okay," Perdue reluctantly agreed. The creamy green dish before him smelled like heaven, but all his body craved was water. He understood, of course, why he needed to eat, so he picked up a spoon and made an effort. Lying under the cold blanket on his hospital bed, he felt the thick padding being periodically pulled over his legs. Under the bandages, it stung like a cherry from a cigarette extinguished on a bruise, but he maintained his posture. After all, he was one of the major shareholders in this clinic-Salisbury Private Medical Care-and Perdue didn't want to look weak in front of the very staff whose employment he was responsible for.
    
  Closing his eyes to fight the pain, he lifted the spoon to his lips and savored the culinary delights of the private hospital he would call home for a while longer. However, the exquisite taste of the food didn't distract him from the strange premonition he felt. He couldn't help but think about what his lower body looked like beneath the gauze and tape.
    
  After signing off on Purdue's final post-surgery vital signs, Dr. Patel wrote out prescriptions for Nurse Madison for the following week. She opened the blinds in Purdue's room, and he finally realized he was on the third floor, away from the courtyard garden.
    
  "Am I not on the first floor?" he asked rather nervously.
    
  "No," she sang, looking puzzled. "Why? Does it matter?"
    
  "I suppose not," he replied, still looking a little puzzled.
    
  Her tone was a little concerned. "Do you have a fear of heights, Mr. Purdue?"
    
  "No, I don't have any phobias as such, my dear," he explained. "In fact, I can't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps I was just surprised I didn't see the garden when you pulled down the blinds."
    
  "If we had known it was important for you, I assure you we would have placed you on the first floor, sir," she said. "Should I ask the doctor if we could move you?"
    
  "No, no, please," Perdue protested softly. "I'm not going to complicate things with the scenery. All I want to know is what happens next. By the way, when are you going to change the bandages on my legs?"
    
  Nurse Madison's lime green dress looked sympathetically at her patient. She said softly, "Don't worry about it, Mr. Purdue. Look, you've had some unpleasant experiences with that terrible..." she paused respectfully, desperately trying to soften the blow, "...experience you had. But don't worry, Mr. Purdue, you'll find Dr. Patel's expertise unparalleled. You know, whatever your assessment of this corrective surgery, sir, I'm sure you'll be impressed."
    
  She gave Perdue a genuine smile that achieved its goal of reassuring him.
    
  "Thank you," he nodded, a slight smirk touching his lips. "And will I be able to evaluate the work soon?"
    
  The little framed nurse with the kind voice gathered up the empty water jug and glass and headed for the door, expecting to return shortly. As she opened the door to leave, she glanced back at him and pointed to the soup. "But not until you leave a substantial dent in this bowl, mister."
    
  Perdue did his best to keep the ensuing chuckle painless, though the effort was in vain. A fine suture stretched across his carefully stitched skin, where missing tissue had been replaced. Perdue made an effort to eat as much of the soup as he could, though by this time it had cooled to a crispy, pasty consistency-not exactly the cuisine billionaires typically indulge in. On the other hand, Perdue was too grateful to have survived the jaws of the Lost City's monstrous denizens to complain about the cold broth.
    
  "Done?" he heard.
    
  Nurse Madison entered, armed with instruments to clean her patient's wounds and a fresh bandage to cover the stitches afterward. Purdue wasn't sure how to react to this revelation. He felt no hint of fear or timidity, but the thought of what the beast in the Lost City's labyrinth would do to him made him uneasy. Of course, Purdue didn't dare show any signs of a man close to a panic attack.
    
  "This will hurt a little, but I'll try to make it as painless as possible," she told him, not looking at him. Purdue was grateful, because he imagined the expression on his face was not pleasant. "There will be some stinging," she continued, sterilizing her delicate instrument to loosen the edges of the plaster, "but I could give you a topical ointment if you find it too bothersome."
    
  "No, thanks," he chuckled slightly. "Just go for it, and I"ll handle the challenges."
    
  She looked up briefly and gave him a smile, as if approving of his courage. It was a simple task, but secretly she understood the danger of traumatic memories and the anxiety they could cause. Although none of the details of the attack on David Perdue had ever been revealed to her, Nurse Madison had, unfortunately, previously encountered a tragedy of such intensity. She knew what it was like to be maimed, even in places where no one could see. The memory of the ordeal never left its victims, she knew. Perhaps that was why she felt such sympathy for the wealthy researcher on a personal level.
    
  His breath caught, his eyes squeezed shut as she peeled back the first thick layer of plaster. It made a sickening sound that made Purdue cringe, but he wasn't ready to satisfy his curiosity by opening his eyes just yet. She stopped. "Is this okay? Do you want me to slow down?"
    
  He winced, "No, no, just hurry up. Just do it quickly, but give me time to catch my breath in between."
    
  Without a word in response, Sister Madison suddenly ripped the bandage off with one jerk. Purdue cried out in agony, choking on the sudden flight of his breath.
    
  "Jee-zuss Charist!" he screamed, his eyes wide with shock. His chest heaved rapidly as his mind processed the excruciating hell within the localized area of his skin.
    
  "I'm sorry, Mr. Perdue," she apologized sincerely. "You said I should just go ahead and get it over with."
    
  "I-I know w-w-what I said," he muttered, regaining his breath slightly. He never expected it to feel like interrogation torture or having nails pulled out. "You're right. I did say that. Oh my God, it nearly killed me."
    
  But what Perdue didn't expect was what he would see when he looked at his wounds.
    
    
  4
  The phenomenon of dead relativity
    
    
  Sam hastily tried to open his car door, while Nina wheezed wildly beside him. By this time, she realized it was pointless to question her old friend about anything while he was focused on serious matters, so she chose to catch her breath and hold her tongue. The night was freezing for the time of year, and his legs, feeling the biting chill of the wind, curled up under his kilt, and his hands were also numb. From the pub outside, voices echoed, like the cries of hunters about to spring upon a fox.
    
  "For heaven's sake!" Sam hissed in the darkness as the tip of the key continued to scrape the lock, finding no release. Nina glanced back at the dark figures. They hadn't moved away from the building, but she could make out the quarrel.
    
  "Sam," she whispered, breathing quickly, "can I help you?"
    
  "Is he coming? Is he coming already?" he asked persistently.
    
  Still puzzled by Sam's escape, she replied, "Who? I need to know who to look out for, but I can tell you that no one is following us yet."
    
  "Y-y-that... that fu-" he stuttered, "the fucking guy who attacked me."
    
  Her large, dark eyes scanned the area, but as far as Nina could see, there was no movement between the brawl outside the pub and Sam's wreck. The door creaked open before Nina could even comprehend who Sam was referring to, and she felt his hand grab hers. He tossed her into the car as gently as he could and pushed her in after him.
    
  "Jesus, Sam! Your stick shift is hell on my legs!" she complained, struggling to get into the passenger seat. Normally, Sam would have had some kind of quip about the double entendre she'd uttered, but he had no time for humor right now. Nina rubbed her thighs, still wondering what all the fuss was about, when Sam started the car. Her usual locking of the door came just in time, as a loud bang on the window made Nina scream in horror.
    
  "Oh my God!" she screamed as she saw a saucer-eyed man in a cloak suddenly appear out of nowhere.
    
  "Son of a bitch!" Sam seethed, shifting the lever into first gear and accelerating the car.
    
  The man outside Nina's door screamed furiously at her, slamming his fists into the window. As Sam braced himself for the acceleration, time slowed for Nina. She peered closely at the man, whose face was contorted with tension, and recognized him immediately.
    
  "Virgin," she muttered in amazement.
    
  As the car pulled out of its parking space, the man shouted something at them under the red brake lights, but Nina was too shocked to pay attention. She waited, gaping, for Sam to give her a proper explanation, but her mind was a blur. Late in the evening, they drove through two red lights on Glenrothes' main street, heading south toward North Queensferry.
    
  "What did you say?" Sam asked Nina when they finally pulled onto the main road.
    
  "About?" she asked, so stunned by it all that she"d forgotten most of what she"d been saying. "Oh, the man at the door? Is that the kili you"re running from?"
    
  "Yes," Sam replied. "What did you call him?"
    
  "Oh, Holy Mother," she said. "I was watching him at the pub while you were on the moor, and I noticed he didn't drink alcohol. So, all his drinks..."
    
  "Virgins," Sam guessed. "I get it. I get it." His face was flushed and his eyes were still wild, but he kept his eyes fixed on the winding road in the high-beam light. "I really need to get a car with central locking."
    
  "Holy shit," she agreed, tucking her hair under a knit cap. "I'd think it would be obvious to you by now, especially in the business you're in. To have your ass chased and harassed that often would require better transportation."
    
  "I like my car," he muttered.
    
  "This looks like a mistake, Sam, and you're rich enough to afford something that suits your needs," she preached. "Like a tank."
    
  "Did he tell you anything?" Sam asked her.
    
  "No, but I saw him go into the bathroom after you. I just didn't think anything of it. Why? Did he say something to you there, or did he just attack you?" Nina asked, taking the opportunity to brush his black locks behind his ear, keeping them out of his face. "Good God, you look like you saw a dead relative or something."
    
  Sam looked at her. "Why do you say that?"
    
  "It's just a way of speaking," Nina defended herself. "Unless he was a dead relative of yours."
    
  "Don"t be silly," Sam chuckled.
    
  Nina realized her companion wasn't exactly following the rules of the road, considering he had a million gallons of straight whiskey and a dose of shock for good measure. She gently ran her hand from his hair to his shoulder, so as not to startle him. "Don't you think I should drive?"
    
  "You don't know my car. It has... tricks," Sam protested.
    
  "No more than you have, and I can drive you just fine," she smiled. "Come on now. If the cops pull you over, you'll be in deep shit, and we don't need another sour taste from this evening, you hear?"
    
  Her persuasion was successful. With a quiet sigh of surrender, he pulled off the road and swapped places with Nina. Still disturbed by what had happened, Sam combed the dark road for signs of pursuit, but was relieved to find there was no threat. Despite being drunk, Sam hadn't slept well on the way home.
    
  "You know, my heart is still pounding," he told Nina.
    
  "Yes, mine too. You have no idea who he was?" she asked.
    
  "He looked like someone I once knew, but I can"t quite put my finger on it," Sam admitted. His words were as halting as the emotions welling up inside him. He ran his fingers through his hair and gently ran a hand over his face before looking back at Nina. "I thought he was going to kill me. He didn"t lunge or anything, but he was mumbling and pushing me, and I got mad. The bastard didn"t bother to say a simple "hello" or anything, so I took it as a fight or thought maybe he was trying to shove me into shit, you know?"
    
  "Makes sense," she agreed, keeping a close eye on the road ahead and behind them. "What did he mutter anyway? It might tell you who he was or why he was there."
    
  Sam recalled the vague incident, but nothing concrete came to mind.
    
  "I have no idea," he replied. "Then again, I'm light years away from any cogent thought right now. Maybe the whiskey washed my memory or something, because what I remember is like a Dali painting in real life. It's just all," he burped and made a dripping gesture with his hands, "smeared and jumbled with too many colors."
    
  "Sounds like most of your birthdays," she remarked, trying not to smile. "Don't worry, love. You'll be able to sleep it all off soon. You'll remember this shit better tomorrow. Besides, there's a good chance Rowan might tell you a little more about your molester, since he's been servicing him all evening."
    
  Sam's drunken head turned to glare at her, then cocked to the side in disbelief. "My molester? God, I'm sure he was gentle, because I don't remember him making advances on me. Also... who the hell is Rowan?"
    
  Nina rolled her eyes. "My God, Sam, you"re a journalist. One would assume you"d know that term has been used for centuries to describe someone who harasses or annoys. It"s not a hard noun like rapist or rapist. And Rowan"s a bartender at Balmoral."
    
  "Oh," Sam sang, his eyelids drooping. "Yeah, yeah, that babbling idiot was driving me crazy. I tell you, I haven't felt this bothered in a long time."
    
  "Okay, okay, cut the sarcasm. Stop being stupid and stay awake. We're almost there," she instructed as they drove around Turnhouse Golf Course.
    
  "Are you staying overnight?" he asked.
    
  "Yes, but you"re going straight to bed, birthday boy," she said sternly.
    
  "I know we exist. And if you come with us, we'll show you what life is like in the Republic of Tartan," he announced, smiling at her in the glow of the passing yellow lights lining the road.
    
  Nina sighed and rolled her eyes. "Talk about seeing ghosts of old acquaintances," she muttered as they turned onto the street where Sam lived. He said nothing. Sam's foggy mind operated on autopilot as he swayed silently around the turns of the car, while distant thoughts continued to push the blurry face of the stranger in the men's room from his memory.
    
  Sam wasn't much of a burden when Nina laid his head on the fluffed pillow in his bedroom. It was a welcome change from his verbose protests, but she knew the evening's sour events, coupled with the embittered Irishman's drinking, must have taken their toll on her friend. He was exhausted, and no matter how tired his body, his mind was fighting against rest. She could see it in the movement of his eyes behind his hooded eyes.
    
  "Sleep well, boy," she whispered. Kissing Sam on the cheek, she pulled the covers up and tucked the edge of his fleece blanket under his shoulder. Faint flickers of light illuminated the half-drawn curtains as Nina turned off Sam's bedside lamp.
    
  Leaving him in a satisfied state of excitement, she headed into the living room, where his beloved cat was lounging on the mantelpiece.
    
  "Hello, Bruich," she whispered, feeling utterly drained. "Want to warm me up tonight?" The cat did nothing more than peek through the slits of his eyelids to examine her intentions before drifting off peacefully to the rumble of thunder over Edinburgh. "No," she shrugged. "I might have accepted your teacher's offer if I'd known you were going to neglect me. You damn males are all the same."
    
  Nina plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV, less for entertainment than for company. Snippets of the night's events flashed through her mind, but she was too tired to rewatch much of it. All she knew was that she'd been unsettled by the sound the virgin had made as he pounded his fists on her car window before Sam drove away. It was like a slow-motion yawn, a terrible, haunting sound she couldn't forget.
    
  Something caught her eye on the screen. It was a park in her hometown of Oban in northwest Scotland. Outside, rain poured down to wash away Sam Cleave's birthday and usher in a new day.
    
  Two o'clock in the morning.
    
  "Oh, we're on the news again," she said, turning up the volume to be heard over the rain. "Although not particularly exciting." The news report was inconsequential, other than the fact that Oban's newly elected mayor was heading to a national meeting of high priority and high confidence. "Confidence, damn it," Nina sneered, lighting a Marlboro. "Just a fancy name for a secret emergency cover-up protocol, you bastards?" With her usual cynicism, Nina tried to understand how a mere mayor could be considered important enough to be invited to such a high-level meeting. It was strange, but Nina's sandy eyes couldn't bear the blue light of the television any longer, and she fell asleep to the sound of the rain and the rambling, fading chatter of the Channel 8 reporter.
    
    
  5
  Another nurse
    
    
  In the morning light streaming through Purdue's window, his wounds looked far less grotesque than they had the previous afternoon when Nurse Madison had cleaned them. He hid his initial shock at the pale blue slits, but he could hardly argue that the work of the doctors at Salisbury Clinic had been top-notch. Considering the devastating damage done to his lower body, deep in the depths of the Lost City, the corrective surgery had been a success.
    
  "It looks better than I thought," he told the nurse as she removed the bandage. "Then again, maybe I'm just healing well?"
    
  The nurse, a young woman whose bedside manner was slightly less personal, smiled uncertainly at him. Purdue realized she didn't share Nurse Madison's sense of humor, but at least she was friendly. She seemed rather uncomfortable around him, but he couldn't understand why. Being who he was, the extroverted billionaire simply asked.
    
  "Are you allergic?" he joked.
    
  "No, Mr. Purdue?" she answered cautiously. "For what?"
    
  "For me," he smiled.
    
  For a brief moment, the old 'cornered deer' look crossed her face, but his smirk soon cleared her confusion. She immediately smiled at him. "Um, no, I'm not like that. They tested me and found that I'm actually immune to you."
    
  "Ha!" he exclaimed, trying to ignore the familiar sting of the stitches on his skin. "You seem reluctant to talk much, so I figured there must be some medical reason."
    
  The nurse took a deep, drawn-out breath before answering him. "It's a personal matter, Mr. Purdue. Please try not to take my rigid professionalism personally. It's just my way. All my patients are dear to me, but I try not to get personally attached to them."
    
  "Bad experience?" he asked.
    
  "Hospice," she replied. "Seeing patients come to the end after I'd grown so close to them was just too much for me."
    
  "I hope to hell you don"t mean I"m about to die," he muttered, his eyes wide.
    
  "No, of course, that's not what I meant," she quickly retracted. "I'm sure it came out wrong. Some of us are just not very social people. I became a nurse to help people, not to join a family, if that's not too snide of me to say."
    
  Purdue understood. "I get it. People think that because I"m rich, a scientific celebrity, and all that, I enjoy joining organizations and meeting important people." He shook his head. "All this time, I just want to work on my inventions and find silent harbingers from history that help clarify some recurring phenomena in our eras, you know? Just because we"re out there somewhere, achieving great victories in those mundane matters that really matter, people automatically assume we"re doing it for the glory."
    
  She nodded, wincing as she removed the last bandage, causing Purdue to catch his breath. "Too true, sir."
    
  "Please, call me David," he groaned as the cold liquid licked the stitched cut on his right quadriceps. His hand instinctively reached for hers, but he stopped it mid-air. "God, this feels terrible. Cold water on dead flesh, you know?"
    
  "I know, I remember when I had rotator cuff surgery," she sympathized. "Don't worry, we're almost done."
    
  A quick knock on the door announced Dr. Patel's visit. He looked tired but in high spirits. "Good morning, merry folks. How are we all doing today?"
    
  The nurse simply smiled, focused on her work. Purdue had to wait for his breathing to return before attempting to respond, but the doctor continued studying the chart without hesitation. His patient studied his face as he read the latest results, reading the blank expression.
    
  "What"s the matter, Doctor?" Perdue frowned. "I think my wounds are looking better now, right?"
    
  "Don't overthink it, David," Dr. Patel chuckled. "You're fine, and everything looks fine. I just had a long, overnight surgery that pretty much drained everything out of me."
    
  "Did the patient pull through?" Purdue joked, hoping he wasn't being too insensitive.
    
  Dr. Patel gave him a mocking, amused look. "No, actually, she died from a desperate need to have breasts bigger than her husband's mistress." Before Purdue could figure it out, the doctor sighed. "The silicone seeped into the tissue because some of my patients," he looked warningly at Purdue, "don't comply with follow-up treatments and end up worse for wear."
    
  "Subtle," Perdue said. "But I didn't do anything to jeopardize your job."
    
  "Good man," Dr. Patel said. "So, today we'll start laser treatment, just to loosen up most of the hard tissue around the incisions and relieve some of the nerve tension."
    
  The nurse left the room for a moment to allow the doctor to talk to Purdue.
    
  "We're using IR425," Dr. Patel boasted, and rightly so. Purdue had invented the rudimentary technology and produced the first line of therapeutic instruments. Now it was time for the creator to profit from his own work, and Purdue was thrilled to see its effectiveness firsthand. Dr. Patel smiled proudly. "The latest prototype has exceeded our expectations, David. Perhaps you should use your brain to push Britain forward in the medical device industry."
    
  Perdue laughed. "If I only had the time, my dear friend, I would rise to the challenge. Unfortunately, there's too much to unpack."
    
  Dr. Patel suddenly looked more serious and concerned. "Like the venomous boa constrictors created by the Nazis?"
    
  He intended to impress with this statement, and judging by Purdue's reaction, he succeeded. His stubborn patient paled slightly at the memory of the monstrous snake that had half-swallowed him before Sam Cleave rescued him. Dr. Patel paused to allow Purdue to revel in the horrific memory, to ensure he still understood how lucky he was to be able to breathe.
    
  "Don"t take anything for granted, that"s all I"m saying," the doctor advised gently. "Look, I understand your free spirit and that innate desire for exploration, David. Just try to keep things in perspective. I"ve been working with you and for you for some time now, and I must say, your reckless pursuit of adventure... or knowledge... is admirable. All I ask is that you embrace your mortality. Geniuses like yours are rare enough in this world. People like you are pioneers, forerunners of progress. Please... don"t die."
    
  Perdue couldn't help but smile at this. "Weapons are as important as the tools that heal wounds, Harun. It may not seem so to some in the medical world, but we can't face the enemy unarmed."
    
  "Well, if there were no weapons in the world, we would never have had any fatalities to begin with, and no enemies trying to kill us," Dr. Patel countered somewhat indifferently.
    
  "This discussion will be deadlocked within minutes, and you know it," Perdue promised. "Without destruction and mayhem, you wouldn't have a job, you old cock."
    
  "Doctors perform a wide range of functions; not just healing wounds and extracting bullets, David. There will always be births, heart attacks, appendicitis, and so on, which will allow us to work, even without wars and secret arsenals in the world," the doctor retorted, but Perdue reinforced his argument with a simple answer. "And there will always be threats to the innocent, even without wars and secret arsenals. Better to possess military valor in peacetime than to face enslavement and extinction because of your nobility, Harun."
    
  The doctor exhaled and placed his hands on his hips. "I understand, yes. We"ve reached a dead end."
    
  Purdue didn't want to continue on that somber note anyway, so he changed the subject to what he wanted to ask the plastic surgeon. "Tell me, Harun, what does this nurse do then?"
    
  "What do you mean?" Dr. Patel asked, carefully examining Purdue"s scars.
    
  "She's very uncomfortable around me, but I don't believe she's just an introvert," Perdue explained curiously. "There's something more to her interactions."
    
  "I know," Dr. Patel muttered, lifting Purdue's leg to examine the opposite wound, which ran above the knee on the inside of the calf. "My God, this is the worst cut ever. You know, I spent hours grafting on this."
    
  "Very good. The work is amazing. So, what do you mean, "you know"? Did she say something?" he asked the doctor. "Who is she?"
    
  Dr. Patel looked a little annoyed by the constant interruptions. Nevertheless, he decided to tell Purdue what he wanted to know, if only to prevent the researcher from acting like a lovelorn schoolboy in need of reassurance after being dumped.
    
  "Lilith Hearst. She's into you, David, but not in the way you think. That's all. But please, for heaven's sake, don't pursue a woman half your age, even if it's fashionable," he advised. "It's not as cool as it sounds. I find it quite sad."
    
  "I never said I'd pursue her, old man," Purdue breathed. "Her manners were just unusual to me."
    
  "She was apparently a true scientist, but she became involved with a colleague, and they eventually married. From what Nurse Madison told me, the couple was always jokingly compared to Madame Curie and her husband," Dr. Patel explained.
    
  "So what does this have to do with me?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Her husband developed multiple sclerosis three years into their marriage, and his condition rapidly worsened, leaving her unable to continue her studies. She had to abandon her program and her research to spend more time with him until he died in 2015," Dr. Patel said. "And you were always her husband's greatest inspiration, both in science and technology. Let's just say he was a great admirer of your work and always wanted to meet you."
    
  "Then why didn't they contact me to meet him? I would have been happy to meet him, even just to cheer this man up a little," Perdue lamented.
    
  Patel's dark eyes pierced Purdue as he replied, "We tried to contact you, but you were chasing some Greek relic at the time. Philip Hearst died shortly before you returned to the modern world."
    
  "Oh my God, I'm so sorry to hear this," Perdue said. "No wonder she's a little frigid around me."
    
  The doctor could see his patient's genuine pity and a hint of a budding sense of guilt toward a stranger he might have known, whose behavior he could have improved. In turn, Dr. Patel felt sorry for Purdue and tried to allay his concerns with words of comfort. "It doesn't matter, David. Philip knew you were a busy man. Besides, he didn't even know his wife had tried to contact you. No matter, it was all water under the bridge. He couldn't be disappointed by what he didn't know."
    
  It helped. Perdue nodded: "I suppose you"re right, old man. However, I need to be more accessible. I"m afraid I"ll be a little out of sorts after the New Zealand trip, both mentally and physically."
    
  "Wow," said Dr. Patel, "I"m glad to hear you say that. Given your career success and your tenacity, I was afraid to suggest they both take a time out. Now you"ve done it for me. Please, David, take a moment. You may not think so, but beneath your stern exterior, you still possess a very human spirit. Human souls are prone to cracking, curling, or even breaking if they"ve formed the right impression of something terrible. Your psyche needs as much rest as your flesh."
    
  "I know," Perdue admitted. His doctor had no idea that Perdue's tenacity had already helped him skillfully conceal what was haunting him. Behind the billionaire's smile lay a terrible fragility that would emerge whenever he drifted off to sleep.
    
    
  6
  Apostate
    
    
    
  Collection of the Academy of Physics, Bruges, Belgium
    
    
  At 10:30 pm the meeting of scientists closed.
    
  "Good night, Kasper," exclaimed the rector from Rotterdam, visiting us on behalf of the Dutch university Allegiance. She waved to the frivolous man she addressed before getting into a taxi. He waved back modestly, grateful that she hadn't approached him about his dissertation-The Einstein Report-which he had submitted a month earlier. He wasn't a man who reveled in attention unless it came from those who could enlighten him on his field of expertise. And these, admittedly, were few and far between.
    
  For a time, Dr. Casper Jacobs headed the Belgian Association for Physical Research, a secret branch of the Order of the Black Sun in Bruges. The academic department, under the Ministry of Science Policy, collaborated closely with the clandestine organization, which had infiltrated the most influential financial and medical institutions across Europe and Asia. Their research and experiments were funded by many leading global institutions, while senior board members enjoyed complete freedom of action and numerous perks beyond mere commercial considerations.
    
  Protection was paramount, as was trust, between the Order's key players and Europe's politicians and financiers. Several government organizations and private institutions wealthy enough to collaborate with the devious but declined membership offers. These organizations were thus fair game in the hunt for a global monopoly on scientific advancement and monetary annexation.
    
  Thus, the Order of the Black Sun perpetuated its relentless pursuit of world domination. By enlisting the aid and loyalty of those greedy enough to renounce power and integrity for selfish gain, they secured positions of power. Corruption was so pervasive that even honest gunslingers were unaware that they were no longer servicing dishonest deals.
    
  On the other hand, some crooked shooters really wanted to shoot straight. Kasper pressed the button on his remote control and listened to the beep. For a moment, the tiny lights of his car flashed, propelling him to freedom. After dealing with brilliant criminals and unsuspecting scientific prodigies, the physicist desperately wanted to get home and tackle the more important problem of the evening.
    
  "Your performance was magnificent as always, Casper," he heard from two cars in the parking lot. Within obvious earshot, it would have been very strange to pretend to ignore the loud voice. Casper sighed. He should have reacted, so he turned around with a full charade of cordiality and smiled. He was saddened to see that it was Clifton Taft, the insanely wealthy magnate of Chicago high society.
    
  "Thank you, Cliff," Casper replied politely. He'd never thought he'd have to deal with Taft again, after the ignominious termination of Casper's contract with Taft's Unified Field project. So, it was a bit jarring to see the arrogant entrepreneur again, after he'd flatly called Taft a baboon with a gold ring before storming out of Taft's chemistry lab in Washington, D.C., two years earlier.
    
  Casper was a shy man, but he was by no means self-aware. Exploiters like the magnate disgusted him, using their wealth to buy prodigies desperate for recognition under a promising slogan, only to claim credit for their genius. As for Dr. Jacobs, people like Taft had no business in science or engineering except to exploit what real scientists had created. According to Casper, Clifton Taft was a moneyed ape with no talent of his own.
    
  Taft shook his hand and grinned like a perverted priest. "It's good to see you're still making progress every year. I read some of your latest hypotheses about interdimensional portals and possible equations that could prove the theory once and for all."
    
  "Oh, you did it?" Casper asked, opening his car door to show his haste. "You know, this was gleaned from Zelda Bessler, so if you want some of it, you'll have to convince her to share." There was justified bitterness in Casper's voice. Zelda Bessler was the chief physicist at the Bruges branch of the Order, and while she was almost as smart as Jacobs, she rarely got to conduct her own research. Her game was to sideline other scientists and intimidate them into believing the work was hers, simply because she had more influence among the bigwigs.
    
  "I heard, but I thought you'd fight harder to keep your license, man," Cliff drawled in his annoying accent, making sure his condescension was audible to everyone around them in the parking lot. "Way to let a damn woman take your research. I mean, God, where are your balls?"
    
  Casper saw the others exchanging glances or nudging each other as they headed to their cars, limousines, and taxis. He fantasized about momentarily putting his brain aside and using his body to trample the life out of Taft and knock out his enormous teeth. "My balls are in perfect condition, Cliff," he replied calmly. "Some research requires real scientific intellect to apply. Reading fancy phrases and writing constants in sequence with variables isn't enough to turn theory into practice. But I'm sure a scientist as strong as Zelda Bessler knows that."
    
  Casper was enjoying a feeling he wasn't familiar with. Apparently, it was called schadenfreude, and he rarely managed to kick a bully's proverbial balls like he had just done. He glanced at his watch, relishing the astonished glances he was giving the idiot magnate, and apologized in the same confident tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Clifton, I have a date."
    
  Of course, he lied through his teeth. On the other hand, he didn't specify who or even what he was on a date with.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  After reprimanding the boastful idiot with the bad haircut, Casper drove down the bumpy eastbound parking lot. He simply wanted to avoid the line of luxury limousines and Bentleys leaving the hall, but after his well-aimed remark before Taft's farewell, that certainly seemed arrogant too. Dr. Casper Jacobs was a mature and innovative physicist, among other things, but he was always too modest about his work and dedication.
    
  The Order of the Black Sun held him in high esteem. Over the years of working on their special projects, he realized that the organization's members were always willing to provide a service and cover their own backs. Their devotion, as well as to the Order itself, was unparalleled; it was something Casper Jacobs always admired. When he drank and philosophized, he thought about this a lot and came to one conclusion: if only people could care so deeply about the shared goals of their schools, social welfare systems, and healthcare, the world would prosper.
    
  He found it amusing that a group of Nazi ideologists could be a model of decency and progress in the social paradigm today. Given the state of global disinformation and the propaganda of decency that enslaved morality and stifled individual consideration, Jacobs understood this.
    
  The highway lights flickering in time with the windshield plunged his thoughts into the dogmas of revolution. According to Kasper, the Order would easily succeed in overthrowing regimes if only civilians didn't view their representatives as objects of power, throwing their fates into the abyss of liars, charlatans, and capitalist monsters. Monarchs, presidents, and prime ministers held the destinies of the people in their hands, when such a thing should be an abomination, Kasper believed. Unfortunately, there was no other way to rule successfully except by deceiving and sowing fear among one's own people. He lamented the fact that the world's population would never be free. Even thinking about alternatives to the single, dominant entity in the world was becoming absurd.
    
  Turning off the Ghent-Bruges canal, he soon passed Assebroek Cemetery, where both his parents were buried. A female TV presenter announced on the radio that it was 11 PM, and Kasper felt a relief he hadn't felt in a long time. He compared it to the joy of waking up late for school and realizing it was Saturday-and it was.
    
  "Thank God, I can sleep a little later tomorrow," he smiled.
    
  Life had been hectic since he'd taken on a new project, led by that academic equivalent of a cuckoo, Dr. Zelda Bessler. She oversaw a top-secret program known only to a few members of the Order, save for the author of the original formulas, Dr. Casper Jacobs himself.
    
  A pacifist genius, he always brushed off her claiming credit for his work under the guise of cooperation and teamwork "for the good of Order," as she put it. But lately, he'd begun to feel increasingly resentful of his colleagues for excluding him from their ranks, especially considering that the tangible theories he'd advanced would have been worth a fortune in any other institution-money he could have had at his disposal. Instead, he'd been forced to settle for a fraction of the cost, while the Order's alumni, who offered the highest wages, were favored in the payroll department. And they all lived comfortably off his hypotheses and his hard work.
    
  As he stopped in front of his apartment in the gated community on a dead-end street, Kasper felt a wave of nausea. He'd spent so long avoiding his inner antipathy in the name of his research, but today's reacquaintance with Taft had reinvigorated the hostility. It was such an unpleasant subject, clouding his mind, yet it refused to be suppressed.
    
  He skipped up the steps to the granite landing that led to the front door of his private apartment. The lights were on in the main building, but he always moved quietly so as not to disturb the landlord. Compared to his colleagues, Casper Jacobs led a remarkably secluded and modest life. Except for those who stole his work and profited from it, his less intrusive partners also earned quite a decent living. By average standards, Dr. Jacobs was comfortable, but by no means wealthy.
    
  The door creaked open, and the scent of cinnamon hit him, stopping him mid-stride in the darkness. Casper smiled and turned on the light, confirming his landlord's mother's secret delivery.
    
  "Karen, you're spoiling me terribly," he said to the empty kitchen, heading straight for the baking sheet full of raisin buns. He quickly grabbed two soft buns and popped them into his mouth as fast as he could chew. He sat down at the computer and logged in, swallowing mouthfuls of the delicious raisin bread.
    
  Casper checked his email, then flipped to the latest news on Nerd Porn, an underground science website he was a member of. Suddenly, Casper felt better after a crappy evening when he saw a familiar logo, using symbols from chemical equations to create the website's name.
    
  Something caught his eye on the 'Recent' tab. He leaned forward to make sure he was reading it correctly. "You're a fucking idiot," he whispered, looking at a photo of David Perdue with the subject line:
    
  "Dave Perdue has found the Terrible Serpent!"
    
  "You're a fucking idiot," Casper breathed. "If he puts that equation into practice, we're all screwed."
    
    
  7
  The day after
    
    
  When Sam woke up, he wished he had a brain at all. Accustomed to hangovers, he knew the consequences of drinking on his birthday, but this was a special kind of hell, smoldering inside his skull. He stumbled out into the hallway, each step echoing in the back of his eye sockets.
    
  "Oh, God, just kill me," he muttered, painfully wiping his eyes, clad only in his robe. The floor beneath his feet felt like a hockey rink, while a cold gust of wind under his door warned of another frigid day on the other side. The TV was still on, but Nina was gone, and his cat, Bruichladdich, chose this inconvenient moment to start whining for food.
    
  "Damn, my head," Sam complained, clutching his forehead. He sauntered into the kitchen for a strong black coffee and two Anadins, as was customary in his days as a hardened newspaperman. The fact that it was the weekend didn't matter to Sam. Whether it was investigative reporting, authoring, or going on excursions with Dave Purdue, Sam never had a weekend, a holiday, or a day off. Every day was the same for him, and he counted his days by the deadlines and obligations in his diary.
    
  After feeding the large ginger cat a can of fish porridge, Sam tried not to choke. The terrible smell of dead fish wasn't the best thing to suffer from, given his condition. He quickly soothed the agony with hot coffee in the living room. Nina left a note:
    
    
  Hope you have mouthwash and a strong stomach. I showed you something interesting about the ghost train on the global news this morning. Too good to miss. I have to get back to Oban for a college lecture. Hope you survive the Irish flu this morning. Good luck!
    
  - Nina
    
    
  "Ha-ha, very funny," he groaned, washing down Anadine's pastries with a mouthful of coffee. Satisfied, Bruich appeared in the kitchen. He took his place on the empty chair and began joyfully tidying himself up. Sam was outraged by his cat's carefree happiness, not to mention the complete lack of discomfort Bruich enjoyed. "Oh, get lost," Sam said.
    
  He was curious about Nina's news recording, but he didn't think her warning about a bad stomach was welcome. Not with this hangover. In a quick tug-of-war, his curiosity won out over his illness, and he played the recording she'd referred to. Outside, the wind was bringing even more rain, so Sam had to turn up the volume on the TV.
    
  In the segment, a journalist reported on the mysterious deaths of two young people in the town of Molodechno, near Minsk, Belarus. A woman wearing a thick coat stood on the dilapidated platform of what appeared to be an old train station. She warned viewers about the graphic scenes before the camera panned to the smeared remains on the old, rusty rails.
    
  "What the fuck?" Sam mouthed, frowning as he tried to process what had just happened.
    
  "The young men apparently crossed the tracks here," the reporter pointed to a plastic-covered red mess just below the edge of the platform. "According to the sole survivor, whose identity authorities are still concealing, two of his friends were struck... by a ghost train."
    
  "I'd have thought so," Sam muttered, reaching for the bag of chips Nina had forgotten to finish. He wasn't much of a believer in superstitions and ghosts, but what prompted him to take such a turn was the fact that the tracks were clearly inoperable. Ignoring the obvious bloodshed and tragedy, as he'd been trained to do, Sam noticed sections of track were missing. Other camera shots showed severe corrosion on the rails, making it impossible for any train to travel on them.
    
  Sam paused the frame to examine the background closely. In addition to the intense growth of foliage and shrubs on the tracks, there were signs of burning on the surface of the drop-off wall adjacent to the railway. It looked fresh, but he couldn't be sure. Not particularly knowledgeable in science or physics, Sam had a gut feeling that the black burn mark was caused by something that used intense heat to generate enough force to turn two people into pulp.
    
  Sam replayed the report several times, considering every possibility. It overwhelmed his brain to such an extent that he forgot about the terrible migraine the alcohol gods had blessed him with. In fact, he was used to experiencing severe headaches while working on complex crimes and similar mysteries, so he chose to believe his hangover was simply the result of his mind working hard to unravel the circumstances and causes of this gripping incident.
    
  "Purdue, I hope you're up and recovering, my friend," Sam smiled as he enlarged the stain that had charred half the wall with a matte-black coating. "Because I have something for you, buddy."
    
  Purdue would have been the ideal person to ask about something like this, but Sam vowed not to disturb the genius billionaire until he had fully recovered from his surgeries and felt ready to communicate again. On the other hand, Sam felt compelled to visit Purdue to see how he was doing. He had been in intensive care in Wellington and two other hospitals since returning to Scotland two weeks later.
    
  It was time for Sam to go say hello, even just to cheer Perdue up. For such an active man, suddenly being bedridden for so long must have been somewhat depressing. Perdue was the most active mind and body Sam had ever encountered, and he couldn't imagine the billionaire's frustration at being forced to spend every day in hospitals, following orders, and being cooped up.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Sam contacted Jane, Purdue's personal assistant, to find out the address of the private clinic he was staying at. He hurriedly scribbled directions on a white sheet of the Edinburgh Post he'd just bought before his trip and thanked her for her help. Sam dodged the rain streaming through his car window, and only then did he begin to wonder how Nina had gotten home.
    
  A quick call would be enough, Sam thought, and called Nina. The call kept repeating without an answer, so he tried sending a text, hoping she'd answer as soon as she turned on her phone. Sipping a takeout coffee from a roadside diner, Sam noticed something unusual on the front page of the Post. It wasn't a headline, but a small headline tacked on to the bottom corner, just big enough to fill the front page without being too overbearing.
    
  World summit in an unknown location?
    
  The article didn't provide many details, but it did raise questions about the sudden agreement among Scottish councils and their representatives to attend a meeting at an undisclosed location. To Sam, this didn't seem particularly unusual, except for the fact that Oban's new mayor, the Rt. Lance McFadden, was also described as representative.
    
  "Punching a little above your weight, MacFadden?" Sam teased under his breath, finishing the rest of his cold drink. "You should be so important. If you wanted to," he chuckled, tossing the newspaper aside.
    
  He knew McFadden from his relentless campaigning over the past few months. Most people in Oban considered McFadden a fascist masquerading as a liberal-minded modern governor-a "people's mayor," if you will. Nina called him a bully, and Perdue knew him from a joint venture in Washington, D.C., around 1996, when they collaborated on a failed experiment involving intradimensional transformation and the theory of fundamental particle acceleration. Neither Perdue nor Nina ever expected this arrogant bastard to win the mayoral election, but in the end, everyone knew it was because he had more money than his rival candidate.
    
  Nina mentioned that she wondered where this large sum had come from, since McFadden had never been a wealthy man. He'd even approached Perdue himself some time ago for financial assistance, but of course Perdue had turned him down. He must have found some idiot who couldn't see through him to support his campaign, otherwise he never would have made it to this pleasant, unremarkable town.
    
  At the end of the last sentence, Sam noted that the article was written by Aidan Glaston, a senior journalist at the political desk.
    
  "No way, old dog," Sam chuckled. "You still writing about all this crap after all these years, buddy?" Sam remembered working on two exposés with Aidan a few years before that fateful first expedition with Perdue that had turned him off newspaper journalism. He was surprised the fifty-something journalist hadn't already retired to something more dignified, perhaps as a political consultant on a television show or something.
    
  A message arrived on Sam's phone.
    
  "Nina!" he exclaimed, grabbing his old Nokia to read her message. His eyes scanned the name on the screen. "Not Nina."
    
  In fact, it was a message from Purdue, imploring Sam to bring a video recording of the Lost City expedition to Raichtisusis, Purdue's historic residence. Sam frowned at the strange message. How could Purdue have asked him to meet in Raichtisusis if he was still in the hospital? After all, hadn't Sam contacted Jane less than an hour earlier to get the address of a private clinic in Salisbury?
    
  He decided to call Perdue to make sure he actually had his cell phone and that he had actually placed the call. Perdue answered almost immediately.
    
  "Sam, did you get my message?" he started the conversation.
    
  "Yes, but I thought you were in the hospital," Sam explained.
    
  "Yes," Perdue replied, "but I"m being discharged this afternoon. So, can you do what I asked?"
    
  Assuming there was someone in the room with Purdue, Sam readily agreed to what Purdue asked. "Let me just go home and pick this up, and I"ll meet you at your place later this evening, okay?"
    
  "Perfect," Perdue replied and hung up unceremoniously. It took Sam a moment to process the sudden disconnection before starting his car to return home to retrieve the expedition's video footage. He recalled Perdue asking him to photograph, in particular, a massive painting on the great wall beneath the Nazi scientist's home in Neckenhall, a sinister tract of land in New Zealand.
    
  They learned it was known as the Terrible Serpent, but as for its exact meaning, Perdue, Sam, and Nina had no idea. As for Perdue, it was a powerful equation, for which there was no explanation... yet.
    
  This was what kept him from spending his time in the hospital recovering and resting-he was, in fact, haunted day and night by the mystery of the Terrible Serpent's origin. He needed Sam to obtain a detailed image so he could copy it into the program and analyze the nature of its mathematical evil.
    
  Sam wasn't in a hurry. He still had a few hours before lunch, so he decided to grab some Chinese takeout and a beer while he waited at home. This would give him time to review the footage and see if there was anything specific that might interest Purdue. As Sam pulled his car into the driveway, he noticed someone darkening his doorstep. Not wanting to act like a true Scotsman and simply confront the stranger, he turned off the engine and waited to see what the shady fellow wanted.
    
  The man fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, but then turned and looked straight at Sam.
    
  "Jesus Christ!" Sam howled in his car. "It's a fucking virgin!"
    
    
  8
  Face under a felt hat
    
    
  Sam's hand dropped to his side, where he'd hidden his Beretta. At that moment, the stranger began screaming madly again, racing down the stairs toward Sam's car. Sam started the car and shifted into reverse before the man could reach him. His tires licked hot, black marks on the asphalt as he accelerated backward, out of reach of the madman with the broken nose.
    
  In the rearview mirror, Sam saw the stranger waste no time in jumping into his car, a dark blue Taurus that looked far more civilized and rugged than its owner.
    
  "Are you fucking serious? For God's sake! Are you actually going to follow me?" Sam cried out in disbelief. He was right, and he put his foot down. It would be a mistake to head out onto the open road, as his little jalopy would never be able to out-torque a six-cylinder Taurus, so he headed straight for the old abandoned high school grounds a few blocks from his apartment.
    
  It wasn't even a moment before he saw a blue car spinning in his side mirror. Sam was worried about pedestrians. It would be a while before the road became less crowded, and he was afraid someone might step out in front of his charging car. Adrenaline pumped through his heart, and the worst feeling remained in his stomach, but he had to outrun this maniacal stalker at any cost. He knew him from somewhere, though he couldn't quite place it, and given Sam's career, it was highly likely that his many enemies were now nothing more than vaguely familiar faces.
    
  Due to the shifting clouds, Sam had to turn on the windshield wipers on his heaviest windshield to ensure he could see people under umbrellas and anyone reckless enough to run across the road in the pouring rain. Many people couldn't see the two speeding cars heading their way, their views obscured by the hoods of their coats, while others simply assumed the vehicles would stop at the intersections. They were wrong, and it nearly cost them dearly.
    
  Two women screamed as Sam's left headlight narrowly missed them as they crossed the street. Speeding across the gleaming asphalt and concrete road, Sam flashed his headlights and honked his horn. The blue Taurus did nothing of the sort. The pursuer was interested in only one thing: Sam Cleve. Around a sharp turn onto Stanton Road, Sam slammed on the handbrake, sending the car skidding into the corner. It was a trick he knew from his familiarity with the surrounding area, something the virgin did not. The Taurus squealed, careening wildly from sidewalk to sidewalk. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see bright sparks from the impact of concrete pavement and aluminum hubcaps, but the Taurus remained stable once he got the swerve under control.
    
  "Damn! Damn! Damn!" Sam chuckled, sweating profusely under his thick sweater. There was no other way to get rid of the madman hot on his heels. Shooting wasn't an option. By his count, too many pedestrians and other vehicles were using the road as a bullet-traffic route.
    
  Finally, the old schoolyard came into view to his left. Sam turned to break through what remained of the diamond chain-link fence. This would be easy. The rusty, torn fence barely held onto the corner post, leaving a weak spot many a drifter had discovered long before. "Yeah, that's more like it!" he yelled, speeding straight onto the sidewalk. "That should be something to worry you about, you bastard?"
    
  Laughing defiantly, Sam swerved sharply to the left, bracing himself for the impact of his poor car's front bumper hitting the pavement. No matter how prepared he thought he was, the impact was ten times worse. His neck snapped forward with a crunching fender. Meanwhile, a short rib was brutally driven into his pelvic bone-or so it seemed before he continued to struggle. Sam's old Ford scraped horribly against the rusty edge of the fence, digging into the paint like a tiger's claws.
    
  Head down, eyes peering under the steering wheel, Sam steered the car onto the cracked surface of what had once been tennis courts. Now, the flat expanse was left with only the remnants of demarcation and design, with tufts of grass and wild plants poking through. The Taurus roared into it just as Sam ran out of surface to go on. A low cement wall lay before his speeding, curved car.
    
  "Oh, shit!" he screamed, gritting his teeth.
    
  A small, crumbling wall led to a steep drop on the other side. Beyond that, the old S3 classrooms, made of sharp red brick, loomed. A sudden stop that would surely have ended Sam's life. He had no choice but to slam on the handbrake again, though it was already a little too late. The Taurus lunged at Sam's car as if there was a whole mile of runway to play with. With tremendous force, the Ford practically spun on two wheels.
    
  The rain had impaired Sam's vision. His stunt over the fence had disabled his windshield wipers, leaving only the left blade working-useless for a right-hand drive driver. Still, he hoped his uncontrolled turn would slow his vehicle enough to avoid crashing into the classroom building. This was his immediate concern, given the Taurus passenger's intentions as his closest assistant. Centrifugal force was a terrible state to be in. Even though the motion had made Sam vomit, its impact was just as effective in keeping it all down.
    
  The clanking of metal, followed by a sudden, jerking stop, made Sam jump out of his seat. Luckily for him, his body didn't fly through the windshield, but instead landed on the gearshift lever and most of the passenger seat after the car stopped spinning.
    
  The only sounds in Sam's ears were the pounding rain and the tinny clicking of the cooling engine. His ribs and neck ached terribly, but he was okay. A deep breath escaped him as he realized he wasn't all that badly hurt after all. But suddenly, he remembered why he'd gotten himself into this mess in the first place. Lowering his head to feign death for his pursuer, Sam felt a warm trickle of blood flow from his arm. The skin was torn just below his elbow, where his hand had struck the open ashtray between the seats.
    
  He could hear clumsy footsteps splashing through puddles of wet cement. He was terrified of the stranger's mutterings, but the man's hideous screams sent shivers down his spine. Fortunately, he was only muttering now, as his target wasn't running away from him. Sam concluded that the man's terrifying screams only sounded when someone was running away from him. It was eerie, to say the least, and Sam didn't move, trying to deceive his strange pursuer.
    
  Come a little closer, motherfucker, Sam thought, his heart pounding in his ears like the thunder overhead. His fingers tightened around the handle of his gun. As much as he'd hoped that feigning death would deter the stranger from bothering or hurting him, the man simply yanked open Sam's door. Just a little closer, his victim's inner voice instructed Sam, so I can blow your fucking brains out. No one will even hear it out here in the rain.
    
  "Pretend," the man at the door said, inadvertently denying Sam's desire to close the distance between them. "Sh-sham."
    
  Either the madman had a speech impediment or was mentally retarded, which could explain his erratic behavior. Briefly, a recent report on Channel 8 flashed through Sam's mind. He remembered hearing about a patient who had escaped from the Broadmoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane, and he wondered if this could be the same person. However, this inquiry was immediately followed by a question about whether the name Sam was familiar to him.
    
  In the distance, Sam could hear police sirens. One of the local business owners must have called the authorities when the car chase broke out in their neighborhood. He felt relieved. This would undoubtedly seal the stalker's fate, and he would be rid of the threat once and for all. At first, Sam thought it was just a one-time misunderstanding, like those that often occur in pubs on Saturday nights. However, this creepy man's persistence made him more than just a coincidence in Sam's life.
    
  They grew louder and louder, but the man's presence remained undeniable. To Sam's surprise and disgust, the man darted under the roof of the car and grabbed the motionless journalist, effortlessly lifting him. Suddenly, Sam dropped his charade, but he couldn't reach his gun in time, and it was thrown aside as well.
    
  "What in the name of all that's holy are you doing, you mindless bastard?" Sam screamed angrily, trying to pull the man's hands away. It was in such a cramped space that he finally saw the maniac's face in broad daylight. Beneath his fedora hid a face that would have made demons recoil, a similar terror from his disturbing speech, but up close he seemed perfectly normal. Above all, the stranger's terrible strength convinced Sam not to resist this time.
    
  He threw Sam into the passenger seat of his car. Naturally, Sam tried to open the door from the other side to escape, but the entire lock and handle panel were missing. By the time Sam turned to try to exit through the driver's seat, his captor was already starting the engine.
    
  "Hold on tight," was what Sam interpreted as the man's command. His mouth was just a slit in the charred skin of his face. It was then that Sam realized his captor wasn't crazy, nor had he crawled out of a black lagoon. He was mutilated, leaving him practically speechless and forced to wear a trench coat and a fedora.
    
  "My God, he reminds me of Darkman," Sam thought, watching the man skillfully operate the Blue Torque Machine. It had been years since Sam had read graphic novels or anything like that, but he remembered the character vividly. As they left the scene, Sam mourned the loss of his vehicle, even if it was a piece of crap from the old days. Besides, before Purdue got his hands on his cell phone, it, too, had been a Nokia BC antique and couldn't do much besides send text messages and make quick calls.
    
  "Oh, shit! Purdue!" he exclaimed casually, remembering he was supposed to pick up the footage and meet the billionaire later that evening. His captor simply looked at him between evasive movements to escape Edinburgh"s densely populated areas. "Look, man, if you"re going to kill me, do it. Otherwise, let me out. I have a very urgent meeting, and I really don"t care what kind of attraction you have to me."
    
  "Don't flatter yourself," the burnt-faced man chuckled, driving like a well-trained Hollywood stuntman. His words were heavily slurred, and his s mostly sounded like "sh," but Sam found that a little time in his company had allowed his ear to adjust to the clear diction.
    
  The Taurus jumped over the raised road signs painted yellow along the road where they exited the ramp onto the highway. There had been no police cars in their path so far. They hadn't arrived yet when the man led Sam away from the parking lot, and they weren't sure where to begin their pursuit.
    
  "Where are we going?" Sam asked, his initial panic slowly turning to disappointment.
    
  "A place to talk," the man replied.
    
  "Oh my God, you look so familiar," Sam muttered.
    
  "How could you possibly know?" the kidnapper asked sarcastically. It was clear his disability hadn't affected his attitude, making him one of those types-the type who doesn't care about limitations. Effective ally. Deadly enemy.
    
    
  9
  Coming Home with Purdue
    
    
  "I'm going to put this on record as a very bad idea," Dr. Patel groaned, reluctantly discharging his reluctant patient. "I don't have a specific justification for keeping you locked up at this point, David, but I'm not sure you're fit to go home yet."
    
  "Noted," Perdue smiled, leaning on his new cane. "Anyway, old man, I'll try not to aggravate my cuts and stitches. Besides, I've arranged for home care twice a week until our next appointment."
    
  "You did? That actually makes me feel a little relieved," Dr. Patel admitted. "What medical treatments do you use?"
    
  Purdue's mischievous smile aroused some unease in the surgeon. "I've been using Nurse Hurst's services privately, outside of her regular office hours, so this shouldn't interfere with her work at all. Twice a week. One hour for assessment and treatment. What do you think?"
    
  Dr. Patel fell silent, stunned. "Damn it, David, you really can"t let any secret slip through your fingers, can you?"
    
  "Look, I feel terrible that I wasn't there when her husband could have used my inspiration, even just from a morale standpoint. The least I can do is try to somehow compensate for my absence back then."
    
  The surgeon sighed and placed a hand on Purdue's shoulder, leaning in to gently remind him, "This won't save anything, you know. The man is dead and gone. Nothing good you try to do now will bring him back or satisfy his dreams."
    
  "I know, I know, it makes little sense, but whatever, Harun, let me do it. At least meeting Nurse Hurst will ease my conscience a little. Please, let me do it," Perdue pleaded. Dr. Patel couldn't argue that it was psychologically feasible. He had to admit that every bit of mental comfort Perdue could provide could help him recover from his all-too-recent ordeal. There was no doubt his wounds would heal almost as well as they had before the attack, but Perdue needed to keep his mind occupied at all costs.
    
  "Don't worry, David," Dr. Patel replied. "Believe it or not, I completely understand what you're trying to do. And I'm with you, my friend. Do what you feel is redemptive and corrective. It can only benefit you."
    
  "Thank you," Perdue smiled, genuinely pleased with his doctor's agreement. A brief moment of awkward silence passed between the end of the conversation and Nurse Hurst's arrival from the locker room.
    
  "Sorry it took me so long, Mr. Purdue," she exhaled quickly. "I was having a little trouble with my stockings, if you must know."
    
  Dr. Patel pouted and suppressed his amusement at her statement, but Purdue, ever the polite gentleman, immediately changed the subject to spare her further embarrassment. "Then perhaps we should go? I'm expecting someone soon."
    
  "Are you leaving together?" Dr. Patel asked quickly, looking taken aback.
    
  "Yes, Doctor," the nurse explained. "I offered to drive Mr. Purdue home on the way home. I thought it would be an opportunity to find the best route to his estate. I've never climbed that way before, so I can memorize the route now."
    
  "Ah, I see," Harun Patel replied, though his expression betrayed suspicion. He still held the opinion that David Purdue needed more than Lilith's medical expertise, but alas, that was none of his business.
    
  Perdue arrived in Reichtisusis later than he expected. Lilith Hearst insisted they stop to fill up her car first, which delayed them a bit, but they still made it in good time. Inside, Perdue felt like a child on his birthday morning. He couldn't wait to get home, expecting Sam to be waiting for him with the prize he'd been coveting ever since they'd gotten lost in the hellish labyrinth of the Lost City.
    
  "Good heavens, Mr. Purdue, what a place you have here!" Lilith exclaimed, her mouth hanging open as she leaned forward on the steering wheel to gaze at the majestic gates of Reichtischusis. "This is amazing! My God, I can't imagine your electric bill."
    
  Perdue laughed heartily at her frankness. Her seemingly modest lifestyle was a welcome change from the company of wealthy landowners, tycoons, and politicians he was accustomed to.
    
  "That"s pretty cool," he played along.
    
  Lilith's eyes widened at him. "Of course. As if someone like you could know what cool is. I bet nothing's too much for your wallet." She immediately realized what she was hinting at and gasped. "Oh, my God. Mr. Purdue, I apologize! I'm depressed. I tend to speak my mind..."
    
  "It's okay, Lilith," he laughed. "Please don't apologize for it. I find it refreshing. I'm used to people kissing my ass all day, so it's nice to hear someone say what they think."
    
  She shook her head slowly as they passed the security booth and drove up the slight slope toward the imposing old building Purdue called home. As the car approached the mansion, Purdue could practically leap out to see Sam and the videotape that would accompany him. He wished the nurse would drive a little faster, but he didn't dare ask.
    
  "Your garden is beautiful," she remarked. "Look at all these amazing stone structures. Was this once a castle?"
    
  "Not a castle, my dear, but close. It's a historic place, so I'm sure it once held back intruders and protected many people from harm. When we first surveyed the property, we discovered the remains of vast stables and servants' quarters. There are even the ruins of an old chapel on the far east side of the estate," he described wistfully, taking considerable pride in his Edinburgh residence. Of course, he had several homes around the world, but he considered the main house in his native Scotland the primary location of his Purdue fortune.
    
  As soon as the car stopped in front of the main doors, Perdue opened his door.
    
  "Be careful, Mr. Purdue!" she cried. Worried, she turned off the engine and hurried toward him, just as Charles, his butler, opened the door.
    
  "Welcome back, sir," said Charles, his stiff, dry manner. "We were expecting you in just two days." He descended the steps to retrieve Perdue's bags, while the gray-haired billionaire rushed to the stairs as quickly as he could. "Good afternoon, madam," Charles greeted the nurse, who nodded in acknowledgement that he had no idea who she was, but if she'd come with Perdue, he considered her important.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, you can't put so much pressure on your leg yet," she whined after him, trying to keep up with his long strides. "Mr. Perdue..."
    
  "Just help me up the steps, okay?" he asked politely, though she detected a note of deep concern in his voice. "Charles?"
    
  "Yes, sir."
    
  "Has Mr. Cleve arrived yet?" Purdue asked, shifting his pace impatiently.
    
  "No, sir," Charles replied casually. It was a modest reply, but Purdue's expression was one of utter horror. For a moment, he stood motionless, holding the nurse's hand and looking longingly at his butler.
    
  "No?" he snorted in panic.
    
  Just then, Lillian and Jane, his housekeeper and personal assistant respectively, appeared at the door.
    
  "No, sir. He"s been out all day. Were you expecting him?" Charles asked.
    
  "Was I... w-was I expected... My God, Charles, would I have asked if he was here if I hadn't been expecting him?" Purdue's words were uncharacteristic. It was a shock to hear a scream from their usually unflappable employer, and the women exchanged puzzled glances with Charles, who remained speechless.
    
  "Did he call?" Purdue asked Jane.
    
  "Good evening to you, Mr. Purdue," she replied sharply. Unlike Lillian and Charles, Jane wasn't above reprimanding her boss when he stepped out of line or when something wasn't quite right. She was usually his moral compass and his right-hand man when he needed an opinion. He saw her cross her arms and realized he was being a jerk.
    
  "I"m sorry," he sighed. "I"m just waiting for Sam urgently. It"s good to see you all. Really."
    
  "We heard what happened to you in New Zealand, sir. I'm so happy you're still kicking and recovering," purred Lillian, a maternal co-worker with a sweet smile and naive notions.
    
  "Thank you, Lily," he breathed, out of breath from the effort of climbing to the door. "My goose was almost ready, yes, but I prevailed." They could see that Purdue was extremely upset, but he tried to remain cordial. "Okay, this is Nurse Hurst from the Salisbury Clinic. She'll be treating my wounds twice a week."
    
  After a brief exchange of pleasantries, everyone fell silent and stepped aside, allowing Purdue to enter the lobby. He finally looked at Jane again. In a considerably less mocking tone, he asked again, "Did Sam even call, Jane?"
    
  "No," she replied softly. "Would you like me to call him while you"re settling down for that long?"
    
  He wanted to object, but he knew her suggestion was perfectly reasonable. Nurse Hurst would certainly insist on assessing his condition before leaving, and Lillian would insist on feeding him well before he could let her go for the evening. He nodded wearily. "Please call him and find out what the delay is, Jane."
    
  "Of course," she smiled and began climbing the stairs to the first floor office. She called him back. "And please get some rest. I'm sure Sam will be there, even if I can't reach him."
    
  "Yes, yes," he waved amiably and continued to struggle up the stairs. Lilith surveyed the magnificent residence while tending to her patient. She had never seen such luxury in the home of anyone who wasn't royal. Personally, she had never been in a house of such wealth. Having lived in Edinburgh for several years, she knew the famous explorer who had built an empire on his superior IQ. Purdue was a prominent citizen of Edinburgh, whose fame and infamy had spread throughout the world.
    
  Most prominent figures in the worlds of finance, politics, and science knew David Perdue. However, many of them had come to detest his existence. She knew this well. Nevertheless, even his enemies couldn't deny his genius. As a former student of physics and theoretical chemistry, Lilith was fascinated by the diverse knowledge Perdue had demonstrated over the years. Now she was witnessing the product of his inventions and relic-hunting history.
    
  The high ceilings of the Wrichtishousis Hotel's lobby reached three stories before being swallowed up by the load-bearing walls of the individual units and tiers, as well as the floors. Marble and ancient limestone floors adorned the Leviathan House, and judging by the appearance of the place, there were few decorations older than the 16th century.
    
  "You have a beautiful home, Mr. Purdue," she breathed.
    
  "Thank you," he smiled. "You used to be a scientist by profession, right?"
    
  "I was," she replied, looking a little serious.
    
  "When you come back next week, perhaps I could give you a short tour of my labs," he suggested.
    
  Lilith looked less enthusiastic than he'd thought. "Actually, I was in the labs. In fact, your company runs three different branches, Scorpio Majorus," she boasted, trying to impress him. Purdue's eyes twinkled mischievously. He shook his head.
    
  "No, my dear, I mean the testing labs in the house," he said, feeling the effects of the painkiller and his recent frustration with Sam making him drowsy.
    
  "Here?" she swallowed, finally reacting the way he"d hoped.
    
  "Yes, ma'am. Right there, below the lobby level. I'll show you next time," he boasted. He was immensely pleased with the way the young nurse blushed at his offer. Her smile made him feel good, and for a moment he believed he could perhaps make up for the sacrifice she'd had to make because of her husband's illness. That was his intention, but she had more in mind than just a little atonement for David Perdue's guilt.
    
    
  10
  Scam in Oban
    
    
  Nina rented a car to drive back to Oban from Sam's house. It was wonderful to be back home, to her old house, overlooking the tempestuous waters of Oban Bay. The only thing she hated about returning home after being away was cleaning the house. Her house was by no means small, and she was its only occupant.
    
  She used to hire cleaners who came once a week to help her with the upkeep of the historic site she'd acquired years ago. Eventually, she grew tired of handing over antiques to cleaners who demanded extra money from any gullible antique collector. Besides clammy fingers, Nina had lost more than her share of beloved possessions to careless housekeepers, breaking precious relics she'd acquired while risking her life on Purdue expeditions, mostly. Being a historian wasn't a calling for Dr. Nina Gould, but a very specific obsession, one she felt closer to than the modern conveniences of her era. It was her life. The past was her treasure trove of knowledge, its bottomless well of fascinating accounts and beautiful artifacts, crafted with pen and clay by bolder, stronger civilizations.
    
  Sam hadn't called yet, but she recognized him as a scatterbrained man, always busy with one new thing or another. Like a bloodhound, he only needed the scent of adventure or the chance of undivided attention to focus on something. She wondered what he thought of the news report she'd left for him to watch, but she wasn't quite as diligent in her review.
    
  The day was overcast, so there was no reason to stroll along the shore or stop at a café for a guilty pleasure-strawberry cheesecake-in the refrigerator, unbaked. Even such a delicious miracle as cheesecake couldn't entice Nina to go outside on the gray, drizzly day, a sign of her discomfort. Through one of her bay windows, Nina saw the torturous journeys of those who had finally ventured out that day, and thanked herself again.
    
  "Oh, what are you up to?" she whispered, pressing her face against the fold of the lace curtain and peering out, not quite discreetly. Below her house, down the steep slope of her lawn, Nina spotted old Mr. Hemming slowly climbing the road in the terrible weather, calling to his dog.
    
  Mr. Hemming was one of the oldest residents of Dunoiran Road, a widower with a distinguished past. She knew this because after a few whiskeys, nothing could stop him from telling stories from his youth. Whether at a party or in a pub, the old master engineer never missed an opportunity to rant until dawn, a tale that anyone sober enough would remember. As he began to cross the road, Nina noticed a black car speeding past a few houses away. Since her window was so high above the street below, she was the only one who could have foreseen it.
    
  "Oh, my God," she breathed, and quickly rushed to the door. Barefoot, wearing only jeans and a bra, Nina ran down the steps to her cracked path. As she ran, she screamed his name, but the rain and thunder prevented him from hearing her warning.
    
  "Mr. Hemming! Watch out for the car!" Nina yelped, her feet barely feeling the chill from the wet puddles and grass she trudged through. The icy wind stung her bare skin. Her head turned to the right to gauge the distance to the rapidly approaching car, splashing through the overflowing ditch. "Mr. Hemming!"
    
  By the time Nina reached the gate in her fence, Mr. Hemming was already trudging halfway across the road, calling his dog. As always, in her haste, her damp fingers slipped and fumbled with the latch, unable to remove the pin fast enough. As she struggled to open the lock, she still screamed his name. With no other pedestrians crazy enough to venture out in such weather, she was his only hope, his only harbinger.
    
  "Oh, damn it!" she screamed in despair as soon as the pin came free. In fact, it was her cursing that finally caught Mr. Hemming's attention. He frowned and slowly turned to see where the cursing was coming from, but it was turning counterclockwise, blocking his view of the approaching car. When he saw the handsome, scantily clad historian, the old man felt a strange twinge of nostalgia for his old days.
    
  "Hello, Dr. Gould," he greeted. A slight smirk appeared on his face when he saw her in her bra, thinking she was either drunk or crazy, given the cold weather and all.
    
  "Mr. Hemming!" she was still screaming as she ran toward him. His smile faded as he began to doubt the madwoman's intentions toward him. But he was too old to outrun her, so he waited for the impact and hoped she wouldn't hurt him. A deafening splash of water sounded to his left, and finally he turned his head to see a monstrous black Mercedes gliding toward him. White foamy fenders rose from the road on either side as the tires cut through the water.
    
  "Damn it...!" he gasped, his eyes wide with horror, but Nina grabbed his forearm. She yanked him so hard that he stumbled onto the pavement, but the speed of her movements saved him from the Mercedes' fender. Caught in the wave of water kicked up by the car, Nina and old Mr. Hemming huddled behind the parked car until the shock in the Mercedes passed.
    
  Nina immediately jumped up.
    
  "You're going to get into trouble for this, asshole! I'll hunt you down and kick your ass, asshole!" she greeted her insults at the idiot in the luxury car. Her dark hair framed her face and neck, curling over her mounds of breasts as she growled down the street. The Mercedes rounded a bend in the road and gradually disappeared over a stone bridge. Nina was furious and cold. She extended her hand to the stunned senior citizen, shivering from the cold.
    
  "Come on, Mr. Hemming, let's get you inside before you catch your death," Nina suggested firmly. His crooked fingers closed around her hand, and she carefully lifted the frail man to his feet.
    
  "My dog, Betsy," he muttered, still in shock from the fear caused by the threat, "she ran away when the thunder started."
    
  "Don't worry, Mr. Hemming, we'll find her for you, okay? Just stay out of the rain. My God, I've been tracking that bastard," she assured him, catching her breath in short gasps.
    
  "You can't do anything about them, Dr. Gould," he muttered as she led him across the street. "They'd rather kill you than waste a minute justifying their actions, the bastards."
    
  "Who?" she asked.
    
  He nodded toward the bridge where the car had vanished. "They! The discarded remains of what was once a good municipality, when Oban was governed by a righteous council of worthy men."
    
  She frowned, looking confused. "W-what? Are you telling me you know who this car belongs to?"
    
  "Of course!" he replied as she opened the garden gate for him. "Those damn vultures at City Hall. McFadden! That pig! He"s going to finish this town, but the young people don"t care who"s in charge anymore as long as they can keep whoring and partying. They"re the ones who should have voted. Voted to remove him, they should have, but they didn"t. Money won. I voted against that scumbag. I did. And he knows it. He knows everyone who voted against him."
    
  Nina remembered seeing McFadden on the news some time ago, attending a highly sensitive, secret meeting whose nature the news channels hadn't revealed. Most people in Oban liked Mr. Hemming, but most considered his political views too old-fashioned, one of those seasoned opponents who refused to allow progress.
    
  "How could he know who voted against him? And what could he do?" she challenged the villain, but Mr. Hemming was adamant, demanding she be careful. She patiently led him up the steep slope of her path, knowing his heart wouldn't withstand the strenuous uphill march.
    
  "Listen, Nina, he knows. I don't understand modern technology, but there are rumors that he uses devices to monitor citizens and that he had hidden cameras installed above the voting booths," the old man continued babbling, as he always did. Only this time, his babble wasn't a tall tale or a pleasant reminiscence of bygone days; no; it came in the form of serious accusations.
    
  "How can he afford all this stuff, Mr. Hemming?" she asked. "You know it will cost a fortune."
    
  Large eyes glanced sideways at Nina from under wet, unkempt eyebrows. "Oh, he has friends, Dr. Gould. He has friends with big money who support his campaigns and pay for all his trips and meetings."
    
  She sat him down in front of her warm fireplace, where the fire licked the chimney mouth. She grabbed a cashmere throw from her sofa and wrapped it around him, rubbing his hands over the throw to warm him. He stared at her with brutal sincerity. "Why do you think they tried to run me over? I was the main opponent of their proposals during the rally. Me and Anton Leving, remember? We spoke out against McFadden's campaign."
    
  Nina nodded. "Yes, I do remember. I was in Spain at the time, but I followed it all on social media. You"re right. Everyone was convinced Leving would win another seat on the City Council, but we were all devastated when McFadden unexpectedly won. Is Leving going to object or call for another council vote?"
    
  The old man smiled bitterly as he stared into the fire, his mouth stretching into a grim smile.
    
  "He's dead."
    
  "Who? Living?" she asked incredulously.
    
  "Yes, Leving is dead. Last week he," Mr. Hemming looked at her with a sarcastic expression, "was in an accident, they said."
    
  "What?" she frowned. Nina was completely stunned by the ominous events unfolding in her own city. "What happened?"
    
  "Apparently, he fell down the stairs of his Victorian house while intoxicated," the old man reported, but his face played a different card. "You know, I knew Living for thirty-two years, and he never drank more than a glass of sherry in a blue moon. How could he be intoxicated? How could he be so drunk that he couldn"t climb the damn stairs he"d been using for twenty-five years in the same house, Dr. Gould?" He laughed, recalling his own near-tragic experience. "And it looks like today was my turn at the gallows."
    
  "It will be that day," she chuckled, considering the information as she put on her robe and tied it.
    
  "You're involved now, Dr. Gould," he warned. "You've ruined their chance to kill me. You're in the middle of a shit storm now."
    
  "Good," Nina said with a steely gaze. "This is where I"m at my best."
    
    
  11
  The crux of the matter
    
    
  Sam's abductor drove off the motorway east on the A68, heading towards the unknown.
    
  "Where are you taking me?" Sam asked, keeping his voice even and friendly.
    
  "Vogri," the man replied.
    
  "Vogri Country Park?" Sam answered without thinking.
    
  "Yes, Sam," the man replied.
    
  Sam considered Swift's answer for a moment, assessing the threat level associated with the venue. It was actually quite a pleasant place, not the sort where he'd necessarily be gutted or hanged from a tree. In fact, the park was regularly visited, as it was interspersed with wooded areas where people came to play golf, hike, or entertain their children in the residents' playground. He instantly felt better. One thing prompted him to ask again. "By the way, what's your name, buddy? You look very familiar, but I doubt I actually know you."
    
  "My name is George Masters, Sam. You know me from the ugly black-and-white photographs kindly provided by our mutual friend Aidan at the Edinburgh Post," he explained.
    
  "When you talk about Aidan as a friend, are you being sarcastic or is he really your friend?" Sam questioned.
    
  "No, we're friends in the old-fashioned sense," George replied, keeping his eyes on the road. "I'll take you to Vogri so we can talk, and then I'll let you go." He slowly turned his head to bless Sam with his expression and added, "I didn't mean to stalk you, but you have a tendency to react with extreme prejudice before you even realize what's happening. The way you keep your cool during sting operations is beyond me."
    
  "I was drunk when you cornered me in the men's room, George," Sam tried to explain, but it had no corrective effect. "What was I supposed to think?"
    
  George Masters chuckled. "I suppose you weren't expecting to see someone as handsome as me in this bar. I could make things better... or you could spend more time sober."
    
  "Hey, it was my fucking birthday," Sam defended himself. "I had every right to be angry."
    
  "Maybe so, but it doesn't matter now," George countered. "You ran away then, and you've run away again without even giving me a chance to explain what I want from you."
    
  "I suppose you're right," Sam sighed as they turned onto the road leading to the beautiful Vogri neighborhood. The Victorian house that gave the park its name emerged from the trees as the car slowed considerably.
    
  "The river will obscure our discussion," George mentioned, "in case they're watching or eavesdropping."
    
  "They?" Sam frowned, fascinated by the paranoia of his captor, the same man who had criticized Sam's own paranoid reactions a moment ago. "You mean anyone who didn't see the carnival of high-speed idiocy we were having next door?"
    
  "You know who they are, Sam. They've been remarkably patient, watching you and the handsome historian... watching David Purdue..." he said as they walked to the banks of the River Tyne, which flowed through the estate.
    
  "Wait, you know Nina and Perdue?" Sam gasped. "What do they have to do with why you"re following me?"
    
  George sighed. It was time to get to the heart of the matter. He paused without another word, scanning the horizon with his eyes hidden beneath his disfigured brows. The water gave Sam a sense of peace, Eve under a drizzle of gray clouds. His hair blew around his face as he waited for George to clarify his purpose.
    
  "I'll be brief, Sam," George said. "I can't explain how I know all this right now, but just trust me, I do." Noting that the reporter simply stared at him expressionlessly, he continued. "Do you still have the video of the 'Terrible Serpent,' Sam? The video you recorded when you were all in the Lost City, do you have it with you?"
    
  Sam thought quickly. He decided to keep his answers vague until he was sure of George Masters's intentions. "No, I left the note with Dr. Gould, but she's overseas."
    
  "Really?" George replied nonchalantly. "You should read the papers, Mr. Famous Journalist. Yesterday she saved the life of a prominent member of her hometown, so either you're lying to me, or she's capable of bilocation."
    
  "Look, just tell me what you need to tell me, for God's sake. Because of your shitty approach, I wrote off my car, and I still have to deal with this shit when you're done playing games at the amusement park," Sam snapped.
    
  "Do you have the video of the 'Terrible Serpent' with you?" George repeated, in his own intimidating way. Every word was like a hammer hitting an anvil in Sam's ears. He had no way out of the conversation, and no way out of the park without George.
    
  "The... Terrible Serpent?" Sam persisted. He knew little about the things Purdue had asked him to film in the depths of a New Zealand mountain, and he preferred it that way. His curiosity was usually limited to what interested him, and physics and numbers weren't his strong suit.
    
  "Jesus Christ!" George raged in his slow, slurred voice. "Terrible Serpent, a pictogram composed of a sequence of variables and symbols, Split! Also known as an equation! Where is this entry?"
    
  Sam raised his hands in surrender. The people under the umbrellas noticed the raised voices of two men peering out from their hiding places, and the tourists turned to see what the commotion was about. "Okay, God! Relax," Sam whispered harshly. "I don"t have any footage with me, George. Not here, not now. Why?"
    
  "Those photos must never fall into David Perdue"s hands, do you understand?" George warned, his voice hoarse and shaking. "Never! I don"t care what you"re going to tell him, Sam. Just delete it. Destroy the files, whatever."
    
  "That's all he cares about, buddy," Sam informed him. "I'd go so far as to say he's obsessed with it."
    
  "I'm aware of that, mate," George hissed back at Sam. "That's the damn problem. He's being used by a puppeteer much, much bigger than himself."
    
  "They?" Sam asked sarcastically, referring to George"s paranoid theory.
    
  The man with the faded skin had had enough of Sam Cleve's youthful antics and lunged forward, grabbing Sam by the collar and shaking him with terrifying force. For a moment, Sam felt like a small child being tossed around by a St. Bernard, reminding him that George's physical strength was almost inhuman.
    
  "Now listen, and listen carefully, buddy," he hissed in Sam's face, his breath smelling of tobacco and mint. "If David Perdue gets his hands on this equation, the Order of the Black Sun will triumph!"
    
  Sam tried in vain to pry the burned man's hands free, only further angering him at Eva. George shook him again, then released him so abruptly that he stumbled backward. While Sam struggled to find his footing, George stepped closer. "Do you even realize what you're summoning? Purdue shouldn't be working with the Dread Serpent. He's the genius they've been waiting for to solve this fucking math problem ever since their previous golden boy developed it. Unfortunately, said golden boy developed a conscience and destroyed his work, but not before his maid copied it while cleaning his room. Needless to say, she was an operative, working for the Gestapo."
    
  "Then who was their golden boy?" Sam asked.
    
  George looked at Sam, stunned. "You don"t know? Ever heard of a guy named Einstein, my friend? Einstein, the "Theory of Relativity" guy, was working on something a little more destructive than an atomic bomb, but with similar properties. Look, I"m a scientist, but I"m no genius. Thank goodness no one could complete that equation, and that"s why the late Dr. Kenneth Wilhelm wrote it down in The Lost City. No one was supposed to survive that fucking snake pit."
    
  Sam remembered Dr. Wilhelm, who owned the farm in New Zealand where the Lost City was located. He was a Nazi scientist, unknown to most, who for many years went by the name Williams.
    
  "Okay, okay. Let"s say I bought all this," Sam pleaded, raising his hands again. "What are the implications of that equation? I"d need a really concrete excuse to break this to Purdue, who, by the way, must be plotting my demise right about now. Your insane pursuit cost me a meeting with him. God, he must be furious."
    
  George shrugged. "You shouldn't have run away."
    
  Sam knew he was right. If Sam had simply confronted George at his front door and asked, it would have saved him a lot of trouble. For one, he'd still have his car. On the other hand, mourning the mess that had already been made clear wasn't doing Sam any good.
    
  "I'm unclear on the fine details, Sam, but between Aidan Glaston and myself, the general consensus is that this equation will facilitate a monumental shift in the current paradigm of physics," George admitted. "From what Aidan has gathered from his sources, this calculation will cause chaos on a global scale. It will allow an object to pierce the veil between dimensions, causing our own physics to collide with what lies on the other side. The Nazis experimented with it, similar to the claims of the Unified Field Theory, which couldn't be proven."
    
  "And how does Black Sun benefit from this, Masters?" Sam asked, using his journalistic talent for figuring out bullshit. "They live in the same time and space as the rest of the world. It's ridiculous to think they'd experiment with shit that would destroy them along with everything else."
    
  "That may be true, but have you figured out even half the weird, twisted crap they actually pulled during World War II?" George countered. "Most of what they tried was completely useless, yet they continued to conduct monstrous experiments just to break that barrier, believing it would advance their knowledge of how other sciences work-sciences we can't yet comprehend. Who's to say this isn't just another ludicrous attempt to perpetuate their madness and control?"
    
  "I understand what you're saying, George, but I honestly don't think even they're that crazy. They must have some tangible reason for wanting to achieve this, but what could that be?" Sam argued. He wanted to believe George Masters, but his theories were riddled with holes. On the other hand, judging by the man's desperation, his story was at least worth checking out.
    
  "Look, Sam, whether you believe me or not, just do me a favor and look at this before you let David Perdue get his hands on this equation," George pleaded.
    
  Sam nodded in agreement. "He's a good man. If there was any merit to those allegations, he would have destroyed them himself, believe me."
    
  "I know he"s a philanthropist. I know how he screwed Black Sun six ways before Sunday, when he realized what they were planning for the world, Sam," the inarticulate scientist explained impatiently. "But what I can"t seem to get across is that Purdue is unaware of his role in this destruction. He"s blissfully unaware that they"re using his genius and innate curiosity to steer him straight into the abyss. It"s not whether he agrees or not. He better not have any idea where the equation is, or they"ll kill him... and you, and the lady from Oban."
    
  Finally, Sam got the hint. He decided to take his time before handing over the footage to Purdue, if only to give George Masters the benefit of the doubt. It would be difficult to clear up the suspicion without leaking crucial information to random sources. Besides Purdue, there were few who could advise him on the danger lurking in this scheme, and even those who could... he would never know if they could be trusted.
    
  "Take me home, please," Sam asked his captor. "I'll look into this before I do anything, okay?"
    
  "I trust you, Sam," George said. It sounded more like an ultimatum than a pledge of trust. "If you don't destroy this recording, you'll regret it for the short time that remains of your life."
    
    
  12
  Olga
    
    
  At the end of his witticisms, Casper Jacobs ran his fingers through his sandy-colored hair, leaving it spiky like an '80s pop star. His eyes were bloodshot from reading all night, the opposite of what he'd hoped for that night-relaxation and sleep. Instead, the news of the Dread Serpent's discovery infuriated him. He desperately hoped that Zelda Bessler or her lapdogs were still oblivious to the news.
    
  Someone outside was making a terrible noise, which he initially tried to ignore, but his fears about the looming ominous world and lack of sleep made much more difficult for him to bear today. It sounded like a plate breaking, followed by a crash outside his door, accompanied by the wail of a car alarm.
    
  "Oh, for God's sake, what now?" he shouted loudly. He rushed to the front door, ready to vent his frustration on whoever had disturbed him. Pushing the door aside, Casper roared, "What in the name of all that's holy is going on here?" What he saw at the foot of the steps leading to his driveway instantly disarmed him. The most stunning blonde was squatting next to his car, looking dejected. On the sidewalk in front of her was a mess of cake and icing balls that had once belonged to a large wedding cake.
    
  As she looked pleadingly at Casper, her clear green eyes stunned him. "Please, sir, please don't be angry! I can wipe it all off at once. Look, that stain on your car is just icing."
    
  "No, no," he protested, holding out his hands apologetically, "please don"t worry about my car. Here, let me help you." Two squeals and a press of the remote button on his keychain silenced the alarm. Casper hurried to help the sobbing beauty pick up the ruined cake. "Don"t cry, please. Hey, I"ll tell you what. Once we get this sorted out, I"ll take you to a local bakery and replace the cake. On me."
    
  "Thank you, but you can"t do that," she snorted, scooping up handfuls of batter and marzipan decorations. "You see, I baked this cake myself. It took me two days, and that"s after I made all the decorations by hand. You see, it was a wedding cake. We can"t just buy a wedding cake from any store."
    
  Her bloodshot eyes, drowning in tears, broke Casper's heart. He reluctantly placed his hand on her forearm and rubbed it gently, expressing his sympathy. Completely captivated by her, he felt a pang in his chest, that familiar stab of disappointment that comes when faced with harsh reality. Casper's insides ached. He didn't want to hear the answer, but he desperately wanted to ask. "Is... I-is this cake f-for your... wedding?" he heard his lips betray him.
    
  'Please say no! Please be a bridesmaid or something. For the love of God, please don't be the bride!' his heart seemed to scream. He'd never been in love before, unless you counted technology and science, that was. The fragile blonde looked at him through her tears. A soft, strangled sound escaped her as a crooked smile appeared on her beautiful face.
    
  "Oh God, no," she shook her head, sniffling and giggling stupidly. "Do I really seem that stupid to you?"
    
  "Thank you, Jesus!" the exultant physicist heard his inner voice exult. He suddenly smiled broadly at her, feeling immense relief that she was not only single but also had a sense of humor. "Ha! I couldn't agree more! Bachelor's degree here!" he muttered awkwardly. Realizing how stupid it sounded, Casper thought he might say something safer. "By the way, my name is Casper," he said, extending a scruffy hand. "Dr. Casper Jacobs." He made sure she noticed his title.
    
  The attractive woman enthusiastically grabbed his hand with her frosting-sticky fingers and laughed, "You just sounded like James Bond. My name is Olga Mitra, um... baker."
    
  "Olga, the baker," he chuckled. "I like it."
    
  "Listen," she said seriously, wiping her cheek with her sleeve, "I need this cake delivered to the wedding in less than an hour. Do you have any ideas?"
    
  Casper thought for a moment. He was far from willing to leave a girl of such magnificence in danger. This was his only chance to make a lasting impression, and a good one at that. He snapped his fingers, and an idea popped into his head, causing the cake to shatter. "I might have an idea, Miss Mitra. Wait here."
    
  With newfound enthusiasm, the usually depressed Casper ran up the stairs to his landlord's house and begged Karen for help. After all, she was always baking, always leaving sweet rolls and croissants in his attic. To his delight, the landlord's mother agreed to help Casper's new girlfriend salvage her reputation. They had another wedding cake ready in record time after Karen made a few calls of her own.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  After racing against time to make a new wedding cake, which, fortunately for Olga and Karen, was modest to begin with, they shared a glass of sherry to toast their success.
    
  "Not only have I found a wonderful partner in crime in the kitchen," the graceful Karen greeted, raising her glass, "but I've also made a new friend! Here's to collaboration and new friends!"
    
  "I second that," Casper smiled slyly, clinking glasses with two satisfied ladies. He couldn't take his eyes off Olga. Now that she was relaxed and happy again, she sparkled like champagne.
    
  "Thank you a million times, Karen," Olga beamed. "What would I have done if you hadn"t saved me?"
    
  "Well, I suppose it was your knight over there who set all this up, my dear," said sixty-five-year-old redhead Karen, pointing her glass at Casper.
    
  "That's true," Olga agreed. She turned to Casper and looked deep into his eyes. "He not only forgave me for my clumsiness and the mess I made in his car, but he also saved my ass... And they say chivalry is dead."
    
  Casper's heart leapt. Behind his smile and imperturbable exterior, he was flushed like a schoolboy in a girls' locker room. "Someone has to save the princess from stepping in the mud. Might as well be me," he winked, surprised by his own charm. Casper was by no means unattractive, but his passion for his career had made him less of a sociable person. In fact, he couldn't believe his luck in finding Olga. Not only had he seemingly won her attention, but she had practically shown up on his doorstep. A personal delivery, a courtesy of fate, he figured.
    
  "Will you come with me to deliver the cake?" she asked Casper. "Karen, I'll be right back to come and help you clean up."
    
  "Nonsense," Karen squealed playfully. "You two go and have the cake delivered. Just bring me half a bottle of brandy, you know, for the trouble," she winked.
    
  Olga, delighted, kissed Karen on the cheek. Karen and Casper exchanged triumphant glances at the sudden appearance of a ray of sunshine in their lives. As if Karen could hear her tenant's thoughts, she asked, "Where did you come from, dear? Is your car parked nearby?"
    
  Casper's eyes widened. He'd wanted to remain ignorant of the question that had also crossed his mind, but now the outspoken Karen had voiced it. Olga lowered her head and answered them without reservation. "Oh, yes, my car is parked outside. I was trying to carry a cake from my apartment to the car when the uneven road caused me to lose my balance."
    
  "Your apartment?" Casper asked. "Here?"
    
  "Yes, next door, over the fence. I'm your neighbor, silly," she laughed. "Didn't you hear the noise when I moved in on Wednesday? The movers made such a racket I thought I was in for a dressing down, but luckily no one showed up."
    
  Casper looked at Karen with a surprised but satisfied grin. "You hear that, Karen? She's our new neighbor."
    
  "I hear you, Romeo," Karen teased. "Now get going. I'm running low on libations."
    
  "Oh hell yes," Olga exclaimed.
    
  He carefully helped her lift the cake base, a sturdy, coin-shaped wooden panel covered in pressed foil for display. The cake wasn't overly complex, so it was easy to find a balance between the two. Like Kasper, Olga was tall. With her high cheekbones, fair skin and hair, and slender frame, she was the typical Eastern European stereotype of beauty and height. They carried the cake to her Lexus and managed to fit it into the backseat.
    
  "You drive," she said, tossing him the keys. "I'll sit in the back with the cake."
    
  As they drove, Casper had a thousand questions he wanted to ask the stunning woman, but he decided to remain calm. He was taking his instructions from her.
    
  "I must say, this just proves that I can drive any car effortlessly," he boasted as they approached the back of the reception hall.
    
  "Or maybe my car is just easy to use. You know, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to operate it," she joked. In a moment of despair, Casper remembered the discovery of Dire Serpent and how he still needed to make sure David Perdue hadn't studied it. It must have shown on his face as he helped Olga carry the cake to the hall kitchen.
    
  "Casper?" she pressed. "Casper, is something wrong?"
    
  "No, of course not," he smiled. "Just thinking about work things."
    
  He could hardly tell her that her arrival and her stunning appearance had erased all priorities from his mind, but the truth was, it had. Only now did he recall how persistently he'd tried to contact Perdue without ever letting on. After all, he was a member of the Order, and if they'd discovered he was in cahoots with David Perdue, they'd surely have killed him.
    
  It was an unfortunate coincidence that the very field of physics Kasper was leading would become the subject of "The Terrible Serpent." He feared what it might lead to if applied correctly, but Dr. Wilhelm's clever exposition of the equation reassured Kasper... until now.
    
    
  13
  Purdue's Pawn
    
    
  Purdue was furious. The usually level-headed genius had been acting like a maniac ever since Sam missed their meeting. Unable to locate Sam through email, phone, or satellite tracking on his car, Purdue was torn between betrayal and horror. He'd entrusted an investigative journalist with the most vital information the Nazis had ever hidden, and now he found himself hanging on by a thread.
    
  "If Sam's lost or sick, I don't care!" he barked at Jane. "All I want is some damn footage of the lost city wall, for God's sake! I want you to go to his house again today, Jane, and I want you to break down the door if you have to."
    
  Jane and Charles, the butler, exchanged a deeply worried look. She would never resort to criminal activity for any reason, and Purdue knew it, but he sincerely expected it of her. Charles, as always, stood in tense silence next to Purdue's dining table, but his eyes showed how concerned he was about the new developments.
    
  Lillian, the housekeeper, stood in the doorway of the vast kitchen in Raichtisusis, listening. As she wiped the cutlery after the ruined breakfast she'd prepared, her usual cheerful demeanor had hit rock bottom and sunk to a sullen level.
    
  "What's happening to our castle?" she muttered, shaking her head. "What upset the owner of the estate so much that he turned into such a monster?"
    
  She mourned the days when Purdue was his usual self-calm and collected, courteous and even occasionally capricious. Now, music no longer played from his lab, and no football games were shown on TV while he yelled at the referee. Mr. Cleve and Dr. Gould were absent, and poor Jane and Charles were forced to put up with their boss and his new obsession, the sinister equation they'd discovered during their last expedition.
    
  It seemed as if even the light didn't penetrate the mansion's tall windows. Her eyes wandered over the high ceilings and extravagant decorations, relics and majestic paintings. None of it was beautiful anymore. Lillian felt as if the very colors had vanished from the interior of the quiet mansion. "Like a sarcophagus," she sighed, turning. A figure stood in her path, strong and imposing, and Lillian stepped right into it. A high-pitched squeal escaped her, startled.
    
  "Oh my God, Lily, it's just me," the nurse laughed, consoling the pale housekeeper with a hug. "Then what's got you so worked up?"
    
  Lillian felt a wave of relief when the nurse appeared. She fanned her face with a tea towel, trying to compose herself after she'd started. "Thank God you're here, Lilith," she croaked. "Mr. Purdue is going crazy, I swear it. Could you please sedate him for a few hours? The staff is exhausted with his insane demands."
    
  "I suppose you still haven't found Mr. Cleve?" Nurse Hurst suggested with a hopeless expression.
    
  "No, and Jane has reason to believe something happened to Mr. Cleve, but she doesn't have the heart to tell Mr. Purdue... yet. Not until he's a little less, you know," Lillian gestured with a frown to convey Purdue's fury.
    
  "Why does Jane think something happened to Sam?" the nurse asked the tired cook.
    
  Lillian leaned over and whispered, "Apparently they found his car crashed into the fence in the school yard on Old Stanton Road, a total write-off."
    
  "What?" Sister Hearst gasped softly. "Oh my God, I hope he"s okay?"
    
  "We don't know anything. All Jane could find out was that Mr. Cleve's car was found by police after several local residents and business owners called to report a high-speed chase," the housekeeper told her.
    
  "My God, no wonder David is so worried," she frowned. "You must tell him immediately."
    
  "With all due respect, Miss Hurst, isn't he crazy enough yet? This news will push him over the edge. He hasn't eaten anything, as you can see," Lillian pointed to the discarded breakfast, "and he doesn't sleep at all, except when you give him a fix.
    
  "I think he should tell me. Right now, he probably thinks Mr. Cleve betrayed him or is simply ignoring him without reason. If he knows someone was stalking his friend, he might feel less vindictive. Have you ever thought about that?" Nurse Hurst suggested. "I'll talk to him."
    
  Lillian nodded. Perhaps the nurse was right. "Well, you'd be the best person to tell him. After all, he took you on a tour of his labs and shared some scientific conversations with you. He trusts you."
    
  "You're right, Lily," the nurse admitted. "Let me talk to him while I check his progress. I'll help him with that."
    
  "Thank you, Lilith. You're a gift from God. This place has become a prison for us all since the boss came back," Lillian lamented.
    
  "Don't worry, dear," Sister Hurst replied with an encouraging wink. "We'll get him back in tip-top shape."
    
  "Good morning, Mr. Purdue," the nurse smiled as she entered the dining room.
    
  "Good morning, Lilith," he greeted wearily.
    
  "That"s unusual. You haven"t eaten anything?" she said. "You need to eat for me to carry out your treatment."
    
  "For God's sake, I ate a piece of toast," Perdue said impatiently. "As far as I know, that'll do."
    
  She couldn't argue with that. Nurse Hearst sensed the tension in the room. Jane anxiously awaited Purdue's signature on the document, but he refused to sign before she went to Sam's house to investigate.
    
  "Can this wait?" the nurse asked Jane calmly. Jane's gaze darted to Purdue, but he pushed back his chair and stumbled to his feet, with some support from Charles. She nodded to the nurse and gathered up the paperwork, immediately understanding Nurse Hurst's hint.
    
  "Go, Jane, get my footage from Sam!" Purdue shouted after her as she left the vast room and went up to her office. "Did she hear me?"
    
  "She heard you," Sister Hurst confirmed. "I'm sure she'll be gone soon."
    
  "Thank you, Charles, I can handle it," Perdue barked at his butler, ushering him out.
    
  "Yes, sir," Charles replied and departed. The butler's usually stony expression was laced with disappointment and a hint of sadness, but he needed to delegate the work to the gardeners and cleaners.
    
  "You're being a real nuisance, Mr. Purdue," Nurse Hurst whispered as she led Purdue into the living room where she usually assessed his progress.
    
  "David, my dear, David or Dave," he corrected her.
    
  "Okay, stop being so rude to your staff," she instructed, trying to keep her voice even so as not to antagonize him. "It's not their fault."
    
  "Sam was still missing. You know that?" Perdue hissed as she tugged at his sleeve.
    
  "I heard," she replied. "If I may ask, what"s so special about this footage? It"s not like you were shooting a documentary on a tight deadline or anything."
    
  Purdue found in Nurse Hearst a rare ally, someone who understood his passion for science. He was willing to confide in her. With Nina absent and Jane subordinate, his nurse was the only woman he felt close to these days.
    
  "According to research, it's believed to have been one of Einstein's theories, but the idea that it could work in practice was so terrifying that he destroyed it. The only thing is, it was copied before it was destroyed, you see," Perdue said, his light blue eyes darkening with concentration. David Perdue's eyes weren't that shade. Something was clouding over, something transcending his personality. But Nurse Hurst didn't know Perdue's personality as well as others, so she couldn't see how terribly wrong her patient was."
    
  "And Sam has this equation?" she asked.
    
  "It does. And I need to start working on it," Purdue explained. His voice now sounded almost coherent. "I need to know what it is, what it does. I need to know why the Order of the Black Sun kept it for so long, why Dr. Ken Williams felt the need to bury it where no one could get to it. Or," he whispered, "...why they waited."
    
  "Order of what?" She frowned.
    
  It suddenly dawned on Purdue that he wasn't talking to Nina, or Sam, or Jane, or anyone familiar with his secret life. "Hmm, just an organization I've had run-ins with before. Nothing special."
    
  "You know, this stress isn't helping you heal, David," she advised. "How can I help you get that equation? If you had that, you could stay busy instead of terrorizing your staff and me with all these tantrums. Your blood pressure is high, and your temper is making you worse, and I just can't let that happen."
    
  "I know that's true, but until I have video of Sam, I can't rest easy," Perdue shrugged.
    
  "Dr. Patel expects me to uphold his standards outside of the facility, you understand? If I continue to cause him life-threatening problems, he's going to fire me because it seems I'm not doing my job," she whined deliberately, to elicit his pity.
    
  Purdue hadn't known Lilith Hearst long, but beyond his inherent guilt over what had happened to her husband, he felt a kindred, scientific affinity for her. He also felt she could very well be his only collaborator in his quest to obtain Sam's footage, largely because she had no inhibitions about it. Her ignorance was truly his bliss. What she didn't know would allow her to help him with one goal in mind-helping him without any criticism or opinion-exactly the way Purdue liked it.
    
  He downplayed his frantic quest for information to appear docile and reasonable. "If you could just maybe find Sam and ask him for the video, that would be a huge help."
    
  "Okay, let me see what I can do," she consoled him, "but you have to promise me you"ll give me a few days. Let"s agree that I should have it next week, when we have our next meeting. How"s that?"
    
  Perdue nodded. "That sounds reasonable."
    
  "Okay, no more talk of math and missed frames. You need some rest for a change. Lily told me you hardly ever sleep, and frankly, your vital signs scream that's true, David," she commanded in a surprisingly cordial tone that confirmed her talent for diplomacy.
    
  "What is this?" he asked as she drew a small vial of watery solution into a syringe.
    
  "Just a little intravenous Valium to help you sleep for a few more hours," she informed him, measuring the amount by eye. Through the injection tube, the light played with the substance inside, giving it a sacred glow she found appealing. If only Lillian could see it, she thought, to be sure there was still some beautiful light left in Reichtisusis. The darkness in Purdue's eyes gave way to peaceful slumber as the medicine took effect.
    
  He winced as the hellish sensation of burning acid in his veins tormented him, but it only lasted a few seconds before it reached his heart. Pleased that Nurse Hurst had agreed to retrieve the formula from Sam's videotape, Purdue let the velvety darkness consume him. Voices echoed in the distance before he drifted off completely. Lillian brought a blanket and pillow, covering him with a fleece throw. "Just cover him here," Nurse Hurst advised. "Let him sleep here on the couch for now. Poor thing. He's exhausted."
    
  "Yes," Lillian agreed, helping Nurse Hurst cover the master of the estate, as Lillian called him. "And thanks to you, we can all get some respite, too."
    
  "You're welcome," Sister Hearst chuckled, her expression taking on a slight melancholy. "I know what it's like to deal with a difficult man in the house. They may think they're in charge, but when they're sick or injured, they can be a real pain in the ass."
    
  "Amen," Lillian replied.
    
  "Lillian," Charles chided gently, though he agreed with the housekeeper completely. "Thank you, Nurse Hurst. Will you stay for lunch?"
    
  "Oh, no, thank you, Charles," the nurse smiled, packing her medical bag and throwing away the old bandages. "I need to run some errands before my night shift at the clinic tonight."
    
    
  14
  An important decision
    
    
  Sam couldn't find any convincing evidence that the Terrible Serpent was capable of the atrocities and destruction George Masters tried to convince him of. Wherever he turned, he was met with disbelief or ignorance, which only confirmed his conviction that Masters was some kind of paranoid lunatic. However, he seemed so sincere that Sam kept a low profile from Purdue until he had sufficient proof, something he couldn't obtain from his usual sources.
    
  Before submitting the footage to Purdue, Sam decided to make one last journey to a trusted source of inspiration and keeper of secret wisdom-the one and only Aidan Glaston. Having seen Glaston's article published in a recent newspaper, Sam decided the Irishman would be the best person to ask about the Terrible Serpent and its myths.
    
  Without a pair of wheels, Sam called a taxi. It was better than trying to salvage the wreck he called his car, which would expose him. What he didn't need was a police investigation into a high-speed chase and a possible subsequent arrest for endangering citizens and reckless driving. While local authorities considered him missing, he had time to sort out the facts when he finally showed up.
    
  When he arrived at the Edinburgh Post, he was told that Aidan Glaston was on assignment. The new editor didn't know Sam personally, but she allowed him a few minutes in her office.
    
  "Janice Noble," she smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet such a distinguished member of our profession. Please have a seat."
    
  "Thank you, Ms. Noble," Sam replied, relieved that the offices were practically empty today. He wasn't in the mood to see the old slugs who'd trampled on him as a rookie, not even to rub their noses in his celebrity and success. "I'll make it quick," he said. "I just need to know where I can contact Aidan. I know it's confidential, but I need to contact him about my own investigation right now."
    
  She leaned forward, propping herself up on her elbows, and clasped her hands gently. Thick gold rings adorned both her wrists, and the bracelets made a terrifying sound as they struck the polished surface of the table. "Mr. Cleve, I'd be happy to help you, but as I said before, Aidan is working undercover on a politically sensitive mission, and we can't afford to blow his cover. You know what that's like. You shouldn't even be asking me about it."
    
  "I know," Sam retorted, "but what I"m involved in is much more important than some politician"s secret personal life or the typical backstabbing that the tabloids love to write about."
    
  The editor looked instantly taken aback. She took a firmer tone with Sam. "Please don't think that because you've earned fame and fortune through your less-than-subtle involvement, you can barge in here and assume you know what my people are working on."
    
  "Listen to me, lady. I need information of a very sensitive nature, and it involves the destruction of entire countries," Sam retorted firmly. "All I need is a phone number."
    
  She frowned. "Who are you working for on this case?"
    
  "Freelance," he replied quickly. "It's something I learned from someone I know, and I have reason to believe it's valid. Only Aidan can confirm it for me. Please, Ms. Noble. Please."
    
  "I must say, I'm intrigued," she admitted, writing down a foreign landline number. "This is a secure line, but only call once, Mr. Cleve. I'm monitoring this line to see if you're disturbing our man while he's working."
    
  "No problem. I just need one call," Sam said eagerly. "Thank you, thank you!"
    
  She licked her lips as she wrote, clearly preoccupied with what Sam had said. Sliding the paper toward him, she said, "Look, Mr. Cleve, perhaps we could collaborate on what you have?"
    
  "Let me confirm first if this is worth pursuing, Miss Noble. If there's anything to it, we can talk," he winked. She looked satisfied. Sam's charm and handsome features could have gotten him into the Pearly Gates while he was at it.
    
  On the way home in the taxi, the radio reported that the final summit planned would be dedicated to renewable energy sources. Several world leaders, as well as several delegates from Belgium's scientific community, would be present.
    
  "Why Belgium, of all places?" Sam found himself asking out loud. He hadn't realized the driver, a pleasant middle-aged woman, was listening.
    
  "Probably one of those hidden fiascos," she noted.
    
  "What do you mean?" Sam asked, quite surprised by the sudden interest.
    
  "Well, Belgium, for example, is the home of NATO and the European Union, so I can imagine that they would probably host something like this," she chattered.
    
  "Something like... what?" Sam pressed. He'd been completely oblivious to current affairs ever since the whole Purdue and Masters thing started, but the lady seemed well-informed, so he was enjoying her conversation instead. She rolled her eyes.
    
  "Oh, your guess is as good as mine, my boy," she giggled. "Call me paranoid, but I always believed these little meetings were nothing more than a charade to discuss nefarious plans to further undermine governments..."
    
  Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God, I'm sorry for swearing," she apologized, to Sam's delight.
    
  "Don't mind me, madam," he laughed. "I have a friend who's a historian and could make sailors blush."
    
  "Oh, good," she sighed. "I usually never argue with my passengers."
    
  "So you think they corrupt governments this way?" he smiled, still enjoying the humor of the woman"s words.
    
  "Yeah, I know. But, you see, I can"t really explain it. It"s one of those things where I just feel it, you know? Like, why do they need a meeting of the seven world leaders? What about the rest of the countries? I feel more like it"s like a schoolyard where a bunch of sprogs are having a recess party, and the other kids are like, "Hey, what does that mean?" ... You know?" she rambled.
    
  "Yes, I see where you're going with this," he agreed. "So they didn't come out and say what the summit was about?"
    
  She shook her head. "They"re discussing it. It"s a damn scam. I"m telling you, the media is a puppet of these hooligans."
    
  Sam had to smile. She sounded very much like Nina, and Nina was usually precise in her expectations. "I hear you. Well, rest assured, some of us in the media are trying to get the truth out there, no matter the cost."
    
  Her head half turned, so that she almost looked back at him, but the road forced her not to. "Oh, God! I"m putting my damn foot in my damn mouth again!" she complained. "Are you a member of the press?"
    
  "I'm an investigative journalist," Sam winked, with the same seductiveness he used on the wives of high-ranking officials he interviewed. Sometimes, he could get them to reveal the terrible truth about their husbands.
    
  "What are you researching?" she asked in her delightfully layman's manner. Sam could tell she lacked the proper terminology and knowledge, but her common sense and the articulation of her opinions were clear and logical.
    
  "I'm considering a possible conspiracy to stop a rich man from doing long division and destroying the world in the process," Sam joked.
    
  Squinting in the rearview mirror, the female taxi driver chuckled and then shrugged, "Okay then. Don"t tell me."
    
  Her dark-haired passenger was still surprised and stared silently out the window on the way back to his apartment complex. As they passed the old schoolyard, his spirits seemed to perk up, but she didn't ask why. When she followed his gaze, she saw only the remains of what looked like broken glass from a car accident, but she found it odd that a collision had occurred in such a location.
    
  "Could you please wait for me?" Sam asked her as they pulled up to his house.
    
  "Of course!" she exclaimed.
    
  "Thanks, I"ll get it done quickly," he promised, getting out of the car.
    
  "Take your time, darling," she chuckled. "The meter is running."
    
  As Sam burst into the complex, he clicked the electronic lock, ensuring the gate was securely locked behind him, before running up the stairs to his front door. He called Aidan at the number the Post editor had given him. To Sam's surprise, his old colleague answered almost immediately.
    
  Sam and Aidan had little free time, so they kept their conversation brief.
    
  "So, where did they send your worn-out ass this time, buddy?" Sam smiled, grabbed a half-finished soda from the fridge, and downed it in one gulp. It had been a while since he'd eaten or drunk anything, but he was in a hurry.
    
  "I can"t divulge that information, Sammo," Aidan replied cheerfully, always teasing Sam for not taking him along on missions when they were still working at the newspaper.
    
  "Oh, come on," Sam said, burping softly as he poured his drink. "Listen, have you ever heard of a myth called the Terrible Serpent?"
    
  "I can't say I have any, son," Aidan quickly replied. "What is it? Attached to some Nazi relic again?"
    
  "Yes. No. I don"t know. This equation is supposed to have been developed by Albert Einstein himself some time after the 1905 paper, from what I"ve been told," Sam clarified. "They say that, when applied correctly, it holds the key to some terrifying result. Do you know anything like that?"
    
  Aidan hummed thoughtfully and finally admitted, "No. No, Sammo. I've never heard of anything like this. Either your source is letting you in on something so grandiose that only the highest ranks know about it... Or you're being played, buddy."
    
  Sam sighed. "Okay then. I just wanted to talk to you about it. Look, Ade, whatever you"re doing, just be careful, okay?"
    
  "Oh, I didn't know you cared, Sammo," Aidan teased. "I promise I'll wash behind my ears every night, okay?"
    
  "Yeah, okay, screw you too," Sam smiled. He heard Aidan laugh in his hoarse, old voice before he ended the conversation. Since his former colleague hadn't known about Masters' announcement, Sam was almost certain the big fuss had been overblown. After all, it was safe to give Purdue the videotape of Einstein's equation. However, before he left, there was one last thing to take care of.
    
  "Lacey!" he shouted down the hallway leading to the apartment on the corner of his floor. "Lacey!"
    
  The teenage girl stumbled out, adjusting the ribbon in her hair.
    
  "Hey, Sam," she called, jogging back to his house. "I"m coming. I"m coming."
    
  "Please watch Bruich for me just for one night, okay?" he begged quickly, lifting the disgruntled old cat from the sofa where he had been lounging.
    
  "You're lucky my mom is in love with you, Sam," Lacey preached as Sam stuffed cat food into her pockets. "She hates cats."
    
  "I know, I"m sorry," he apologized, "but I need to get to my friend"s house with some important things."
    
  "Spy stuff?" she gasped excitedly.
    
  Sam shrugged, "Yeah, top secret shit."
    
  "Amazing," she smiled, gently stroking Bruich. "Okay, come on, Bruich, let's go! Bye, Sam!" And with that, she left, heading back inside from the cold, wet cement corridor.
    
  It took Sam less than four minutes to pack his duffel bag and tuck the coveted footage into his camera case. Soon, he was ready to leave to appease Purdue.
    
  "God, he's going to skin me alive," Sam thought. "He must be mad as hell."
    
    
  15
  Rats in the barley
    
    
  The resilient Aidan Glaston was a veteran journalist. He'd been on numerous assignments during the Cold War, under several crooked politicians, and he always got his story. He opted for a more passive career after nearly being killed in Belfast. The people he was investigating at the time repeatedly warned him, but he should have known about it before anyone else in Scotland. Soon after, karma took its toll, and Aidan found himself one of many wounded by shrapnel in IRA bombings. He took the hint and applied for a job as an administrative writer.
    
  Now he was back in the field. Turning sixty hadn't been as good as he'd thought, and the tough reporter soon discovered that boredom would kill him long before cigarettes or cholesterol. After months of cajoling and offering better perks than other journalists, Aidan convinced the fussy Miss Noble that he was right for the job. After all, he was the one who wrote the front-page story about McFadden and the most unusual meeting of elected mayors in Scotland. That very word, "elected," inspired mistrust in someone like Aidan.
    
  In the yellow light of his rented dorm room in Castlemilk, he puffed on a cheap cigarette and wrote a draft of a report on his computer, intending to formulate it later. Aidan was well aware of losing valuable records before, so he had a foolproof plan: after he finished each draft, he emailed it to himself. This way, he always had backups.
    
  I wondered why only a few Scottish local government administrators were involved, and I learned this when I tricked my way into a local meeting in Glasgow. It became clear the leak I'd been involved in wasn't intentional, as my source subsequently disappeared. At a meeting of Scottish local government governors, I learned that the common denominator wasn't their profession. Isn't that interesting?
    
  What they all have in common is their affiliation with a larger global organization, or rather, a conglomerate of influential businesses and associations. McFadden, the one I was most interested in, turned out to be the least of our worries. While I thought it was a meeting of mayors, they all turned out to be members of this anonymous party that includes politicians, financiers, and military men. This meeting wasn't about minor laws or city council resolutions, but something much larger: the summit in Belgium we'd all heard about on the news. And Belgium is where I'll be attending the next secret summit. I have to know if it's the last thing I do.
    
  A knock on the door interrupted his report, but he quickly added the time and date, as usual, before studding out his cigarette. The knocking became insistent, even insistent.
    
  "Hey, don't take off your pants, I'm on my way!" he barked impatiently. He pulled up his trousers and, to annoy the caller, decided to attach his draft to an email and send it before opening the door. The knocking grew louder and more frequent, but when he peered through the peephole, he recognized Benny D, his main source. Benny was a personal assistant at the Edinburgh office of a private financial corporation.
    
  "Jesus, Benny, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you'd vanished off the face of the planet," Aidan muttered, opening the door. Standing before him in the grimy dorm hallway was Benny D, looking pale and ill.
    
  "I'm so sorry I didn't call you back, Aidan," Benny apologized. "I was afraid they'd figure me out, you know..."
    
  "I know, Benny. I know how this game works, son. Come in," Aidan invited. "Just lock the doors behind you when you get in."
    
  "Okay," the shaking snitch exhaled nervously.
    
  "Want some whiskey?" "Sounds like you could use some," the older journalist suggested. Before his words could cool, a dull thud echoed behind him. Not a moment later, Aidan felt fresh blood splash across his exposed neck and upper back. He turned in shock, his eyes widening at the sight of Benny's shattered skull where he'd fallen to his knees. His limp body fell, and Aidan cringed at the coppery scent of a freshly fractured skull, his primary source.
    
  Two figures stood behind Benny. One was bolting the door, and the other, a huge thug in a suit, was cleaning the nozzle of his muffler. The man at the door stepped out of the shadows and revealed himself.
    
  "Benny won't drink whiskey, Mr. Glaston, but Wolfe and I wouldn't mind a drink or two," the jackal-faced businessman grinned.
    
  "McFadden," Aidan chuckled. "I wouldn't waste my piss on you, let alone a good single malt."
    
  The wolf grunted like the animal he was, irritated that he'd had to let the old newspaperman live until ordered otherwise. Aidan met his gaze with disdain. "What's this? Couldn't you afford a bodyguard who can form proper words? I guess you get what you can afford, hey?"
    
  McFadden's grin faded in the lamplight, the shadows deepening every line of his fox-like features. "Easy there, Wolf," he purred, pronouncing the bandit's name in the German accent. Aidan noted the name and pronunciation and concluded that it was likely the bodyguard's real name. "I can afford more than you think, you complete hack," McFadden taunted, slowly circling the journalist. Aidan kept his eyes on Wolf until the Mayor of Oban circled around him and stopped at his laptop. "I have some very influential friends."
    
  "Obviously," Aidan chuckled. "What remarkable things have you accomplished while kneeling before these friends, Honorable Lance McFadden?"
    
  Wolf intervened and hit Aidan so hard that he stumbled to the floor. He spat out a small amount of blood that had pooled on his lip and grinned. McFadden sat on Aidan's bed with his laptop and looked through his open documents, including the one Aidan had been writing before the interruption. A blue LED illuminated his hideous face as his eyes darted silently from side to side. Wolf stood motionless, his hands clasped in front of him, the pistol's silencer protruding from his fingers, simply awaiting the command.
    
  McFadden sighed, "So you found out the mayors' meeting wasn't quite what it sounded like, right?"
    
  "Yeah, your new friends are way more powerful than you'll ever be," the journalist snorted. "That just proves you're a pawn. Who the hell knows what they need you for. Oban can hardly be called an important town... in almost any way."
    
  "You'd be surprised, mate, how valuable Oban will be when the 2017 Belgian Summit is in full swing," McFadden boasted. "I'm on top of it, making sure our cozy little town is safe when the time comes."
    
  "For what? When will the time come for what?" Aidan asked, but was met only with an irritating chuckle from the fox-faced villain. McFadden leaned closer to Aidan, who was still kneeling on the rug in front of the bed where Wolf had sent him. "You"ll never know, my nosy little enemy. You"ll never know. This must be hell for you guys, huh? Because you just have to know everything, don"t you?"
    
  "I'll find out," Aidan insisted, looking defiant, but he was terrified. "Remember, I've discovered that you and your fellow administrators are in cahoots with an older brother and sister, and that you're bullying your way up the ranks by intimidating those who see right through you."
    
  Aidan didn't even see the order pass from McFadden's eyes to his dog. Wolf's boot shattered the left side of the journalist's ribcage with one powerful blow. Aidan cried out in pain as his torso caught fire from the impact of the attacker's steel-reinforced boots. He doubled over on the floor, tasting even more of his own warm blood in his mouth.
    
  "Now tell me, Aidan, have you ever lived on a farm?" McFadden asked.
    
  Aidan couldn't answer. His lungs were on fire, refusing to fill enough for speech. All that came out was a hissing sound. "Aidan," McFadden sang to encourage him. To avoid further punishment, the journalist nodded vigorously, trying to give some kind of answer. Fortunately for him, it was satisfactory for the moment. Smelling dust from the dirty floor, Aidan sucked in as much air as he could, his ribs squeezing his organs.
    
  "I lived on a farm when I was a teenager. My father grew wheat. Our farm produced spring barley every year, but for several years, before we sent the sacks to market, we stored them during harvest," the mayor of Oban recounted slowly. "Sometimes we had to work extra fast because, you see, we had a storage problem. I asked my father why we had to work so fast, and he explained that we had a vermin problem. I remember one summer when we had to destroy entire nests burrowed under the barley, poisoning every rat we could find. There were always more of them when you left them alive, you know?"
    
  Aidan could see where this was headed, but the pain kept his thoughts in his head. In the lamplight, he could see the bandit's massive shadow moving as he tried to look up, but he couldn't turn his neck far enough to see what he was doing. McFadden handed Aidan's laptop to Wolf. "Take care of all this... information, okay? Vielen Dank." He returned his attention to the journalist at his feet. "Now, I'm sure you follow my lead in this comparison, Aidan, but in case the blood is already filling your ears, let me explain."
    
  'Already? What does he mean by already?' Aidan considered this. The sound of a laptop shattering was deafening. For some reason, all he cared about was how his editor was going to complain about the loss of the company's technology.
    
  "You see, you're one of those rats," McFadden continued calmly. "You burrow into the ground until you disappear into the chaos, and then," he sighed dramatically, "it becomes harder and harder to find you. All the while, you're wreaking havoc and destroying from the inside all the work and care that went into harvesting the crops."
    
  Aidan could barely breathe. His slight frame was unsuited to physical punishment. Much of his strength came from his wit, common sense, and deductive powers. His body, however, was terribly fragile in comparison. When McFadden spoke of exterminating rats, it became abundantly clear to the veteran journalist that the mayor of Oban and his pet orangutan would not leave him alive.
    
  In his field of vision, he could see the red smile on Benny's skull, distorting the shape of his bulging, dead eyes. He knew he would soon become one, but when Wolfe crouched next to him and wrapped the laptop cord around his neck, Aidan realized there would be no quick fix. He was already struggling to breathe, and the only complaint he could muster was that he wouldn't have any defiant last words for his killers.
    
  "I must say, this is quite a profitable evening for Wolf and me," McFadden filled Aidan's final moments with his shrill voice. "Two rats in one night, and a lot of dangerous information eliminated."
    
  The old journalist felt the German thug's immeasurable strength press against his throat. His arms were too weak to tear the wire from his throat, so he decided to die as quickly as possible, without tiring himself out with a futile struggle. All he could think of, as his head began to burn behind his eyes, was that Sam Cleave was probably on the same page as these high-ranking crooks. Then Aidan remembered another ironic twist. Not fifteen minutes earlier, in the draft of his report, he had written that he would expose these people even if it was the last thing he did. His email would have gone viral. Wolf couldn't erase what was already in cyberspace.
    
  As darkness enveloped Aidan Glaston, he managed to smile.
    
    
  16
  Dr. Jacobs and Einstein's Equation
    
    
  Kasper danced with his new flame, the stunning but clumsy Olga Mitra. He was delighted, especially when the family invited them to stay and enjoy the wedding reception, to which Olga brought the cake.
    
  "This day has definitely been wonderful," she laughed as he playfully twirled her and tried to dip her. Kasper couldn't get enough of Olga's high, soft giggles, filled with delight.
    
  "I agree with that," he smiled.
    
  "When that cake started toppling over," she admitted, "I swear I felt like my whole life was falling apart. It was my first job here, and my reputation was on the line... you know how it goes."
    
  "I know," he sympathized. "Come to think of it, my day was shitty until you happened."
    
  He didn't mean what he said. Pure honesty spilled from his lips, the full extent of which he only realized a moment later, when he found her staring at him, stunned.
    
  "Wow," she said. "Casper, that"s the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me."
    
  He simply smiled, as fireworks exploded inside him. "Yes, my day could have ended a thousand times worse, especially given how it began." Suddenly, clarity struck Casper. It hit him right between the eyes with such force that he almost lost consciousness. In an instant, all the warm, good events of the day flew out of his mind, to be replaced by what had been tormenting his brain all night before he heard Olga's fateful sobs outside his door.
    
  Thoughts of David Perdue and the Dread Serpent surfaced instantly, permeating every inch of his brain. "Oh God," he frowned.
    
  "What"s wrong?" she asked.
    
  "I forgot something very important," he admitted, feeling the ground slipping out from under his feet. "Do you mind if we go?"
    
  "Already?" she groaned. "But we"ve only been here thirty minutes."
    
  Kasper wasn't a temperamental man by nature, but he raised his voice to convey the urgency of the situation, to impress upon the seriousness of the predicament. "Please, can we go? We came in your car, otherwise you could have stayed longer."
    
  "God, why should I want to stay longer?" she pounced on him.
    
  "A great start to what could be a wonderful relationship. This, or this, is true love," he thought. But her aggression was actually sweet. "I stayed this long just to dance with you? Why would I want to stay if you weren't here with me?"
    
  He couldn't be angry about it. Casper's emotions were overwhelmed by the beautiful woman and the impending destruction of the world in this brutal confrontation. Finally, he lowered his hysteria enough to plead, "Can we please just leave? I need to contact someone about something very important, Olga. Please?"
    
  "Of course," she said. "We can go." She took his hand and rushed away from the crowd, giggling and winking. "Besides, they"ve already paid me."
    
  "Oh, good," he replied, "but I felt bad."
    
  They jumped out and Olga drove back to Casper's house, but someone else was already waiting for him there, sitting on the porch.
    
  "Oh, hell no," he muttered as Olga parked her car on the street.
    
  "Who is it?" she asked. "You don"t look happy to see them."
    
  "I'm not like that," he confirmed. "It's someone from work, Olga, so if you don't mind, I really don't want him to meet you."
    
  "Why?" she asked.
    
  "Just, please," he said, a little angry again, "trust me. I don't want you to know these people. Let me share a secret with you. I really, really like you."
    
  She smiled warmly. "I feel the same way."
    
  Normally, Casper would have blushed with delight at this, but the urgency of the problem he was dealing with outweighed the pleasantness. "So then you'll understand that I don't want to confuse someone who makes me smile with someone I hate."
    
  To his surprise, she completely understood his predicament. "Of course. I"ll go to the store after you leave. I still need some olive oil for my ciabatta."
    
  "Thank you for understanding, Olga. I'll come see you when I've sorted this all out, okay?" he promised, gently squeezing her hand. Olga leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, but said nothing. Casper got out of the car and heard it pull away behind him. Karen was nowhere to be seen, and he hoped Olga would remember the half-jack she'd asked for as a reward for baking all morning.
    
  Casper tried to appear nonchalant as he walked up the driveway, but the fact that he had to navigate around the oversized car parked in his lot was like sandpaper. Sitting on Casper's porch chair, as if he owned the place, was the infamous Clifton Taft. He held a bunch of Greek grapes in his hand, plucking them one by one and stuffing them into his equally oversized teeth.
    
  "Shouldn"t you have returned to the United States by now?" Casper chuckled, maintaining a tone somewhere between mockery and inappropriate humor.
    
  Clifton chuckled, believing the latter. "Sorry to intrude on your business like this, Casper, but I believe you and I need to discuss business."
    
  "That's rich, coming from you," Casper replied, unlocking his door. He was determined to get to his laptop before Taft discovered he'd been trying to find David Perdue.
    
  "Now, now. There's no rule book that says we can't rekindle our old partnership, is there?" Puchok trailed at his heels, simply assuming he'd been invited in.
    
  Casper quickly minimized the window and closed the lid of his laptop. "Partnership?" Casper chuckled. "Didn't your partnership with Zelda Bessler produce the results you hoped for? I suppose I was just a surrogate, a silly inspiration for the two of you. What's wrong? Does she not know how to apply complex mathematics, or has she run out of outsourcing ideas?"
    
  Clifton Taft nodded with a bitter smile. "Take all the low blows you want, my friend. I won't argue that you deserve this indignation. After all, you're right in all your assumptions. She has no idea what to do."
    
  "Continue?" Casper frowned. "On what?"
    
  "Your previous job, of course. Isn't that the job you thought she stole from you for her own benefit?" Taft asked.
    
  "Well, yes," the physicist confirmed, but he still looked a little stunned. "I just... thought... I thought you undid that failure."
    
  Clifton Taft grinned and placed his hands on his hips. He tried to swallow his pride gracefully, but it meant nothing; it just looked awkward. "It wasn't a failure, not a total one. Um, we never told you this after you left the project, Dr. Jacobs, but," Taft hesitated, searching for the gentlest way to break the news, "we never terminated the project."
    
  "What? Are you all fucking crazy?" Casper was seething. "Do you even realize the consequences of this experiment?"
    
  "We do!" Taft assured him sincerely.
    
  "Really?" Casper called his bluff. "Even after what happened to George Masters, you still believe you can use biological components in an experiment? You're as insane as you are stupid."
    
  "Hey, now," Taft warned, but Casper Jacobs was too immersed in his sermon to care what he said or who it was offensive to.
    
  "No. Listen to me," the usually reserved and modest physicist growled. "Admit it. You're just money here. Cliff, you don't know the difference between a variable and a cow's udder, and we all do! So please stop assuming you understand what you're actually funding here!"
    
  "Do you realize how much money we could make if this project were successful, Casper?" Taft persisted. "It would make all nuclear weapons, all sources of nuclear energy, obsolete. It would eliminate all existing fossil fuels and their production. We would rid the earth of further drilling and fracking. Don't you understand? If this project is successful, there will be no wars over oil or resources. We will be the sole supplier of inexhaustible energy."
    
  "And who's going to buy it from us? You mean you and your noble court will benefit from all this, and those of us who made it happen will continue to manage the generation of this energy," Casper explained to the American billionaire. Taft couldn't really dismiss any of this as nonsense, so he simply shrugged.
    
  "We need you to make this happen, regardless of the Masters. What happened there was human error," Taft coaxed the reluctant genius.
    
  "Yes, it was!" Casper gasped. "Yours! You and your tall, powerful lapdogs in white coats. It was your mistake that almost killed that scientist. What did you do after I left? Did you pay him?"
    
  "Forget about him. He has everything he needs to live his life," Taft informed Casper. "I'll quadruple your salary if you return to the facility again to see if you can fix Einstein's equation for us. I'll appoint you chief physicist. You'll have complete control of the project, provided you can integrate it into the current project by October 25th."
    
  Casper threw his head back and laughed. "You"re fucking kidding me, right?"
    
  "No," Taft replied. "You will make it happen, Dr. Jacobs, and you will go down in the history books as the man who usurped Einstein's genius and surpassed him."
    
  Casper absorbed the forgetful magnate's words and tried to understand how such an eloquent man could have such trouble comprehending the catastrophe. He felt it necessary to adopt a simpler, calmer tone, to try one last time.
    
  "Cliff, we know what the outcome of a successful project will be, right? Now tell me, what happens if this experiment goes wrong again? One more thing I need to know in advance: who are you planning to use as a guinea pig this time?" Casper asked, making sure his idea sounded convincing, to uncover the sordid details of the plan Taft and the Order had hatched.
    
  "Don't worry. You're just applying the equation," Taft said mysteriously.
    
  "Then good luck," Casper chuckled. "I'm not part of any project unless I know the bare facts around which I'm supposed to contribute to chaos."
    
  "Oh, please," Taft chuckled. "Chaos. You"re so dramatic."
    
  "The last time we tried to apply Einstein's equation, our test subject got fried. This proves we can't successfully launch this project without human casualties. It works in theory, Cliff," Casper explained. "But in practice, generating energy within a dimension will cause a backflow into our dimension, frying every human on this planet. Any paradigm that includes a biological component in this experiment will lead to extinction. All the money in the world couldn't pay that ransom, buddy."
    
  "Again, this negativity has never been the basis of progress and breakthroughs, Casper. Jesus Christ! Do you think Einstein thought this was impossible?" Taft tried to convince Dr. Jacobs.
    
  "No, he knew it was possible," Casper countered, "and that's exactly why he tried to destroy the Dread Serpent. You're a fucking idiot!"
    
  "Watch your words, Jacobs! I'll put up with a lot, but this shit won't stick with me for long," Taft seethed. His face flushed, and drool coated the corners of his mouth. "We can always get someone else to complete Einstein's 'Terrible Serpent' equation for us. Don't think you're expendable, pal."
    
  Dr. Jacobs dreaded the thought of Taft's bitch, Bessler, perverting his work. Taft hadn't mentioned Purdue, which meant he hadn't yet learned that Purdue had already discovered the Dread Serpent. Once Taft and the Order of the Black Sun learned of this, Jacobs would become expendable, and he couldn't risk such a permanent dismissal.
    
  "Fine," he sighed, watching Taft's sickening satisfaction. "I'll return to the project, but this time I don't want any human subjects. It's too much on my conscience, and I don't care what you or the Order think. I have morals."
    
    
  17
  And the clamp is fixed
    
    
  "My God, Sam, I thought you were killed in action. Where in heaven's name have you been?" Purdue was furious when he saw the tall, stern journalist standing in his doorway. Purdue was still under the influence of a recent sedative, but he was convincing enough. He sat up in bed. "Did you bring the footage from 'The Lost City'? I have to start working on the equation."
    
  "Jesus, calm down, okay?" Sam frowned. "I've been through hell and back because of that fucking equation of yours, so a polite 'hello' is the least you can do."
    
  If Charles had possessed a more vibrant personality, he would have rolled his eyes by now. Instead, he stood there, rigid and disciplined, yet captivated by the two usually cheerful men. They had both magically deteriorated! Purdue had been a crazed maniac since returning home, and Sam Cleve had transformed into a pompous idiot. Charles correctly estimated that both men had suffered severe emotional trauma, and neither showed signs of good health or sleep.
    
  "Do you need anything else, sir?" He dared to ask his employer, but surprisingly, Perdue was calm.
    
  "No, thank you, Charles. Could you please close the door behind you?" Purdue asked politely.
    
  "Of course, sir," Charles replied.
    
  After the door clicked shut, Perdue and Sam stared at each other tensely. All they could hear in the privacy of Perdue's bedroom was the chirping of finches perched in the large pine tree outside, and Charles discussing fresh sheets with Lillian a few doors down the hall.
    
  "So, how are you doing?" Perdue asked, performing his first obligatory act of politeness. Sam laughed. He opened his camera case and pulled out an external hard drive from behind his Canon. He tossed it into Perdue's lap and said, "Let's not waste time with pleasantries. This is all you want from me, and frankly, I'm damn glad to get rid of that bloody videotape once and for all."
    
  Perdue grinned, shaking his head. "Thanks, Sam," he smiled at his friend. "In all seriousness, though, why are you so happy to get rid of this? I remember you said you'd like to edit this into a documentary for the Wildlife Society or something."
    
  "That was the plan at first," Sam admitted, "but I just got tired of it all. I got kidnapped by a madman, my car was wrecked, and I ended up losing a dear old colleague, all in the space of three days, buddy. According to his last log, I hacked his email," Sam explained, "which means he was onto something big."
    
  "Big?" Perdue asked, slowly dressing behind his antique rosewood screen.
    
  "A grand end of the world," Sam admitted.
    
  Purdue peered over the ornate carvings. He looked like a refined meerkat standing at attention. "So? What did he say? And what"s this crazy story?"
    
  "Oh, it's a long story," Sam sighed, still reeling from the ordeal. "The cops will be looking for me because I wrote off my car in broad daylight... in a car chase through Old Town, endangering people, and all that."
    
  "Oh my God, Sam, what's his problem? Did you give him the slip?" Purdue asked, groaning as he pulled on his clothes.
    
  "As I said, it's a long story, but first I need to complete an assignment my former colleague at The Post was working on," Sam said. His eyes watered, but he continued speaking. "Have you ever heard of Aidan Glaston?"
    
  Purdue shook his head. He'd probably seen the name somewhere, but it meant nothing to him. Sam shrugged. "They killed him. Two days ago, he was found in a room where his editor sent him to register for the Castlemilk sting operation. He was with some guy he probably knew, shot execution style. Aidan was strung up like a fucking pig, Purdue."
    
  "Oh my God, Sam. I'm so sorry to hear that," Perdue sympathized. "Are you taking his place on the mission?"
    
  As Sam had hoped, Purdue was so obsessed with getting started on the equation that he forgot to ask about the madman stalking Sam. It would have been too difficult to explain in such a short time, and there was a risk of alienating Purdue. He wouldn't want to know that the work he was dying to begin was considered an instrument of destruction. Of course, he would have chalked it up to paranoia or Sam's deliberate interference, so the journalist left it at that.
    
  "I spoke to his editor, and she's sending me to Belgium for this secret summit disguised as a renewable energy talk. Aidan thought it was a cover for something sinister, and the mayor of Oban was one of them," Sam explained briefly. He knew Purdue hadn't paid much attention anyway. Sam stood and closed the camera case, glancing at the disk he'd left for Purdue. His stomach clenched as he looked at it, lying there, silently threatening, but his gut feeling held no coherence without the facts to back it up. All he could do was hope that George Masters was mistaken and that he, Sam, hadn't just handed over humanity's extinction to a physics wizard.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Sam left Raichtisousis with relief. It was strange, because it felt like a second home. Something about the equation on the videotape he'd given to Purdue made him feel sick. He'd only experienced this a few times in his life, usually after he'd committed some misdeed or lied to his late fiancée, Patricia. This time, it seemed darker, more final, but he chalked it up to his own guilty conscience.
    
  Purdue was kind enough to loan Sam his 4x4 until he could get a new set of wheels. His old car wasn't insured because Sam preferred to stay out of public records and low-security servers, fearing Black Sun might be interested. After all, the police would likely have caught him if they'd tracked him down. It was a revelation that his car, inherited from a deceased high school friend, wasn't registered in his name.
    
  It was late evening. Sam strode proudly to the large Nissan and, with a wolfish whistle, pressed the immobilizer button. The light flashed twice and then went out before he heard the central locking click. An attractive woman emerged from the trees, heading for the front door of the mansion. She carried a first-aid kit but was dressed in casual clothes. As she passed, she smiled at him: "Was that a whistle for me?"
    
  Sam had no idea how to react. If he said yes, she could slap him, and he'd be lying. If he denied it, he'd be a weirdo, fused with a machine. Sam was a quick thinker; he stood there like a fool with his hand raised.
    
  "Are you Sam Cleave?" she asked.
    
  Bingo!
    
  "Yes, that must be me," he beamed. "And who are you?"
    
  The young woman approached Sam and wiped the smile from her face. "Did you get him the recording he asked for, Mr. Cleve? Did you? I hope so, because his health was rapidly deteriorating while you were taking your damn time getting it to him."
    
  In his opinion, her sudden snideness was beyond the pale. He usually viewed bold women as a fun challenge, but lately, difficulties had made him a little less obedient.
    
  "Forgive me, doll, but who are you to lecture me?" Sam returned the favor. "From what I see here with your little bag, you're a home health aide, a nurse at best, and certainly not one of Purdue's longtime acquaintances." He opened the driver's door. "Now, why don't you skip this and do what you're paid to do, hey? Or do you wear the nurse's uniform for those special calls?"
    
  "How dare you?" she hissed, but Sam couldn't hear the rest. The luxurious comfort of the 4x4's cabin was especially good at soundproofing, reducing her rant to a muffled murmur. He started the car and savored the luxury before backing up, dangerously close to the distressed stranger with the medical bag.
    
  Laughing like a naughty child, Sam waved to the guards at the gate, following Raichtischusis behind him. As he descended the winding road toward Edinburgh, his phone rang. It was Janice Noble, editor of the Edinburgh Post, informing him of a rendezvous point in Belgium where he was to meet her local correspondent. From there, they escorted him to one of the private boxes in the La Monnaie Gallery so he could gather as much information as possible.
    
  "Please be careful, Mr. Cleve," she said finally. "Your plane ticket was emailed to you."
    
  "Thank you, Miss Noble," Sam replied. "I"ll be there within the next day. We"ll get to the bottom of this."
    
  As soon as Sam hung up, Nina called him. For the first time in days, he was glad to hear from someone. "Hey, gorgeous!" he greeted.
    
  "Sam, are you still drunk?" was her first response.
    
  "Um, no," he replied with restrained enthusiasm. "Just glad to hear from you. That"s all."
    
  "Oh, okay," she said. "Look, I need to talk to you. Maybe you could meet me somewhere?"
    
  "In Oban? Actually, I'm leaving the country," Sam explained.
    
  "No, I left Oban last night. Actually, that's what I want to talk to you about. I'm at the Radisson Blu on the Royal Mile," she said, sounding a little frazzled. By Nina Gould's standards, "frazzled" meant something huge had happened. She wasn't easily riled.
    
  "Okay, check this out. I"ll pick you up, and then we can talk at my place while I pack. How does that sound?" he suggested.
    
  "ETA?" she asked. Sam knew something must be haunting Nina, since she didn't even bother to ask him for the smallest details. If she'd asked him directly about his ETA, she'd already made up her mind to accept his offer.
    
  "I"ll be there in about thirty minutes because of traffic," he confirmed, checking the digital clock on the dashboard.
    
  "Thank you, Sam," she said in a weakening tone that alarmed him. Then she was gone. The entire walk to his hotel, Sam felt as if he'd been given a colossal yoke. Poor Aidan's terrible fate, along with his theories about McFadden, Purdue's mood swings, and George Masters's uneasy attitude toward Sam, only heightened the worry he now felt for Nina. He was so preoccupied with her well-being that he barely noticed crossing the busy streets of Edinburgh. A few minutes later, he arrived at Nina's hotel.
    
  He recognized her immediately. Her boots and jeans made her look more like a rock star than a historian, but the slim suede blazer and pashmina scarf softened the look somewhat-just enough to make her look as sophisticated as she truly was. No matter how stylishly she dressed, it didn't make up for her tired complexion. Normally beautiful even by natural standards, the historian's large, dark eyes had lost their sparkle.
    
  She had a lot to tell Sam, and she had very little time to do it. She wasted no time, hopping into the truck and getting straight to the point. "Hey, Sam. Can I stay the night at your place while you're God knows where?"
    
  "Of course," he replied. "I"m glad to see you too."
    
  It was uncanny how, in one day, Sam was reunited with both of his best friends, and they both greeted him with indifference and worldly weariness at the pain.
    
    
  18
  Lighthouse in a terrible night
    
    
  Uncharacteristically, Nina said almost nothing on the way to Sam's apartment. She simply sat, staring out the car window, at nothing in particular. To set the mood, Sam turned on the local radio station to break the awkward silence. He was itching to ask Nina why she'd fled Oban, even for a few days, because he knew she had a contract to lecture at the local college there for at least the next six months. However, from the way she was acting, he knew it was best to mind her own business-for now.
    
  When they reached Sam's apartment, Nina trudged inside and sank onto her favorite couch, the one Bruich usually occupied. He wasn't in a hurry, per se, but Sam began gathering everything he might need for such a long intelligence gathering mission. Hoping Nina would explain her predicament, he didn't press her. He knew she knew he'd be leaving soon on assignment, and so if she had anything to say, she had to say it.
    
  "I"m going to take a shower," he said, passing her. "If you need to talk, just come in."
    
  He'd barely pulled down his pants to step under the warm water when he noticed Nina's shadow flit past his mirror. She'd sat down on the toilet lid, leaving him to his laundry, without a single word of mockery or ridicule, as was her custom.
    
  "They killed old Mr. Hemming, Sam," she stated simply. He could see her slumped on the toilet, her hands clasped between her knees, her head bowed in despair. Sam assumed the Hemming character was someone from Nina's childhood.
    
  "Your friend?" he asked in a raised voice, challenging the rushing rain.
    
  "Yes, so to speak. A prominent citizen of Oban since 400 BC, you know?" she replied simply.
    
  "I'm sorry, love," Sam said. "You must have loved him very much to take it so hard." Then it occurred to Sam that she'd mentioned that someone had killed the old man.
    
  "No, he was just an acquaintance, but we talked a few times," she explained.
    
  "Wait, who killed him? And how do you know he was killed?" Sam asked impatiently. It sounded ominous, like Aidan's fate. Coincidence?
    
  "McFadden's fucking Rottweiler killed him, Sam. He killed a frail senior citizen right in front of me," she muttered haltingly. Sam felt an invisible blow hit his chest. Shock shot through him.
    
  "In front of you? Does that mean...?" he began as Nina stepped into the shower with him. It was a wonderful surprise and a completely devastating impact when he saw her naked body. It had been a long time since he'd seen her like this, but this time it wasn't at all sexual. In fact, Sam's heart broke when he saw the bruises on her hips and ribs. Then he noticed the scars on her chest and back and the crudely stitched stab wounds on the inside of her left collarbone and under her left arm, inflicted by a retired nurse who had promised not to tell anyone.
    
  "Jesus Christ!" he yelped. His heart was pounding, and all he could think about was grabbing her and hugging her tightly. She wasn't crying, and that horrified him. "Was this the work of his Rottweiler?" he asked into her wet hair, continuing to kiss the top of her head.
    
  "His name, by the way, is Wolf, like Wolfgang," she muttered through the warm water trickling down his muscular chest. "They just came in and attacked Mr. Hemming, but I heard the noise from upstairs, where I was getting him another blanket. By the time I got down," she gasped, "they had him out of his chair and thrown headfirst into the fire. God! He didn't stand a chance!"
    
  "Then they attacked you?" he asked.
    
  "Yes, they tried to make it look like an accident. Wolf threw me down the stairs, but when I got up, he just used my towel rack while I tried to escape," she said, choking up. "In the end, he just stabbed me and left me bleeding."
    
  Sam had no words to say that would make things any better. He had a million questions about the police, about the old man's body, about how she'd gotten to Edinburgh, but all that had to wait. Right now, he had to reassure her and remind her that she was safe, and he intended to keep her that way.
    
  "McFadden, you just messed with the wrong people," he thought. Now he had proof that McFadden was indeed behind Aidan's murder. It also confirmed that McFadden was, after all, a member of the Order of the Black Sun. Time was running out for his trip to Belgium. He wiped her tears and said, "Dry yourself, but don't get dressed yet. I'm going to photograph your injuries, and then you're coming with me to Belgium. I won't let you out of my sight for a minute until I've skinned this treacherous bastard myself."
    
  This time, Nina didn't protest. She let Sam take control. There was no doubt in her mind that he was her avenger. In her head, when Sam's Canon flared up over her secrets, she could still hear Mr. Hemming warning her that she had been marked. Still, she would save him again, even knowing what kind of pig she was dealing with.
    
  Once he had enough evidence and they were both dressed, he made her a cup of Horlicks to warm her up before they left.
    
  "Do you have a passport?" he asked her.
    
  "Yes," she said, "do you have any painkillers?"
    
  "I"m a friend of Dave Perdue"s," he replied politely, "of course I have painkillers."
    
  Nina couldn't help but giggle, and it was a blessing to Sam's ears to hear her spirits lift.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  On the flight to Brussels, they exchanged vital information they'd gathered separately over the past week. Sam had to explain the reasons he felt compelled to take on Aidan Glaston's mission so Nina would understand what needed to be done. He shared his own ordeal with George Masters and his doubts about Perdue's possession of the Dread Wyrm.
    
  "Oh my God, no wonder you look like warmed-up death," she finally said. "No offense. I"m sure I look like shit, too. I certainly feel like shit."
    
  He ruffled her thick dark curls and kissed her temple. "No offense, love. But yes, you do look like shit."
    
  She nudged him gently, as she always did when he said something cruel in jest, but of course she couldn't hit him with full force. Sam chuckled and took her hand. "We have a little less than two hours until we arrive in Belgium. Relax and take a break, okay? Those pills I gave you are amazing, you'll see."
    
  "You should know what's best for getting a girl pumped up," she teased, leaning her head back against the headrest of the chair.
    
  "I don't need drugs. Birds are too fond of long curls and a wiry beard," he boasted, slowly running his fingers over his cheek and jawline. "You're lucky I have a soft spot for you. It's the only reason I'm still a bachelor, waiting for you to come to your senses."
    
  Sam didn't hear the snide remarks. When he looked at Nina, she was fast asleep, exhausted from the hell she'd been through. It was nice to see her getting some rest, he thought.
    
  "My best lines always fall on deaf ears," he said, leaning back in his chair to catch a few winks.
    
    
  19
  Pandora opens
    
    
  Things had changed in Raichtisusis, but not necessarily for the better. Although Perdue was less sullen and kinder to his employees, another scourge had reared its ugly head: a couple of interfering planes.
    
  "Where is David?" Sister Hearst asked sharply when Charles opened the door.
    
  Butler Perdue was the picture of composure, and even he had to bite his lip.
    
  "He is in the laboratory, madam, but he is not expecting you," he replied.
    
  "He'll be thrilled to see me," she said coldly. "If he has any doubts about me, let him tell me himself."
    
  Charles, however, followed the haughty nurse into Purdue's computer room. The door to the room was ajar, indicating that Purdue was occupied but not closed to the public. Black and chrome servers towered wall to wall, their blinking lights flickering like tiny heartbeats in their polished plexiglass and plastic cases.
    
  "Sir, Nurse Hurst showed up unannounced. She insists you want to see her?" Charles raised his voice, expressing his restrained hostility.
    
  "Thank you, Charles," his employer called over the loud hum of the machines. Purdue sat in the far corner of the room, headphones in to block out the noise. He sat at a huge desk. Four laptops sat on it, connected and linked to another large box. Purdue's thick, wavy white hair peeked out from behind the computer covers. It was Saturday, and Jane wasn't there. Like Lillian and Charles, even Jane was starting to get a little irritated by the nurse's constant presence.
    
  The three staffers believed she was more than just Purdue's caretaker, though they were unaware of her interest in science. It seemed more like her wealthy husband was interested in sparing her widowhood, so she wouldn't have to spend her days cleaning up other people's waste and dealing with death. Of course, being the professionals they were, they never accused her of anything to Purdue.
    
  "How are you doing, David?" Sister Hearst asked.
    
  "Very good, Lilith, thank you," he smiled. "Come and take a look."
    
  She skipped over to his side of the desk and looked up what he'd been spending his time on lately. On each screen, the nurse noticed numerous number sequences she recognized.
    
  "The equation? But why does it keep changing? What's that for?" she asked, deliberately leaning close to the billionaire so he could smell her. Purdue was absorbed in his programming, but he never neglected to seduce women.
    
  "I"m not quite sure yet until this program tells me," he boasted.
    
  "That's a pretty vague explanation. Do you even know what it involves?" she asked, trying to make sense of the changing sequences on the screens.
    
  "It's believed to have been written by Albert Einstein sometime during World War I, when he was living in Germany, you see," Perdue explained cheerfully. "It was thought to have been destroyed, and well," he sighed, "it's become something of a myth in scientific circles ever since."
    
  "Oh, and you solved it," she nodded, looking very interested. "And what is it?" She pointed to another computer, a bulkier, older machine, the one Purdue had been working on. It was connected to laptops and a single server, but the only device he actively typed on.
    
  "Here I'm busy writing a program to decipher it," he explained. "It has to be constantly rewritten based on the data coming from the input source. The algorithm of this device will eventually help me determine the nature of the equation, but for now it looks like a different theory of quantum mechanics."
    
  Lilith Hurst frowned deeply as she studied the third screen for a moment. She glanced at Purdue. "That calculation there apparently represents atomic energy. Did you notice?"
    
  "My God, you're precious," Purdue smiled, his eyes shining with her knowledge. "You're absolutely right. It keeps emitting information that leads me back to some collision that will generate pure atomic energy."
    
  "That sounds dangerous," she remarked. "It reminds me of the CERN supercollider and what they're trying to achieve with particle acceleration."
    
  "I think that was largely what Einstein discovered, but, as in the 1905 paper, he considered such knowledge too destructive for fools in military uniforms and suits. That's why he considered it too dangerous to publish," Perdue said.
    
  She placed her hand on his shoulder. "But you're not wearing a uniform or a suit now, are you, David?" she winked.
    
  "I certainly don"t know," he replied, sinking back into his chair with a satisfied groan.
    
  The phone rang in the foyer. Jane or Charles usually answered the mansion's landline, but she wasn't on duty, and he was outside with a grocery delivery boy. There were several phones throughout the estate, a common number that could be answered anywhere in the house. Jane's extension also rang, but her office was too far away.
    
  "I"ll get it," Lilith offered.
    
  "You"re a guest, you know," Purdue reminded her cordially.
    
  "Still? God, David, I've been here so much lately, I'm surprised you haven't offered me a room yet," she hinted, quickly passing through the doorway and rushing up the stairs to the first floor. Purdue couldn't hear anything over the deafening noise.
    
  "Hello?" she replied, making sure she hadn"t identified herself.
    
  A foreign-sounding male voice answered. He had a thick Dutch accent, but she could understand him. "May I speak to David Perdue, please? It's quite urgent."
    
  "He's unavailable right now. In a meeting, actually. Can I give him a message so he can maybe call you back when he's finished?" she asked, grabbing a pen from her desk drawer to write in a small notepad.
    
  "This is Dr. Casper Jacobs," the man introduced himself. "Please ask Mr. Purdue to call me immediately."
    
  He gave her his number and repeated the emergency call.
    
  "Just tell him it's about the Dread Serpent. I know it doesn't make sense, but he'll understand what I'm talking about," Jacobs insisted.
    
  "Belgium? What's your number prefix?" she asked.
    
  "That"s right," he confirmed. "Thank you very much."
    
  "No problem," she said. "Goodbye."
    
  She tore off the top sheet and returned it to Purdue.
    
  "Who was that?" he asked.
    
  "Wrong number," she shrugged. "I had to explain three times that this wasn't Tracy's Yoga Studio and that we were closed," she laughed, tucking the paper into her pocket.
    
  "That's a first," Perdue chuckled. "We're not even on the list. I prefer to keep a low profile."
    
  "That's good. I always say that people who don't know my name when I answer my landline shouldn't even try to trick me," she chuckled. "Now get back to your programming, and I'll get us something to drink."
    
  After Dr. Casper Jacobs failed to reach David Perdue by phone to warn him about the equation, he had to admit that even trying made him feel better. Unfortunately, the slight improvement in his behavior didn't last.
    
  "Who were you talking to? You know phones are banned in this area, right, Jacobs?" the repulsive Zelda Bessler dictated from behind Casper. He turned to her with a smug remark. "That's Dr. Jacobs for you, Bessler. I'm in charge of this project this time."
    
  She couldn't deny it. Clifton Taft had specifically drafted a contract for a revised design, under which Dr. Casper Jacobs would be responsible for constructing the vessel needed for the experiment. Only he understood the theories surrounding what the Order was attempting to achieve, based on Einstein's principle, so he was also entrusted with the engineering. The vessel was to be completed within a short period of time. Much heavier and faster, the new object would have to be significantly larger than the previous one, which resulted in the scientist's injury and forced Jacobs to distance himself from the project.
    
  "How are things going here at the plant, Dr. Jacobs?" came Clifton Taft's raspy, drawling voice, the one Casper hated so much. "I hope we're on schedule."
    
  Zelda Bessler kept her hands in the pockets of her white lab coat and swayed slightly from left to right. She looked like a silly little schoolgirl trying to impress a heartthrob, and it made Jacobs feel sick. She smiled at Taft. "If he didn't spend so much time on the phone, he probably would have gotten a lot more done."
    
  "I know enough about the components of this experiment to make the occasional phone call," Casper said, deadpan. "I do have a life outside of this secret cesspool you live in, Bessler."
    
  "Oh," she mimicked him. "I prefer to support..." She looked seductively at the American tycoon, "a company with higher powers."
    
  Taft's large teeth protruded from beneath his lips, but he didn't react to her conclusion. "Seriously, Dr. Jacobs," he said, lightly taking Casper's arm and moving him away so Zelda Bessler couldn't hear, "how are we doing with the bullet design?"
    
  "You know, Cliff, I hate that you call it that," Casper admitted.
    
  "But that's how it is. In order to enhance the effects of the last experiment, we'll need something that travels at the speed of a bullet, with an equal spread of weight and speed to accomplish the task," Tuft reminded him as the two men walked away from the frustrated Bessler. The construction site was located in Meerdalwood, a wooded area east of Brussels. The plant, modestly located on a farm owned by Tuft, featured a system of underground tunnels that had been completed several years earlier. Few of the scientists recruited by the legitimate government and university academia had ever seen the underground, but it was there.
    
  "I'm almost done, Cliff," said Casper. "All that's left to calculate is the total weight I need from you. Remember, for this experiment to be successful, you must provide me with the exact weight of the vessel, or 'bullet,' as you call it. And, Cliff, it must be accurate to the gram, otherwise no ingenious equation will help me achieve this."
    
  Clifton Taft gave a bitter smile. Like a man about to break very bad news to a good friend, he cleared his throat through the awkward grin on his ugly face.
    
  "What? Can you give it to me or what?" Casper pressed.
    
  "I will give you those details shortly after tomorrow's summit in Brussels," Taft said.
    
  "Do you mean the international summit in the news?" Casper asked. "I'm not interested in politics."
    
  "That's as it should be, pal," Taft grumbled like a dirty old man. "You, of all people, are the main contributor to this experiment. Tomorrow, the International Atomic Energy Agency meets with international veto power over the NPT."
    
  "NPT?" Kasper frowned. He'd gotten the impression his involvement in the project was purely experimental, but the NPT was a political issue.
    
  "Non-Proliferation Treaty, buddy. Jesus, you really don't bother to research where your work will go after you publish your results, do you?" The American laughed, playfully clapping Kasper on the back. "All active participants in this project are scheduled to represent the Order tomorrow evening, but we need you here to oversee the final stages."
    
  "Do these world leaders even know about the Order?" Casper asked hypothetically.
    
  "The Black Sun Order is everywhere, my friend. It's the most powerful global force since the Roman Empire, but only the elite knows it. We have people in high command positions in every NPT member state. Vice presidents, members of the royal family, presidential advisers, and decision-makers," Taft elaborated dreamily. "Even mayors helping us implement our plans at the municipal level. Get involved. As the organizer of our next power move, you deserve to enjoy the spoils, Casper."
    
  Casper's head was spinning with this discovery. His heart thundered beneath his lab coat, but he maintained his posture and nodded in agreement. "Watch with enthusiasm!" he convinced himself. "Wow, I'm flattered. It looks like I'm finally getting the recognition I deserve," he boasted, and Taft believed every word.
    
  "That's the spirit! Now get everything ready so only the numbers we need to start can be entered into the calculation, okay?" Taft roared with glee. He left Casper to join Bessler in the hallway, leaving Casper shocked and confused, but he was certain of one thing. He had to contact David Perdue, or he would be forced to sabotage his own work.
    
    
  20
  Family ties
    
    
  Casper ran into his house and locked the door behind him. After a double shift, he was completely exhausted, but there was no time to be tired. Time was catching up with him, and he still couldn't talk to Purdue. The brilliant researcher had a reliable security system, and most of the time he remained safely hidden from prying eyes. Most of his communications were handled by his personal assistant, but it was the woman Casper thought he was talking to when he was talking to Lilith Hearst.
    
  The knock on the door made his heart stop for a moment.
    
  "It"s me!" he heard from the other side of the door, a voice that dripped a little heaven into the bucket of shit he found himself in.
    
  "Olga!" he breathed out, quickly opening the door and pulling her inside.
    
  "Wow, what are you talking about?" she asked, kissing him passionately. "I thought you were coming to see me tonight, but you haven't answered any of my calls all day."
    
  In her gentle manner and soft voice, the beautiful Olga continued to talk about being ignored and all that other chick flick nonsense that her new boyfriend truly couldn't afford to suffer or take the blame for. He grabbed her tightly and sat her down on a chair. Just for effect, Casper reminded her how much he loved her with a real kiss, but after that, it was time to explain everything. She always grasped what he was trying to say quickly, so he knew he could trust her with this exponentially serious matter.
    
  "Can I trust you with very confidential information, dear?" he whispered harshly in her ear.
    
  "Of course. Something"s driving you crazy, and I want you to tell me about it, okay?" she said. "I don"t want any secrets between us."
    
  "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "Fantastic. Look, I love you madly, but my work is becoming all-consuming." She nodded calmly as he continued. "I"ll keep it simple. I"ve been working on a top-secret experiment, creating a bullet-shaped chamber to conduct the test, right? It"s almost complete, and just today I learned," he swallowed hard, "that what I"ve been working on is about to be used for very evil purposes. I need to leave this country and disappear, you understand?"
    
  "What?" she squealed.
    
  "Remember that asshole who was sitting on my porch that day after we got back from the wedding? He"s running a sinister operation, and, and I think... I think they"re planning to assassinate a group of world leaders during a meeting," he explained hastily. "It"s been taken over by the only person who can decipher the correct equation. Olga, he"s working on it right now at his house in Scotland, he"ll figure out the variables soon enough! Once that happens, the asshole I work for (it was now Olga and Kasper"s code for Tuft) will apply that equation to the device I built them." Kasper shook his head, wondering why he"d even bothered to dump all this on a pretty baker, but he"d only known Olga for a short time. She had a few secrets of her own.
    
  "Defect," she said bluntly.
    
  "What?" He frowned.
    
  "It's a betrayal of my country. They can't touch you there," she repeated. "I'm from Belarus. My brother is a physicist at the Physicotechnical Institute, working in the same fields as you. Maybe he can help you?"
    
  Casper felt strange. Panic gave way to relief, but then clarity washed it away. He fell silent for a minute or so, trying to process all the details along with the astonishing information about his new lover's family. She remained silent to let him think, stroking his arms with her fingertips. It was a good idea, he thought, if only he could escape before Taft realized it. How could the project's chief physicist simply slip away without anyone noticing?
    
  "How?" he voiced his doubts. "How can I desert?"
    
  "You go to work. You destroy all copies of your work and take all their project notes with you. I know this because my uncle did it years ago," she said.
    
  "Is he there too?" Casper asked.
    
  "Who?"
    
  "Your uncle," he replied.
    
  She shook her head nonchalantly. "No. He"s dead. They killed him when they found out he sabotaged the ghost train."
    
  "What?" he exclaimed, quickly distracted from the matter of his dead uncle again. After all, from what she'd said, her uncle had died precisely because of what Casper was about to try.
    
  "The ghost train experiment," she shrugged. "My uncle did almost the same thing as you. He was a member of the Russian Secret Physics Society. They did this experiment where they sent a train through the sound barrier, or the speed barrier, or something." Olga giggled at her own ineptitude. She knew nothing about science, so it was difficult for her to accurately convey what her uncle and his colleagues had done.
    
  "And then?" Casper pressed. "What did the train do?"
    
  "They say it was supposed to teleport or go to another dimension... Casper, I really don't know anything about these things. You're making me feel really stupid here," she interrupted her explanation with an excuse, but Casper understood.
    
  "You don't seem stupid, my dear. I don't care how you say it, as long as it gives me an idea," he coaxed, smiling for the first time. She really wasn't stupid. Olga could see the tension in her lover's smile.
    
  "My uncle said the train was too powerful, that it would disrupt the energy fields here and cause an explosion or something. Then everyone on earth would... die?" she shuddered, seeking his approval. "They say his colleagues are still trying to make it work, using abandoned train tracks." She wasn't sure how to end their relationship, but Casper was delighted.
    
  Casper wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up, holding her in midair while he peppered her face with a myriad of little kisses. Olga no longer felt stupid.
    
  "My God, I"ve never been so happy to hear about human extinction," he joked. "Darling, you"ve almost described exactly what I"m struggling with here. Right, I have to get to the plant. Then I have to contact the journalists. No! I have to contact the journalists in Edinburgh. Yes!" he continued, running through a thousand priorities in his mind. "See, if I get the Edinburgh papers to publish this, not only will Order and the experiment be exposed, but David Purdue will hear about it and stop working on Einstein"s equation!"
    
  Horrified by what still lay ahead, Kasper simultaneously felt a sense of freedom. Finally, he could be with Olga without having to protect her from vile followers. His work would not be distorted, and his name would not be linked to global atrocity.
    
  While Olga was making him tea, Kasper grabbed his laptop and searched for "Edinburgh's Top Investigative Journalists." Of all the links provided, and there were many, one name stood out, and it was surprisingly easy to contact them.
    
  "Sam Cleave," Casper read aloud to Olga. "He's an award-winning investigative journalist, my dear. He lived in Edinburgh and freelances, but he used to work for several local newspapers... before..."
    
  "What? You make me curious. Speak!" she called from the open-plan kitchen.
    
  Casper smiled. "I feel like a pregnant woman, Olga."
    
  She burst out laughing. "As if you know what that"s like. You definitely acted like one. That"s for sure. Why do you say that, my love?"
    
  "So many emotions at once. I want to laugh, cry, and scream," he grinned, looking much better than he had a moment ago. "Sam Cleve, the guy I want to tell this story to? Guess what? He's a renowned author and explorer who's been on several expeditions led by the one and only David fucking Purdue!"
    
  "Who is he?" she asked.
    
  "The man with the dangerous equation I can't reach," Casper explained. "If I have to tell a reporter about a devious plan, who better than someone who personally knows the man who has Einstein's equation?"
    
  "Perfect!" she exclaimed. Something changed in Casper when he dialed Sam's number. He didn't care how dangerous desertion would be. He was ready to stand his ground.
    
    
  21
  Weighing
    
    
  The time had come for a meeting of the key players in global nuclear energy governance to convene in Brussels. The Hon. Lance McFadden moderated the event, having been involved with the International Atomic Energy Agency's UK office shortly before his campaign for Oban mayor.
    
  "One hundred percent turnout, sir," Wolfe reported to McFadden as they watched the delegates take their seats in the splendor of the La Monnaie Opera House. "We're just waiting for Clifton Taft to show up, sir. Once he's here, we can begin the"-he paused dramatically-"replacement procedure."
    
  McFadden was dressed in his Sunday best. Since his association with Taft and the Order, he'd been introduced to wealth, though it hadn't brought him class. He turned his head discreetly and whispered, "Did the calibration go well? I need to get this information to our man, Jacobs, by tomorrow. If he doesn't have the exact weights of all the passengers, the experiment will never work."
    
  "Each chair designed for the representative was equipped with sensors that would accurately determine their body weight," Wolf informed him. "The sensors were designed to weigh even the most delicate materials with deadly accuracy using new, cutting-edge scientific technology." The repulsive bandit grinned. "And you'll like it, sir. This technology was invented and manufactured by the one and only David Perdue."
    
  McFadden gasped at the name of the brilliant researcher. "My God! Really? You"re too right, Wolf. I love the irony of it. I wonder how he"s doing since that accident he had in New Zealand."
    
  "Apparently he's discovered the Terrible Serpent, sir. The rumor hasn't been confirmed yet, but knowing Purdue, he probably did find it," Wolff suggested. For McFadden, this was both a welcome discovery and a terrifying one.
    
  "Jesus Christ, Wolf, we need to get this from him! If we decipher the Scary Serpent, we can apply it to the experiment without having to go through all this crap," McFadden said, looking positively amazed by the fact. "He completed the equation? I thought it was a myth."
    
  "Many thought so until he called two of his assistants to help him find it. From what I've been told, he's working hard to solve the problem of the missing parts, but he hasn't figured it out yet," Wolf gossiped. "Apparently, he's so obsessed with it that he almost never sleeps anymore."
    
  "Can we get it? He certainly won't give it to us, and since you took out his little girlfriend, Dr. Gould, we have one less girlfriend of his to blackmail over this. Sam Cleave is impenetrable. He's the last person I'd count on to betray Perdue," McFadden whispered, while government delegates murmured quietly in the background. Before Wolf could respond, a female member of the EU Council's security service, overseeing the proceedings, interrupted him.
    
  "Excuse me, sir," she said to McFadden, "it"s exactly eight o"clock."
    
  "Thank you, thank you," McFadden's fake smile fooled her. "It's kind of you to let me know."
    
  He glanced back at Wolf as he walked from the stage to the podium to address the summit participants. Every seat occupied by an active member of the International Atomic Energy Agency, as well as by countries party to the NPT, transmitted data to the Black Sun computer in Meerdalvud.
    
  While Dr. Casper Jacobs was compiling his important work, erasing his data as best he could, the information arrived on the server. He complained about having completed the experimental vessel. At least he could distort the equation he had created, similar to Einstein's, but with less energy consumption.
    
  Just like Einstein, he had to decide whether to allow his genius to be used for nefarious purposes or to prevent the mass destruction of his work. He chose the latter and, keeping a close eye on the installed security cameras, pretended to work. In reality, the brilliant physicist was falsifying his calculations to sabotage the experiment. Kasper felt so guilty that he had already built a giant cylindrical vessel. His abilities would no longer allow him to serve Taft and his nefarious cult.
    
  Kasper wanted to smile as the last lines of his equation were altered just enough to be accepted but not functional. He saw the numbers being transmitted from the Opera House but ignored them. By the time Taft, McFadden, and the others arrived to activate the experiment, it would be long gone.
    
  But one desperate person he hadn't factored into his escape plans was Zelda Bessler. She watched him from a secluded booth just inside the large platform where the giant ship waited. Like a cat, she bided her time, allowing him to do whatever he thought he could get away with. Zelda smiled. A tablet was on her lap, connected to the Order of the Black Sun's communications platform. Without a sound to betray her presence, she typed "Detain Olga and place her on the Valkyrie" and sent the message to Wolf's subordinates in Bruges.
    
  Dr. Casper Jacobs was pretending to be diligently working on an experimental paradigm, unaware that his girlfriend was about to be introduced to his world. His phone rang. Seeming rather flustered by the sudden disturbance, he quickly stood up and went to the men's room. It was the call he'd been waiting for.
    
  "Sam?" he whispered, making sure all the bathroom stalls were empty. He'd told Sam Cleve about the upcoming experiment, but even Sam hadn't been able to get Purdue to change his mind about the equation. While Casper checked the trash cans for listening devices, he continued. "Are you here?"
    
  "Yes," Sam whispered on the other end of the line. "I'm in a booth at the Opera House, so I can eavesdrop properly, but so far I haven't been able to detect anything amiss to report. The summit is just getting started, but..."
    
  "What? What"s going on?" Casper asked.
    
  "Wait," Sam said sharply. "Do you know anything about taking a train to Siberia?"
    
  Casper frowned in utter confusion. "What? No, nothing like that. Why?"
    
  "A Russian security official said something about a flight to Moscow today," Sam recounted, but Casper hadn't heard anything like that from either Taft or Bessler. Sam added, "I have an agenda I swiped from the registration desk. As far as I understand, it's a three-day summit. They're having a symposium here today, then tomorrow morning they're planning a private flight to Moscow to board some fancy train called the Valkyrie. You don't know anything about that?"
    
  "Well, Sam, I don't exactly have much authority around here, you know?" Casper ranted as quietly as he could. One of the technicians went in to take a leak, making this kind of conversation impossible. "I have to go, honey. The lasagna will be great. I love you," he said and hung up. The technician simply smiled shyly as he urinated, unaware of what the project manager had actually discussed. Casper emerged from the restroom and felt uneasy about Sam Cleave's question about the train ride to Siberia.
    
  "I love you too, sweetheart," Sam said, but the physicist had already hung up. He tried dialing Purdue's satellite number, linked to the billionaire's personal account, but even there, no one answered. No matter how hard he tried, Purdue seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth, and this worried Sam more than panic. Still, he had no way to return to Edinburgh now, and with Nina accompanying him, he obviously couldn't send her to check on Purdue either.
    
  For a brief moment, Sam even considered sending Masters, but since he'd already denied the man's sincerity by handing over the equation to Purdue, he doubted Masters would be willing to help him. Crouched in the box his contact, Miss Noble, had arranged for him, Sam pondered the entire mission. He almost deemed it more urgent to prevent Purdue from completing the Einstein Equation than to follow the impending catastrophe orchestrated by Black Sun and his high-ranking followers.
    
  Sam was torn between his responsibilities, too distracted, and buckling under pressure. He had to protect Nina. He had to stop a potential global tragedy. He had to stop Purdue from finishing his math course. The journalist didn't often fall into despair, but this time he had no choice. He would have to ask Masters. The disfigured man was his only hope of stopping Purdue.
    
  He wondered if Dr. Jacobs had made all the necessary arrangements for the move to Belarus, but that was a question Sam could still catch up on when he met Jacobs for dinner. Right now, he needed to find out the flight details to Moscow, from where the summit representatives would board the train. From the discussions after the official meeting, Sam understood that the next two days would be devoted to visiting various reactor plants in Russia that were still producing nuclear energy.
    
  "So, NPT member states and the International Atomic Energy Agency are going on a trip to assess the power plants?" Sam muttered into his recorder. "I still don't see where the threat could escalate into tragedy. If I get the Masters to stop Purdue, it doesn't matter where Black Sun hides its weapons. Without Einstein's equation, all this would be for nothing anyway."
    
  He slipped out quietly, walking along the row of seats to where the lights were off. No one even saw him from the brightly lit, bustling section below. Sam was supposed to pick up Nina, call Masters, meet Jacobs, and then make sure he was on the train. His intel had revealed a secret, elite airfield called Koschei Strip, located a few miles outside of Moscow, where the delegation was scheduled to land the following afternoon. From there, they would be taken on the Valkyrie, the trans-Siberian supertrain, for a luxurious ride to Novosibirsk.
    
  Sam had a million things on his mind, but first and foremost, he needed to get back to Nina to see if she was okay. He knew better than to underestimate the influence of people like Wolfe and McFadden, especially after they discovered that the woman they'd left for dead was very much alive and could be implicated.
    
  After Sam slipped out the door of Stage 3, through the props closet at the back, he was greeted by a cold night filled with uncertainty and menace. He pulled his sweatshirt tighter in front, buttoning it over his scarf. Concealing his identity, he quickly crossed the back parking lot, where the wardrobe and delivery trucks usually arrived. In the moonlit night, Sam looked like a shadow but felt like a ghost. He was tired, but he wasn't allowed to rest. There was so much to do to ensure he'd catch that train tomorrow afternoon that he'd never have the time or sanity to sleep.
    
  In his memories, he saw Nina's battered body, the scene repeated over and over again. His blood boiled at the injustice of it, and he desperately hoped that Wolf would be on that train.
    
    
  22
  Jericho Falls
    
    
  Like a maniac, Perdue constantly tweaked his program's algorithm based on the input data. While it had been somewhat successful so far, there were some variables it couldn't resolve, leaving him standing guard over his aging machine. Practically sleeping in front of the old computer, he became increasingly withdrawn. Only Lilith Hurst was allowed to "bother" Perdue. Because she could report on the results, he enjoyed her visits, while his staff clearly lacked the understanding of the field necessary to present compelling solutions as she did.
    
  "I'll be starting dinner soon, sir," Lillian reminded him. Usually, when she fed him that phrase, her gray-haired, cheerful boss offered her a multitude of dishes to choose from. Now, it seemed, all he wanted to consider was the next entry on his computer.
    
  "Thank you, Lily," Perdue said absently.
    
  She hesitantly asked for clarification. "And what should I prepare, sir?"
    
  Perdue ignored her for a few seconds, studying the screen intently. She watched the dancing numbers reflected in his glasses, waiting for an answer. Finally, he sighed and looked at her.
    
  "Um, a hot pot would be lovely, Lily. Perhaps a Lancashire hot pot, as long as it has some lamb in it. Lilith loves lamb. She told me," he smiled, but kept his eyes on the screen.
    
  "Would you like me to cook her favorite dish for your dinner, sir?" Lillian asked, sensing she wouldn't like the answer. She wasn't wrong. Purdue looked up at her again, glaring over his glasses.
    
  "Yes, Lily. She's joining me for dinner this evening, and I'd like you to make a Lancashire casserole. Thank you," he repeated irritably.
    
  "Of course, sir," Lillian said, stepping back respectfully. Usually the housekeeper had a right to her opinion, but ever since the nurse had squeezed into Reichtisusis, Purdue hadn't listened to anyone's advice but hers. "So, dinner's at seven?"
    
  "Yes, thank you, Lily. Now, please, could you let me get back to work?" he begged. Lillian didn't respond. She simply nodded and walked out of the server room, trying not to stray off on a tangent. Lillian, like Nina, was a typical Scottish girl from the old school girls' school. These ladies weren't accustomed to being treated as second-class citizens, and as the matriarch of the Reichtisusi staff, Lillian was deeply upset by Purdue's recent behavior. The doorbell on the main doors rang. Passing Charles as he crossed the lobby to answer the door, she quietly remarked, "That bitch."
    
  Surprisingly, the android-like butler casually replied, "I know."
    
  This time, he refrained from scolding Lillian for talking freely about the guests. It was a sure sign of trouble. If the stern, overly polite butler had accepted Lilith Hurst's bitchiness, there was cause for panic. He opened the door, and Lillian, having listened to the intruder's usual condescension, regretted that she couldn't slip poison into the Lancashire gravy boat. And yet, she loved her employer too much to take such a risk.
    
  While Lillian prepared dinner in the kitchen, Lilith descended into the Purdue server room as if she owned the place. She gracefully descended the stairs, dressed in a provocative cocktail dress and shawl. She applied makeup and pulled her hair back into a bun to highlight the gorgeous suit earrings that dangled beneath her earlobes as she walked.
    
  Purdue beamed when he saw the young nurse enter the room. She looked different tonight than usual. Instead of jeans and ballet flats, she was wearing stockings and heels.
    
  "My God, you look amazing, my dear," he smiled.
    
  "Thank you," she winked. "I was invited to some black-tie event for my college. I"m afraid I didn"t have time to change because I came here straight from that event. I hope you don"t mind me changing a bit for dinner."
    
  "Absolutely not!" he exclaimed, combing his hair back short to tidy himself up a bit. He was wearing a threadbare cardigan and yesterday"s trousers, which didn"t go comfortably with his moccasins. "I feel I should apologize for how terribly haggard I look. I"m afraid I"ve lost track of time, as you can probably imagine."
    
  "I know. Have you made any progress?" she asked.
    
  "I have. Significantly," he boasted. "By tomorrow, or maybe even late tonight, I should solve this equation."
    
  "And then?" she asked, sitting down meaningfully across from him. Purdue was momentarily dazzled by her youth and beauty. For him, there was no one better than petite Nina, with her wild magnificence and the hellish glint in her eyes. However, the nurse had the flawless complexion and slender body that can only be preserved at a tender age, and judging by her body language this evening, she intended to take advantage of it.
    
  Her excuse about her dress was certainly a lie, but she couldn't explain it away as truth. Lilith could hardly tell Purdue she'd accidentally gone out to seduce him without admitting she was looking for a rich lover. Even less could she admit she wanted to influence him long enough to steal his masterpiece, reap the rewards, and force her way back into the scientific community.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  At nine o'clock Lillian announced that dinner was ready.
    
  "As you requested, sir, dinner is served in the main dining room," she announced without even glancing at the nurse wiping her lips.
    
  "Thank you, Lily," he replied, sounding a bit like the old Purdue. His selective return to his old, pleasant manners only in Lilith Hurst's presence disgusted the housekeeper.
    
  It was obvious to Lilith that the object of her intent lacked the clarity of his people when it came to assessing her goals. His indifference to her intrusive presence was astonishing even to her. Lilith had successfully demonstrated that genius and the application of common sense were two entirely different kinds of intelligence. However, right now, that was the least of her worries. Purdue was eating out of her hand and bending over backwards to achieve what she intended to use to advance her career.
    
  While Perdue was intoxicated by Lilith's beauty, cunning, and sexual advances, he was unaware that another kind of intoxication had been introduced to ensure his compliance. Beneath the first floor of Reichtisusis, Einstein's equation was being fully completed, once again the horrific result of the mastermind's error. In this case, both Einstein and Perdue were being manipulated by women far below their intelligence level, creating the impression that even the most intelligent men had been reduced to idiocy by trusting the wrong women. At least, this was true in light of the dangerous documents collected by women they believed harmless.
    
  Lillian was dismissed for the evening, leaving only Charles to clean up after Perdue and his guest finished dinner. The disciplined butler acted as if nothing had happened, even when Perdue and the nurse engaged in a violent fit of passion halfway to the master bedroom. Charles sighed deeply. He ignored the terrible alliance he knew would soon destroy his boss, yet he didn't dare intervene.
    
  This was quite a predicament for the loyal butler who had worked for Purdue for so many years. Purdue would hear nothing of Lilith Hearst's objections, and the staff had to watch as she slowly dazzled him more and more with each passing day. Now the relationship had reached the next level, leaving Charles, Lillian, Jane, and everyone else in Purdue's employ fearful for their future. Sam Cleve and Nina Gould were no longer recovering. They were the light and life of Purdue's more private social life, and the billionaire's men adored them.
    
  While Charles's mind was clouded by doubts and fears, while Purdue was enslaved by pleasure, the Terrible Serpent came to life downstairs in the server room. Quietly, so that no one could see or hear, it announced its end.
    
  On this dark, pitch-black morning, the lights in the mansion dimmed, leaving only those that remained on. The entire vast house was silent, save for the howling of the wind beyond the ancient walls. A faint thud could be heard on the main staircase. Lilith's slender legs left nothing but a sigh on the thick carpet as she swiftly descended to the first floor. Her shadow moved quickly along the high walls of the main corridor and descended to the lower level, where the servers hummed incessantly.
    
  She didn't turn on the light, but rather used her phone's screen to illuminate her way to the table where Perdue's machine sat. Lilith felt like a child on Christmas morning, eager to see if her wish had come true, and she wasn't disappointed. She clutched the flash drive between her fingers and inserted it into the USB port of the old computer, but soon realized David Perdue was no fool.
    
  An alarm sounded and the first line of the equation on the screen began to erase itself.
    
  "Oh, Jesus, no!" she whimpered in the darkness. She had to think quickly. Lilith memorized the second line while tapping her phone's camera, and took a screenshot of the first section before it could be deleted further. Then she hacked into the auxiliary server Purdue used as a backup and extracted the full equation before transferring it to her own device. Despite all her technological prowess, Lilith didn't know where to turn off the alarm, and she watched as the equation slowly erased itself.
    
  "I"m sorry, David," she sighed.
    
  Knowing he wouldn't wake until the next morning, she simulated a short circuit in the wiring between Server Omega and Server Kappa. This caused a small electrical fire, enough to melt the wires and disable the machines involved, before she extinguished the flames with a cushion from Purdue's chair. Lilith realized that the security guards at the gate would soon receive a signal from the building's internal alarm system via their headquarters. At the far end of the first floor, she could hear guards banging on the door, trying to wake Charles.
    
  Unfortunately, Charles was sleeping on the other side of the house, in his apartment next to the estate's small kitchen. He couldn't hear the server room alarm, triggered by a USB port sensor. Lilith closed the door behind her and walked down the back hallway that led to a large storage room. Her heart pounded as she heard the First Unit security team waking Charles and heading for Purdue's room. The second unit headed straight for the source of the alarm.
    
  "We've found the cause!" she heard them shout as Charles and the others rushed down to the lower level to join them.
    
  "Perfect," she breathed. Confused by the location of the electrical fire, the screaming men couldn't see Lilith rush back to Purdue's bedroom. Finding herself back in bed with the unconscious genius, Lilith logged into her phone's transmitting device and quickly punched in the connection code. "Quick," she whispered urgently as the phone opened its screen. "Quicker than this, for heaven's sake."
    
  Charles's voice was clear as he approached Purdue's bedroom with several men. Lilith bit her lip, waiting for the Einstein Equation transmission to finish loading on the Meerdaalwoud website.
    
  "Sir!" Charles suddenly roared, pounding on the door. "Are you awake?"
    
  Perdue was unconscious and unresponsive, prompting a flurry of speculation in the hallway. Lilith could see the shadows of their feet beneath the door, but the download wasn't complete yet. The butler pounded on the door again. Lilith tucked the phone under the bedside table to continue the transmission while she wrapped the satin sheet around her body.
    
  As she made her way to the door, she screamed, "Hold on, hold on, damn it!"
    
  She opened the door, looking furious. "What in the name of all that"s holy is your problem?" she hissed. "Quiet! David"s sleeping."
    
  "How could he sleep through all this?" Charles asked sternly. Since Purdue was unconscious, he shouldn't have shown any respect to the annoying woman. "What did you do to him?" he barked at her, pushing her aside to check on his employer.
    
  "Excuse me?" she squealed, deliberately ignoring part of the sheet to distract the guards with a flash of her nipples and thighs. To her disappointment, they were too busy with their work and kept her cornered until the butler gave them an answer.
    
  "He's alive," he said, looking slyly at Lilith. "Heavily drugged, that's more like it."
    
  "We've had a lot to drink," she defended herself fiercely. "Can't he have a little fun, Charles?"
    
  "You, madam, are not here to entertain Mr. Purdue," Charles retorted. "You've served your purpose here, so do us all a favor and return to the rectum that expelled you."
    
  The loading bar under the bedside table showed 100% completion. The Order of the Black Sun had acquired the Dread Serpent in all its glory.
    
    
  23
  Tripartite
    
    
  When Sam called Masters, there was no answer. Nina was asleep on the double bed in their hotel room, numbed by a powerful sedative. She had some painkillers for the bruises and stitches, kindly provided by the anonymous retired nurse who had helped her with the stitches in Oban. Sam was exhausted, but the adrenaline in his blood refused to subside. In the dim light of Nina's lamp, he sat hunched over, the phone between his knees, thinking. He pressed the redial button, hoping Masters would pick up.
    
  "Jesus, it looks like everyone's on a fucking rocket and heading to the moon," he seethed as quietly as he could. Unspeakably frustrated at not being able to reach Purdue or Masters, Sam decided to call Dr. Jacobs in the hopes that he might have already found Purdue. To ease his anxiety, Sam turned up the volume on the TV a bit. Nina had left it on so it would sleep in the background, but it switched from the movie channel to Channel 8 for the international bulletin.
    
  The news was full of small reports, useless to Sam's predicament, as he paced the room, dialing one number after another. He'd arranged with Miss Noble at the Post to purchase tickets for him and Nina to Moscow that morning, listing Nina as his history adviser for the assignment. Miss Noble was well aware of Dr. Nina Gould's stellar reputation, as well as her name's standing in academic circles. She would be a valuable asset to Sam Cleave's report.
    
  Sam's phone rang, making him tense for a moment. So many thoughts came and went in that moment about who it could be and what the situation was. Dr. Jacobs' name appeared on his phone screen.
    
  "Dr. Jacobs? Can we move dinner to the hotel here instead of at your place?" Sam said immediately.
    
  "Are you psychic, Mr. Cleve?" asked Casper Jacobs.
    
  "W-why? What?" Sam frowned.
    
  "I was going to advise you and Dr. Gould not to come to my house tonight because I believe I've been ejected. Meeting me there would be harmful, so I'm heading to your hotel immediately," the physicist informed Sam, speaking so quickly that Sam could barely keep up.
    
  "Yes, Dr. Gould is a little out of it, but you just need me to give you a quick rundown of the details for my article," Sam assured him. What bothered Sam most was the tone of Casper's voice. He sounded shocked. His words trembled, interrupted by ragged breaths.
    
  "I'm on my way right now, and Sam, please make sure no one's following you. They might be watching your hotel room. See you in fifteen minutes," Casper said. The call ended, leaving Sam confused.
    
  Sam took a quick shower. When he finished, he sat down on the bed to zip up his shoes. He saw something familiar on the TV screen.
    
  "Delegates from China, France, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States are leaving the La Monnaie Opera House in Brussels to adjourn until tomorrow," the statement read. "The Atomic Energy Summit will continue aboard the luxury train that will be used for the rest of the symposium, en route to the main nuclear reactor in Novosibirsk, Russia."
    
  "Nice," Sam muttered. "How little information about the location of the platform you're all boarding from, hey, McFadden? But I'll find you, and we'll be on that train. And I'll find Wolf for a little heart-to-heart talk."
    
  When Sam finished, he grabbed his phone and headed for the exit. He checked on Nina one last time before closing the door behind him. The hallway was empty from left to right. Sam checked that no one had left any of the rooms as he walked to the elevator. He planned to wait for Dr. Jacobs in the lobby, ready to record all the sordid details of why he'd fled to Belarus in such a hurry.
    
  Smoking a cigarette just outside the hotel's main entrance, Sam saw a man in a coat approaching him with a deadly serious look. He looked dangerous, his hair slicked back like a spy from a 1970s thriller.
    
  "Of all times, to be unprepared," Sam thought, meeting the fierce man's gaze. Note to self: Get a new firearm.
    
  A man's hand emerged from his coat pocket. Sam flicked his cigarette aside and prepared to dodge the bullet. But in his hand, the man was clutching something resembling an external hard drive. He stepped up close and grabbed the journalist by the collar. His eyes were wide and moist.
    
  "Sam?" he croaked. "Sam, they took my Olga!"
    
  Sam threw up his hands and gasped, "Dr. Jacobs?"
    
  "Yes, it's me, Sam. I Googled you to see what you looked like, so I could recognize you tonight. Oh my God, they took my Olga, and I have no idea where she is! They're going to kill her if I don't get back to the facility where I built the ship!"
    
  "Wait," Sam immediately stopped Casper's hysteria, "and listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? This isn't helping." Sam looked around, assessing his surroundings. "Especially when you might attract unwanted attention."
    
  Up and down the wet streets, shimmering under the pale streetlights, he watched every movement to see who was watching. Few people noticed the man ranting next to Sam, but a few pedestrians, mostly couples strolling, cast quick glances in their direction before continuing their conversations.
    
  "Come on, Dr. Jacobs, let's go inside and have a whiskey," Sam suggested, gently ushering the trembling man through the sliding glass doors. "Or, in your case, several."
    
  They sat in the hotel restaurant bar. Small spotlights mounted on the ceiling created an ambiance, and soft piano music filled the space. A quiet murmur accompanied the clink of cutlery as Sam recorded his session with Dr. Jacobs. Casper told him all about the Evil Serpent and the precise physics associated with these terrifying possibilities, which Einstein had deemed best to dispel. Finally, after revealing all the secrets of Clifton Taft's facility, where the Order's vile creatures were kept, he began to sob. Distraught, Casper Jacobs could no longer contain himself.
    
  "And so, when I got home, Olga was gone," he sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to remain inconspicuous. The stern journalist sympathetically paused the recording on his laptop and patted the crying man on the back twice. Sam imagined what it would be like to be Nina's partner, as he had done many times before, and imagined returning home to find her taken by the Black Sun.
    
  "Jesus, Casper, I"m so sorry, man," he whispered, gesturing for the bartender to fill their glasses with Jack Daniels. "We"re going to find her as soon as we can, okay? I promise you, they won"t do anything to her until they find you. You screwed up their plans, and someone knows. Someone in a position of power. They took her to get back at you, to make you suffer. That"s what they do."
    
  "I don't even know where she could be," Casper wailed, burying his face in his hands. "I'm sure they've already killed her."
    
  "Don't say that, do you hear me?" Sam stopped him firmly. "I just told you. We both know what the Order is like. They're a bunch of bitter losers, Casper, and their ways are immature in nature. They're bullies, and you of all people should know that."
    
  Casper shook his head hopelessly, his movements slowed by sadness, when Sam thrust a glass into his hand and said, "Drink this. You need to calm your nerves. Listen, how soon can you get to Russia?"
    
  "W-what?" Casper asked. "I have to find my girlfriend. To hell with the train and the delegates. I don't care, they could all die as long as I can find Olga."
    
  Sam sighed. If Casper had been in the privacy of his own home, Sam would have slapped him like a stubborn brat. "Look at me, Dr. Jacobs," he smirked, too tired to coddle the physicist any longer. Casper looked at Sam with bloodshot eyes. "Where do you think they took her? Where do you think they want to lure you? Think about it! Think about it, for God's sake!"
    
  "You know the answer, don't you?" Casper guessed. "I know what you're thinking. I'm so damn smart, and I can't figure it out, but Sam, I can't think right now. Right now, I just need someone to think for me so I can get some direction."
    
  Sam knew what this was like. He'd been in this emotional state before, when no one offered him any answers. This was his chance to help Casper Jacobs find his way. "I'm almost a hundred percent sure they're taking her on the Siberian train with the delegates, Casper."
    
  "Why would they do that? They need to focus on the experiment," Casper retorted.
    
  "Don't you understand?" Sam explained. "Everyone on this train is a threat. These elite passengers make decisions about nuclear energy research and expansion. Countries that only have veto power, have you noticed? The Atomic Energy Agency representatives are also an obstacle to Black Sun because they regulate the management of nuclear energy suppliers."
    
  "This is too much political talk, Sam," Casper groaned, emptying his Jackpot. "Just tell me the basics, because I'm already drunk."
    
  "Olga will be on the Valkyrie because they want you to come and look for her. If you don't save her, Casper," Sam whispered, but his tone was ominous, "she'll die along with every delegate on that damn train! From what I know about the Order, they already have people in place to replace the deceased officials, transferring control of authoritarian states to the Order of the Black Sun under the guise of changing the political monopoly. And it will all be legal!"
    
  Casper panted like a dog in the desert. No matter how many drinks he consumed, he remained drained and thirsty. He had inadvertently become a key player in a game he never intended to be a part of.
    
  "I can catch a plane tonight," he told Sam. Impressed, Sam patted Casper on the back.
    
  "Good man!" he said. "Now I'm going to send this to Purdue via secure email. Asking him to stop working on the equation may be a bit optimistic, but at least with your testimony and the data on this hard drive, he'll be able to see for himself what's really going on. Hopefully, he'll realize he's a puppet of his enemies."
    
  "What if he gets intercepted?" Casper wondered. "When I tried to call him, some woman answered who obviously never gave him a message."
    
  "Jane?" Sam asked. "Was it during business hours?"
    
  "No, after hours," Casper admitted. "Why?"
    
  "Fuck me," Sam breathed, remembering the bitchy nurse and her attitude problem, especially after Sam gave Purdy the equation. "You might be right, Casper. My God, you might be absolutely sure of it, now that you think about it."
    
  Right there, Sam decided to also send Ms. Noble's information to the Edinburgh Post, in case Purdue's email server had been hacked.
    
  "I"m not going home, Sam," Casper remarked.
    
  "Yeah, you can't go back. They might be watching or biding their time," Sam agreed. "Sign up here, and tomorrow the three of us will set out on a mission to rescue Olga. Who knows, in the meantime, we might as well blame Taft and McFadden in front of the whole world and wipe them off the board just for bullying us."
    
    
  24
  Reichtishow is tears
    
    
  Purdue woke up, partially reliving the agony of the operation. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his head weighed a ton. A beam of daylight filtered through the curtains and hit him between the eyes. Jumping naked from his bed, he suddenly had a vague memory of his passionate night with Lilith Hearst, but he pushed it aside to focus on the meager daylight he needed to rid his poor eyes of.
    
  As he drew the curtains to block the light, he turned around to find the young beauty still asleep on the other side of his bed. Before he could even see her there, Charles knocked softly. Purdue opened the door.
    
  "Good afternoon, sir," he said.
    
  "Good morning, Charles," Purdue snorted, clutching his head. He felt a draft, and only then realized he'd been afraid to help. But it was too late to pay attention to that now, so he pretended there had been no awkwardness between him and Charles. His butler, ever the professional, also ignored it.
    
  "May I have a word with you, sir?" Charles asked. "As soon as you"re ready, of course."
    
  Perdue nodded, but was surprised to see Lillian in the background, also looking quite distressed. Perdue's hands quickly darted to her crotch. Charles seemed to peer into the room at Lilith's sleeping form and whispered to his master, "Sir, please don't tell Miss Hearst that we need to discuss something."
    
  "Why? What's going on?" Purdue whispered. This morning, he'd sensed something was wrong in his house, and the mystery begged to be uncovered.
    
  "David," a sensual moan came from the soft darkness of his bedroom. "Come back to bed."
    
  "Sir, I beg you," Charles tried to repeat quickly, but Purdue closed the door in his face. Gloomy and slightly angry, Charles stared at Lillian, who shared his emotions. She said nothing, but he knew she felt the same. Without a word, the butler and housekeeper descended the stairs to the kitchen, where they would discuss the next step in their work under David Purdue's direction.
    
  The involvement of security was clear confirmation of their claim, but until Perdue was able to disentangle himself from the malicious seductress, they couldn't explain their side of the story. On the night the alarm went off, Charles had been assigned as the household liaison until Perdue regained consciousness. The security company was simply waiting to hear from him, and they were supposed to call to show Perdue the video recording of the sabotage attempt. Whether it was simply faulty wiring was highly unlikely, given Perdue's meticulous maintenance of his technology, and Charles intended to clarify that.
    
  Up above, Perdue was once again rolling in the hay with his new toy.
    
  "Should we sabotage this?" Lillian joked.
    
  "I'd love to, Lillian, but unfortunately, I really enjoy my job," Charles sighed. "Can I make you a cup of tea?"
    
  "That would be wonderful, my dear," she groaned, sitting down at the small, modest kitchen table. "What will we do if he marries her?"
    
  Charles nearly dropped the porcelain cups at the thought. His lips trembled silently. Lillian had never seen him like this before. The embodiment of composure and self-control suddenly became unsettling. Charles stared out the window, his eyes finding solace in the lush greenery of Raichtisusis's magnificent gardens.
    
  "We can"t allow that," he replied sincerely.
    
  "Maybe we should invite Dr. Gould over and remind him what he's really after," Lillian suggested. "Besides, Nina's going to kick Lilith's ass..."
    
  "So, you wanted to see me?" Purdue's words suddenly froze Lillian's blood. She spun around and saw her boss standing in the doorway. He looked terrible, but he was convincing.
    
  "Oh my God, sir," she said, "Can I get you some pain medication?"
    
  "No," he replied, "but I would really appreciate a slice of dry toast and some sweet black coffee. This is the worst hangover I"ve ever had."
    
  "You don't have a hangover, sir," Charles said. "As far as I know, the small amount of alcohol you drank wouldn't render you unconscious enough to prevent you from regaining consciousness even during a nighttime raid."
    
  "Excuse me?" Perdue frowned at the butler.
    
  "Where is she?" Charles asked bluntly. His tone was stern, almost defiant, and to Purdue, it was a sure sign that trouble was brewing.
    
  "In the shower. Why?" Perdue replied. "I told her I was going to throw up in the toilet downstairs because I felt nauseous."
    
  "Good excuse, sir," Lillian congratulated her boss as she turned on the toast.
    
  Purdue stared at her like she was stupid. "I actually threw up because I actually feel nauseous, Lily. What were you thinking? Did you think I would lie to her just to support this conspiracy of yours against her?"
    
  Charles snorted loudly in shock at Perdue's continued neglect. Lillian was equally upset, but she needed to remain calm before Perdue decided to fire his staff in a fit of disbelief. "Of course not," she told Perdue. "I was just kidding."
    
  "Don't think I don't keep an eye on what goes on in my own home," Perdue warned. "You've all made it clear several times that you don't approve of Lilith's presence here, but you're forgetting one thing. I'm the master of this house, and I know everything that goes on between these walls."
    
  "Except when you're rendered unconscious by Rohypnol while your guards and staff are tasked with containing the threat of a fire in your home," Charles said. Lillian patted his arm for this remark, but it was too late. The loyal butler's stolid composure had been breached. Perdue's face turned ashen, even more so than his already pale complexion. "I apologize for being so blunt, sir, but I will not stand idly by while some second-rate wench infiltrates my workplace and home to undermine my employer." Charles was as startled by his outburst as the housekeeper and Perdue. The butler looked at Lillian's astonished expression and shrugged. "For a penny, for a pound, Lily."
    
  "I can"t," she complained. "I need this job."
    
  Perdue was so stunned by Charles's insults that he was literally speechless. The butler gave Perdue an indifferent look and added, "I regret having to say this, sir, but I cannot allow this woman to further endanger your life."
    
  Purdue stood up, feeling as if he'd been hit with a sledgehammer, but he had something to say. "How dare you? You're in no position to make such accusations!" he thundered at the butler.
    
  "He"s only concerned about your well-being, sir," Lillian tried, wringing her hands respectfully.
    
  "Shut up, Lillian," both men barked at her simultaneously, driving her into a frenzy. The sweet-mannered housekeeper ran out the back door, not even bothering to fulfill her employer's breakfast order.
    
  "Look where you've gotten yourself, Charles," Perdue chuckled.
    
  "It wasn't my doing, sir. The cause of all this discord lies right behind you," he told Perdue. Perdue looked back. Lilith stood there, looking like a kicked puppy. Her subconscious manipulation of Perdue's emotions knew no bounds. She looked deeply hurt and terribly weak, shaking her head.
    
  "I'm so sorry, David. I tried to make them like me, but it seems they just don't want to see you happy. I'll be leaving in thirty minutes. Just let me gather my things," she said, turning to leave.
    
  "Don't move, Lilith!" Perdue ordered. He looked at Charles, his blue eyes piercing the butler with disappointment and hurt. Charles had reached his limit. "She... or we... sir."
    
    
  25
  I ask for a favor
    
    
  Nina felt like a new woman after sleeping for seventeen hours in Sam's hotel room. Sam, on the other hand, was exhausted, having barely slept a wink. After uncovering Dr. Jacobs's secrets, he believed the world was heading for disaster, no matter how much good people tried to prevent the atrocities of self-centered idiots like Taft and McFadden. He hoped he hadn't been wrong about Olga. It had taken him hours to convince Casper Jacobs there was hope, and Sam dreaded the hypothetical moment when they would discover Olga's body.
    
  They joined Casper in the hallway of his floor.
    
  "How did you sleep, Dr. Jacobs?" Nina asked. "I must apologize for not being downstairs last night."
    
  "No, please don't worry, Dr. Gould," he smiled. "Sam treated me with age-old Scottish hospitality, while I should have been giving you two a Belgian welcome. After so much whiskey, sleep was easy, even though the sea of sleep was full of monsters."
    
  "I can understand," Sam muttered.
    
  "Don't worry, Sam, I'll help you until the end," she consoled him, running her hand through his tousled dark hair. "You haven't shaved this morning."
    
  "I thought a rougher look suited Siberia," he shrugged as they stepped into the elevator. "Besides, it'll make my face warmer... and less recognizable."
    
  "Good idea," Casper agreed airily.
    
  "What happens when we get to Moscow, Sam?" Nina asked into the tense silence of the elevator.
    
  "I'll tell you on the plane. It's only three hours to Russia," he replied. His dark eyes darted to the elevator security camera. "Can't risk lip reading."
    
  She followed his gaze and nodded. "Yes."
    
  Casper admired the natural rhythm of his two Scottish colleagues, but it only reminded him of Olga and the terrible fate she might already have faced. He couldn't wait to set foot on Russian soil, even if she hadn't been taken there, as Sam Cleve had suggested. As long as he could get even with Taft, who had been an integral part of the Siberian summit.
    
  "Which airport do they use?" Nina asked. "I can't imagine they'd use Domodedovo for such VIPs."
    
  "That's not true. They use a private airstrip in the northwest called Koschei," Sam explained. "I heard it at the opera house when I snuck in, remember? It's privately owned by one of the Russian members of the International Atomic Energy Agency."
    
  "That smells fishy," Nina chuckled.
    
  "That's true," Kasper confirmed. "Many agency members, as with the United Nations and the European Union, the Bilderberg delegates... they're all loyal to the Order of the Black Sun. People refer to the New World Order, but no one realizes that a far more sinister organization is at work. Like a demon, it possesses these more familiar global organizations and uses them as scapegoats before disembarking their ships after the fact."
    
  "An interesting analogy," Nina noted.
    
  "Indeed, that's true," Sam agreed. "There's something inherently dark about Black Sun, something beyond global domination and elite rule. It's almost esoteric in nature, using science to advance."
    
  "It makes you think," Casper added as the elevator doors opened, "that such a deeply entrenched and profitable organization would be virtually impossible to destroy."
    
  "Yes, but we'll continue to grow on their genitals like a tenacious virus for as long as we can make them itch and burn," Sam smiled and winked, leaving the other two in stitches.
    
  "Thanks for that, Sam," Nina giggled, trying to compose herself. "Speaking of interesting analogies!"
    
  They took a taxi to the airport, hoping to reach the private airfield in time to catch their train. Sam tried calling Purdue one last time, but when a woman answered, he realized Dr. Jacobs was right. He looked at Casper Jacobs with a worried expression.
    
  "What"s wrong?" Casper asked.
    
  Sam's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't Jane. I know the voice of Purdue's personal assistant very well. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm afraid Purdue is being held hostage. Whether he knows it or not is irrelevant. I'm calling Masters again. Someone needs to go and see what's going on at Raichtisusis." While they waited in the airline lounge, Sam dialed George Masters again. He put the phone on speaker so Nina could hear while Casper went to the vending machine for coffee. To Sam's surprise, George answered, his voice bleary.
    
  "Masters?" Sam exclaimed. "Damn it! It"s Sam Cleve. Where have you been?"
    
  "Looking for you," Masters snapped back, suddenly becoming a little more persuasive. "You gave Purdue a fucking equation after I told you in no uncertain terms not to."
    
  Nina listened intently, her eyes wide. She mouthed, "He sounds damn angry!"
    
  "Look, I know," Sam began his defense, "but the research I did on this didn"t mention anything as threatening as what you told me."
    
  "Your research is useless, mate," George snapped. "Did you really think that level of destruction was easily accessible to anyone? What, you thought you'd find it on Wikipedia? Huh? Only those of us in the know know what it can do. Now you've gone and ruined it all, smart boy!"
    
  "Look, Masters, I have a way to prevent it from being used," Sam suggested. "You could go to Perdue's house as my emissary and explain it to him. Even better, if you could get him out of there."
    
  "Why do I need this?" Masters played hard.
    
  "Because you want to stop this, right?" Sam tried to reason with the crippled man. "Hey, you crashed my car and took me hostage. I'd say you owe me one."
    
  "Do your own dirty work, Sam. I tried to warn you, and you rejected my knowledge. You want to stop him from using Einstein's equation? Do it yourself, if you're so friendly with him," Masters growled.
    
  "I'm abroad, otherwise I would have done it," Sam explained. "Please, Masters. Just check on him."
    
  "Where are you?" Masters asked, seemingly ignoring Sam"s pleas.
    
  "Belgium, why?" Sam replied.
    
  "I just want to know where you are so I can find you," he told Sam in a threatening tone. At these words, Nina's eyes widened even further. Her dark brown eyes glimmered beneath a frown. She glanced at Casper, who stood by the car, a worried expression on his face.
    
  "Masters, you can knock the wind out of me as soon as this is over," Sam tried to reason with the enraged scientist. "I'll even throw a few punches to make it look like it's a two-way street, but for God's sake, please go to Reichtisusis and tell the guards at the gate to give your daughter a lift to Inverness."
    
  "Excuse me?" Masters roared, laughing heartily. Sam smiled softly as Nina revealed her confusion with the most silly, comical expression.
    
  "Just tell them that," Sam repeated. "They'll accept you and tell Purdue you're my friend."
    
  "Then what?" the unbearable grumbler sneered.
    
  "All you have to do is transfer the dangerous element of the Dread Serpent to him," Sam shrugged. "And keep in mind. He's with a woman who thinks she controls him. Her name is Lilith Hearst, a nurse with a God complex."
    
  Masters remained deathly silent.
    
  "Hey, can you hear me? Don't let her influence your conversation with Purdue..." Sam continued. He was interrupted by Masters's unexpectedly soft reply. "Lilith Hearst? Did you say Lilith Hearst?"
    
  "Yes, she was a nurse at Purdue, but apparently he finds a kindred spirit in her because they share a love of science," Sam informed him. Nina recognized the sound the technicians were creating on the other side of the line. It was the sound of a distraught man recalling a difficult breakup. It was the sound of emotional turmoil, still caustic.
    
  "Masters, this is Nina, Sam"s colleague," she said suddenly, grabbing Sam"s hand to keep a tighter grip on the phone. "Do you know her?"
    
  Sam looked confused, but only because he lacked Nina's feminine intuition on the matter. Masters took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I know her. She was part of the experiment that made me look like fucking Freddy Krueger, Dr. Gould."
    
  Sam felt a piercing fear pierce his chest. He had no idea that Lilith Hearst was actually a scientist behind the hospital lab walls. He immediately realized she posed a far greater threat than he had ever realized.
    
  "Okay then, son," Sam interrupted, striking while the iron was hot, "all the more reason for you to pay a visit and show Purdue what his new girlfriend can do."
    
    
  26
  All aboard!
    
    
    
  Koschey Airfield, Moscow - 7 hours later
    
    
  When the summit delegation arrived at the Koschei airstrip outside Moscow, the evening wasn't particularly unpleasant by most standards, but it had gotten dark early. Everyone had been to Russia before, but never before had relentless reports and proposals been presented on a moving luxury train, where only the finest cuisine and accommodations could be purchased for money. Disembarking from their private jets, the guests stepped onto a smooth cement platform that led to a simple yet luxurious building-the Koschei railway station.
    
  "Ladies and gentlemen," smiled Clifton Taft, taking his place at the entrance, "I would like to welcome you to Russia on behalf of my partner and the owner of the Trans-Siberian Valkyrie, Mr. Wolf Kretschoff!"
    
  The thunderous applause from the distinguished group demonstrated their appreciation for the original idea. Many representatives had previously expressed their wish for these symposia to be held in a more engaging setting, and this was finally being realized. Wolf stepped out onto the small platform near the entrance, where everyone was waiting, to explain.
    
  "My friends and wonderful colleagues," he preached in his thick accent, "it is a great honor and privilege for my company, Kretchoff Security Conglomerate, to host this year's meeting aboard our train. My company, together with Tuft Industries, has been working on this project for the past four years, and finally, the brand-new tracks will be launched."
    
  Captivated by the enthusiasm and eloquence of the physically imposing businessman, the delegates burst into applause again. Hidden in a distant corner of the building, three figures crouched in the darkness, listening. Nina cringed at the sound of Wolfe's voice, still remembering his hateful blows. Neither she nor Sam could believe that this common thug was a wealthy citizen. To them, he was simply McFadden's attack dog.
    
  "Koshchei Strip has been my private landing strip for several years, ever since I purchased the land, and today I have the pleasure of unveiling our very own luxury train station," he continued. "Please follow me." With these words, he walked through the doors, accompanied by Taft and McFadden, followed by the delegates, bustling with reverent remarks in their respective languages. They strolled through the small but luxurious station, admiring the austere architecture in the spirit of the Krutitsy Compound. The three arches leading to the platform exit were built in the Baroque style, with a strong hint of medieval architecture adapted to the harsh climate.
    
  "Simply phenomenal," McFadden swooned, desperate to be heard. Wolf simply smiled as he led the group to the outer doors on the platform, but before exiting, he turned again to deliver his speech.
    
  "And now, finally, ladies and gentlemen of the Nuclear Renewable Energy Summit," he roared, "I present to you one final treat. Another force majeure circumstance lies behind me in our endless pursuit of perfection. Please come and join me on her maiden voyage."
    
  A large Russian led them out onto the platform.
    
  "I know he doesn"t speak English," the UK representative told a colleague, "but I wonder if he meant to call this train "force majeure" or if perhaps he misunderstood the phrase as something powerful?"
    
  "I suppose he meant the latter," another offered politely. "I'm just grateful he speaks English at all. Doesn't it annoy you when 'conjoined twins' hang around to translate for them?"
    
  "Too true," agreed the first delegate.
    
  The train waited under a thick tarpaulin. No one knew what it would look like, but judging by its size, there was no doubt that its design required a brilliant engineer.
    
  "Now we wanted to preserve some nostalgia, so we designed this wonderful machine in the same way as the old TE model, but using thorium-based nuclear power to power the engine instead of steam," he smiled proudly. "What better way to power the locomotive of the future while hosting a symposium on new, affordable energy alternatives?"
    
  Sam, Nina, and Casper huddled just behind the last line of representatives. When the nature of the train's fuel was mentioned, some of the scientists looked a little confused, but didn't dare object. Casper, however, gasped.
    
  "What?" Nina asked in a low voice. "What"s wrong?"
    
  "Thorium-based nuclear energy," Casper replied, looking absolutely horrified. "This is next-level crap, my friends. As far as global energy resources are concerned, an alternative to thorium is still under consideration. As far as I know, such fuel hasn't yet been developed for such use," he explained softly.
    
  "Will it explode?" she asked.
    
  "No, well... you see, it"s not as volatile as, say, plutonium, but because it has the potential to be an extremely powerful energy source, I"m a little concerned about the acceleration we"re seeing here," he explained.
    
  "Why?" Sam whispered, his face hidden by his hood. "Trains are supposed to go fast, aren"t they?"
    
  Kasper tried to explain it to them, but he knew only physicists and the like would truly understand what was bothering him. "Look, if this is a locomotive... it's... it's a steam engine. It's like putting a Ferrari engine in a baby carriage."
    
  "Oh, shit," Sam remarked. "Then why didn"t their physicists see this when they built the damn thing?"
    
  "You know what the Black Sun is like, Sam," Casper reminded his new friend. "They don't give a shit about safety as long as they have a big dick."
    
  "Yes, you can rely on that," Sam agreed.
    
  "Fuck me!" Nina suddenly gasped in a hoarse whisper.
    
  Sam gave her a long look. "Now? Now you're giving me a choice?"
    
  Kasper chuckled, the first time he'd smiled since losing his Olga, but Nina was dead serious. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as she always did when checking the facts in her head.
    
  "You said the engine is a TE-model steam engine?" she asked Kasper. He nodded affirmatively. "Do you know what a TE actually is?" she asked the men. They exchanged glances for a moment and shook their heads. Nina was about to give them a quick history lesson that explained a lot. "They were designated TE after they came into Russian ownership after World War II," she said. "During World War II, they were produced as Kriegslokomotiven, "military locomotives." They made a bunch of them, converting DRG 50 models into DRB 52s, but after the war, they were assimilated into private ownership in countries like Russia, Romania, and Norway."
    
  "Nazi psycho," Sam sighed. "And I thought we had problems before. Now we have to find Olga while worrying about nuclear energy under our asses. Damn it."
    
  "Just like old times, Sam?" Nina smiled. "When you were a reckless investigative journalist."
    
  "Yes," he chuckled, "before I became a reckless explorer with Purdue."
    
  "Oh God," Casper groaned at the sound of Purdue's name. "I hope he believes your report about the Scary Snake, Sam."
    
  "He'll do it or he won't," Sam shrugged. "We've done everything we can on our end. Now we have to get on that train and find Olga. That should be all we care about until she's safe."
    
  On the platform, impressed delegates greeted the unveiling of a brand-new, vintage-looking locomotive. It was certainly a magnificent machine, though the new brass and steel gave it a grotesque, steampunk feel that echoed its spirit.
    
  "How did you get us into this area so easily, Sam?" Casper asked. "Belonging to a renowned security division of the world's most nefarious organization, you'd think getting in here would be more difficult."
    
  Sam smiled. Nina knew that look. "Oh God, what have you done?"
    
  "The bros got us," Sam replied, amused.
    
  "What?" Casper whispered curiously.
    
  Nina looked at Casper. "Fucking Russian mafia, Dr. Jacobs." She spoke like an angry mother who had discovered yet again that her son had committed a crime. Sam had played with the bad guys of the neighborhood many times before to gain access to illegal goods, and Nina never stopped scolding him for it. Her dark eyes pierced him with silent condemnation, but he smiled boyishly.
    
  "Hey, you need an ally like that against those Nazi idiots," he reminded her. "Sons of the sons of Gulag enforcers and gangs. In the world we live in, I thought you'd realize by now that throwing down the blackest ace always wins the game. When it comes to evil empires, there's no such thing as fair play. There's only evil and worse evil. It pays to have a trump card up your sleeve."
    
  "Okay, okay," she said. "You don't have to go all Martin Luther King on me. I just think being in debt to the Bratva is a bad idea."
    
  "How do you know I haven't paid them yet?" he teased.
    
  Nina rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. What did you promise them?"
    
  Casper seemed eager to hear the answer, too. Both he and Nina leaned over the table, waiting for Sam's response. Hesitant about the immorality of his answer, Sam knew he had to make a deal with his comrades. "I promised them what they want. The head of their competition."
    
  "Let me guess," Casper said. "Their rival is that Wolf guy, right?"
    
  Nina's face darkened at the mention of the bandit, but she bit her tongue.
    
  "Yes, they need a leader of their competitors, and after what he did to Nina, I'll do everything I can to get my way," Sam admitted. Nina felt warmed by his devotion, but something in his choice of words struck her as odd.
    
  "Wait a minute," she whispered. "You mean they want his real head?"
    
  Sam chuckled, while Casper winced on Nina's other side. "Yeah, they want him destroyed and made to look like one of his own accomplices did it. I know I'm just a lowly journalist," he smiled through the nonsense, "but I've spent enough time around people like that to know how to frame someone."
    
  "Oh my God, Sam," Nina sighed. "You're becoming more like them than you think."
    
  "I agree with him, Nina," Casper said. "In this line of work, we can't afford to play by the rules. We can't even afford to uphold our values at this point. People like this, who are willing to harm innocent people for their own gain, don't deserve the blessing of common sense. They're a virus to the world, and they deserve to be treated like a mold stain on a wall."
    
  "Yes! That"s exactly what I mean," Sam said.
    
  "I don't disagree at all," Nina countered. "All I'm saying is that we need to make sure we don't become affiliated with people like the Bratva just because we have a common enemy."
    
  "That's true, but we'll never do that," he assured her. "You know, we always know where we stand in the scheme of things. Personally, I like the concept of 'you don't mess with me, I don't mess with you.' And I'll stick to that for as long as I can."
    
  "Hey!" Casper warned them. "Looks like they"re landing. What should we do?"
    
  "Wait," Sam stopped the impatient physicist. "One of the platform's guides is Bratva. He'll give us a signal."
    
  It took the dignitaries a while to board the luxurious train with its old-world charm. Just like a regular steam locomotive, white clouds of steam billowed from the cast-iron funnel. Nina took a moment to appreciate the beauty of it before tuning in to the signal. Once everyone was aboard, Taft and Wolf exchanged a brief whispered conversation that ended in laughter. Then they checked their watches and passed through the last door of the second car.
    
  A stocky man in uniform squatted to tie his shoelaces.
    
  "That's it!" Sam urged his comrades. "That's our signal. We need to go through the door where he's tying his shoe. Come on!"
    
  Under the dark dome of night, the three set out to rescue Olga and disrupt whatever the Black Sun has planned for the global representatives they have just willingly captured.
    
    
  27
  The Curse of Lilith
    
    
  George Masters was struck by the remarkable structure looming over the driveway as he pulled his car over and parked where the Reichtischouiss security guard directed him. The night was mild, with a full moon peeking through the passing clouds. Along the estate's main entrance, tall trees rustled in the breeze, as if calling the world to silence. Masters felt a strange sense of peace mingle with his growing apprehension.
    
  Knowing Lilith Hearst was inside only fueled his desire to invade. By this time, security had notified Purdue that Masters was already on his way up. Running up the rough marble steps of the main façade, Masters focused on the task at hand. He'd never been a good negotiator, but this would be a true test of his diplomacy. Lilith would undoubtedly react with hysteria, he thought, since she was under the impression he was dead.
    
  Opening the door, Masters was astonished to see the tall, slender billionaire himself. His white crown was well-known, but in his current state, there was little else reminiscent of the tabloid photos and official charity parties. Perdue had a stony face, while he was known for his cheerful, courteous manner. If Masters hadn't known what Perdue looked like, he might well have thought the man before him was a dark-side doppelganger. Masters found it odd that the owner of the estate would open the door himself, and Perdue was always perceptive enough to read his expression.
    
  "I'm between the butlers," Purdue remarked impatiently.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, my name is George Masters," Masters introduced himself. "Sam Cleve sent me to deliver a message to you."
    
  "What is this? The message, what is it?" Perdue asked sharply. "I'm very busy reconstructing the theory at the moment, and I don't have much time to finish it, if you don't mind."
    
  "Actually, that's what I'm here to talk about," Masters replied readily. "I need to give you some insight into... well, the... Terrible Serpent."
    
  Suddenly, Purdue snapped out of his stupor, his gaze falling squarely on the visitor in the wide-brimmed hat and long coat. "How do you know about the Terrible Serpent?"
    
  "Let me explain," Masters pleaded. "Inside."
    
  Reluctantly, Perdue glanced around the hallway to make sure they were alone. He was eager to salvage what remained of the half-deleted equation, but he also needed to know as much about it as possible. He stepped aside. "Come in, Mr. Masters." Perdue pointed to the left, where the tall doorframe of the luxurious dining room was visible. Inside, the warm glow of a fire in the hearth lingered. Its crackling was the only sound in the house, lending the place an unmistakable air of melancholy.
    
  "Brandy?" Perdue asked his guest.
    
  "Thank you, yes," Masters replied. Perdue wanted him to take off his hat, but he didn't know how to ask him. He poured a drink and gestured for Masters to sit. As if Masters might sense any impropriety, he decided to apologize for his attire.
    
  "I'd just like to ask you to excuse my manners, Mr. Perdue, but I have to wear this hat at all times," he explained. "At least in public."
    
  "May I ask why?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Let me just say that I had an accident a few years ago that made me a little unattractive," Masters said. "But if it's any consolation, I have a wonderful personality."
    
  Perdue laughed. It was unexpected and wonderful. Masters, of course, couldn't smile.
    
  "I'll get straight to the point, Mr. Purdue," Masters said. "Your discovery of the Terrible Serpent is no secret among the scientific community, and I regret to inform you that news has reached the most nefarious elements of the underground elite."
    
  Perdue frowned. "What? Sam and I are the only ones with the material."
    
  "I'm afraid not, Mr. Perdue," Masters lamented. As Sam had requested, the burned man reined in his temper and general impatience to maintain balance with David Perdue. "Since you returned from the Lost City, someone has leaked the news to several secret websites and high-ranking businessmen."
    
  "That's ridiculous," Perdue chuckled. "I haven't talked in my sleep since surgery, and Sam doesn't need attention."
    
  "No, I agree. But there were others present when you were admitted to the hospital, am I right?" Masters hinted.
    
  "Only medical personnel," Perdue replied. "Dr. Patel has no idea what Einstein's equation means. The man practices exclusively reconstructive surgery and human biology."
    
  "What about the nurses?" Masters asked deliberately, feigning ignorance and sipping his brandy. He could see Purdue's eyes harden as he considered this. Purdue slowly shook his head from side to side, while the problems his staff had with his new lover surfaced within him.
    
  "No, that couldn't be," he thought. "Lilith is on my side." But another voice in his reasoning came to the fore. It reminded him heartily of the alarm he hadn't heard the night before, of how security headquarters had assumed a woman had been seen in the dark on their recording, and of the fact that he had been drugged. There was no one else in the mansion except Charles and Lillian, and they hadn't learned anything from the equation.
    
  As he sat pondering, another puzzle also troubled him, largely because of its clarity, now that suspicion had arisen regarding his beloved Lilith. His heart begged him to ignore the evidence, but his logic prevailed over his emotions just enough to keep an open mind.
    
  "Maybe a nurse," he muttered.
    
  Her voice cut through the silence of the room. "You don't seriously believe this nonsense, David," Lilith breathed, playing the victim again.
    
  "I didn"t say I believed that, dear," he corrected her.
    
  "But you've considered it," she said, sounding offended. Her gaze darted to the stranger on the sofa, hiding his identity under a hat and coat. "And who is it?"
    
  "Please, Lilith, I"m trying to speak to my guest alone," Purdue told her a little more firmly.
    
  "Okay, if you want to let strangers into your home who could very well be spies for the organization you"re hiding from, that"s your problem," she snapped immaturely.
    
  "Well, that"s what I do," Perdue quickly replied. "After all, isn"t that what brought you to my house?"
    
  Masters wished he could smile. After what the Hearsts and their colleagues had done to him at the Taft chemical plant, she deserved to be buried alive, not to mention getting a dressing down from her husband's idol.
    
  "I can't believe you just said that, David," she hissed. "I won't accept it from some cloaked con man who comes here and corrupts you. Did you tell him you had work to do?"
    
  Perdue looked at Lilith incredulously. "He's Sam's friend, my dear, and I'm still the master of this house, if I may remind you?"
    
  "The owner of this house? That's funny, because your own staff couldn't stand your unpredictable behavior any longer!" she quipped. Lilith leaned over to look across Perdue at the man in the hat, whom she hated for his interference. "I don't know who you are, sir, but you better leave. You're disrupting David's work."
    
  "Why are you complaining about me finishing my work, my dear?" Purdue asked her calmly. A faint smile threatened to appear on his face. "When you know perfectly well that the equation was completed three nights ago."
    
  "I don't know anything about that," she countered. Lilith was furious at the accusations, mainly because they were true, and she feared she was about to lose control of David Perdue's affections. "Where do you get all these lies?"
    
  "Security cameras don"t lie," he asserted, still maintaining a serene tone.
    
  "They show nothing but a moving shadow, and you know it!" she defended herself heatedly. Her bitchiness gave way to tears, hoping to play the pity card, but to no avail. "Your security personnel are in cahoots with your domestic staff! Can't you see that? Of course they'll hint it was me."
    
  Purdue stood and poured more brandy for himself and his guest. "Would you like one, my dear?" he asked Lilith. She squealed in irritation.
    
  Perdue added, "How else would so many dangerous scientists and businessmen know that I discovered Einstein's equation in The Lost City? Why were you so adamant that I solve it? You passed on incomplete data to your colleagues, and that's why you're pushing me to re-complete it. Without a solution, it's practically useless. You need to send those last few pieces for it to work."
    
  "That"s true," Masters spoke for the first time.
    
  "You! Shut the fuck up!" she shrieked.
    
  Purdue didn't usually allow anyone to yell at his guests, but he knew her hostility was a sign she was accepted. Masters rose from his chair. He carefully removed his hat in the electric light, while the firelight cast a glow over his grotesque features. Purdue's eyes widened in horror at the sight of the disfigured man. His speech already betrayed his deformity, but he looked far worse than expected.
    
  Lilith Hearst recoiled, but the man's features were so distorted she didn't recognize him. Purdue allowed the man to take his moment, because he was immensely curious.
    
  "Remember, Lilith, the Taft Chemical Plant in Washington, D.C.," Masters muttered.
    
  She shook her head in fear, hoping that denying it would make it untrue. Memories of her and Philip setting up the vessel returned like razor blades piercing her forehead. She fell to her knees and clutched her head, keeping her eyes tightly closed.
    
  "What"s going on, George?" Perdue asked Masters.
    
  "Oh God, no, this can't be!" Lilith sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "George Masters! George Masters is dead!"
    
  "Why did you suggest that if you didn't plan for me to be fried? You and Clifton Taft, Philippe, and the rest of those sick bastards used that Belgian physicist's theory in the hopes of taking credit for it, you bitch!" Masters drawled, approaching the hysterical Lilith.
    
  "We didn't know! It shouldn't have burned like that!" she tried to object, but he shook his head.
    
  "No, even an elementary school science teacher knows that kind of acceleration would cause a ship to ignite at that high a velocity," Masters screeched at her. "Then you tried what you're about to try now, only this time you're doing it on a hell of a large scale, aren't you?"
    
  "Wait," Perdue interrupted. "How big? What did they do?"
    
  Masters looked at Purdue, his deep-set eyes glittering from beneath his sculpted forehead. A hoarse laugh escaped the gap that remained of his mouth.
    
  "Lilith and Philip Hurst were funded by Clifton Taft to apply an equation roughly based on the infamous Dire Serpent to the experiment. I was working with a genius like you, a man named Casper Jacobs," he said slowly. "They discovered that Dr. Jacobs had solved Einstein's equation-not the famous one, but an ominous possibility in physics."
    
  "A terrible snake," muttered Purdue.
    
  "This woman," he hesitated to call her by what he wanted, "and her colleagues stripped Jacobs of his authority. They used me as a test subject, knowing the experiment would kill me. The speed of passing through the barrier destroyed the energy field on the facility, causing a massive explosion, leaving me a molten mess of smoke and flesh!"
    
  He grabbed Lilith by the hair. "Look at me now!"
    
  She pulled a Glock from her jacket pocket and shot Masters point-blank in the head before aiming directly at Purdue.
    
    
  28
  Train of Terror
    
    
  The delegates felt right at home on the Trans-Siberian high-speed train. The two-day trip promised luxury equal to any luxury hotel in the world, minus the pool perks, which no one would appreciate in a Russian autumn anyway. Each spacious compartment was equipped with a queen-size bed, a minibar, a private bathroom, and a heater.
    
  It was announced that due to the design of the train to the city of Tyumen, there will be no cellular or internet connections.
    
  "I must say, Taft really put a lot of effort into the interiors," McFadden chuckled jealously. He clutched his champagne glass and studied the train's interior, with Wolf at his side. Taft soon joined them, looking focused but relaxed.
    
  "Have you heard from Zelda Bessler yet?" he asked Wolf.
    
  "No," Wolf replied, shaking his head. "But she says Jacobs fled Brussels after we took Olga. Damn coward, probably thought he was next... had to get out. The best part is, he thinks his departure from his job leaves us devastated."
    
  "Yeah, I know," the disgusting American smirked. "Maybe he's trying to be a hero and coming to rescue her." They held back their laughter to fit their image as members of the international council. McFadden asked Wolfe, "By the way, where is she?"
    
  "Where do you think?" Wolf chuckled. "He's not stupid. He'll know where to look."
    
  Taft didn't like the odds. Dr. Jacobs was a very perceptive man, despite being exceptionally naive. He had no doubt that a scientist of his persuasion would at least try to pursue his girlfriend.
    
  "Once we land in Tyumen, the project will be in full swing," Taft told the other two men. "By then, we should have Casper Jacobs on this train, so he can die with the rest of the delegates. The dimensions he created for the vessel were calculated based on the weight of this train, minus the combined weight of you, me, and Bessler."
    
  "Where is she?" McFadden asked, looking around only to find she was missing from a large, high-profile party.
    
  "She's in the train control room, waiting for the data Hearst owes us," Taft said as quietly as he could. "Once we get the rest of the equation, the project is locked. We'll leave during the stop in Tyumen, while the delegates inspect the city's power reactor and listen to their pointless debriefing." Wolff eyed the guests on the train while Taft laid out the plan for the eternally clueless McFadden. "By the time the train continues to the next city, they should notice we've left... and it would be too late."
    
  "And you want Jacobs to ride on the train with the symposium participants," McFadden clarified.
    
  "That's true," Taft confirmed. "He knows everything, and he was going to defect. God knows what would have happened to our hard work if he'd made public what we were working on."
    
  "Exactly," McFadden agreed. He turned his back slightly to Wolfe to speak quietly to Taft. Wolfe excused himself to check on the security of the delegates' dining car. McFadden pulled Taft aside.
    
  "I know it may not be the right time, but when I get my..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, "stage two grant?" I"ve cleared the opposition in Oban for you, so I can support the proposal to install one of your reactors there."
    
  "You need more money already?" Taft frowned. "I've already supported your election and transferred the first eight million euros to your offshore account."
    
  McFadden shrugged, looking terribly embarrassed. "I just want to consolidate my interests in Singapore and Norway, you know, just in case."
    
  "Just in case of what?" Taft asked impatiently.
    
  "It's an uncertain political climate. I just need some insurance. A safety net," McFadden groveled.
    
  "McFadden, you'll get paid when this project is completed. Only after the global decision-makers in the NPT countries and the people from the IAEA come to a tragic end in Novosibirsk will their respective cabinets have no choice but to appoint their successors," Taft explained. "All current deputy presidents and ministerial candidates are Black Sun members. Once they're sworn in, we'll have a monopoly, and only then will you receive your second installment as a secret representative of the Order."
    
  "So, you're going to derail this train?" McFadden pressed. He meant so little to Taft and his overall picture that he wasn't worth mentioning. Yet the more McFadden knew, the more he had to lose, and that only tightened Taft's grip on his balls. Taft put his arm around the insignificant judge and mayor.
    
  "Outside Novosibirsk, on the other side of it, at the end of this railway line, lies a massive mountain structure built by Wolff's partners," Taft explained in the most patronizing manner, as the mayor of Oban was a complete layman. "It's made of rock and ice, but inside it is a massive capsule that will harness and contain the immeasurable atomic energy created by the breach in the barrier. This capacitor will store the generated energy."
    
  "Like a reactor," McFadden suggested.
    
  Taft sighed. "Yes, that"s right. We"ve built similar modules in several countries around the world. All we need is an extremely heavy object traveling at astonishing speed to destroy that barrier. Once we see the atomic energy this train wreck generates, we"ll know where and how to configure the next fleet of vessels accordingly for optimal efficiency."
    
  "Will they have passengers too?" McFadden asked curiously.
    
  Wolf came up behind him and smirked, "No, just that."
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  In the back of the second car, three stowaways waited until dinner was over to begin their search for Olga. It was already very late, but the spoiled guests spent the extra time drinking after dinner.
    
  "I'm freezing," Nina complained in a trembling whisper. "Do you think we could get something warm to drink?"
    
  Casper peeked out from behind the door every few minutes. He was so focused on finding Olga that he didn't feel cold or hungry, but he could tell the handsome historian was getting chilly. Sam rubbed his hands. "I have to find Dima, our guy from Bratva. I'm sure he can give us something."
    
  "I"ll go get him," Casper offered.
    
  "No!" Sam exclaimed, holding out his hand. "They know your face, Casper. Are you crazy? I"m going."
    
  Sam left to find Dima, the fake conductor who had infiltrated the train with them. He found him in the second galley, sticking his finger into his beef stroganoff behind the cook's back. The entire staff was unaware of the train's plans. They assumed Sam was a very dressed-up guest.
    
  "Hey, dude, can we get a flask of coffee?" Sam asked Dima.
    
  The Bratva infantryman chuckled. "This is Russia. Vodka is warmer than coffee."
    
  The burst of laughter among the cooks and waiters made Sam smile. "Yeah, but coffee helps you sleep."
    
  "That's what women are for," Dima winked. Again, the staff howled with laughter and agreement. Out of nowhere, Wolf Kretschoff appeared in the opposite door, silencing everyone as they returned to their household duties. It was too fast for Sam to escape out the other side, and he noticed that Wolf had spotted him. In all his years of investigative journalism, he'd learned not to panic before the first bullet flew. Sam watched as a monstrous thug with a crew cut and icy eyes approached him.
    
  "Who are you?" he asked Sam.
    
  "Press," Sam quickly replied.
    
  "Where is your pass?" Wolf wanted to know.
    
  "In our delegate"s room," Sam replied, pretending that Wolfe should have known the protocol.
    
  "In which country?"
    
  "The United Kingdom," Sam said confidently, his eyes piercing the boor he couldn't wait to meet alone somewhere on the train. His heart leapt as he and Wolfe stared at each other, but Sam felt no fear, only hatred. "Why isn't your galley equipped for instant coffee, Mr. Kretschoff? This is supposed to be a luxury train."
    
  "Do you work in the media or at a women's magazine, a ratings service?" The wolf mocked Sam, while the only sound around the two men was the clanging of knives and pots.
    
  "If I did that, you wouldn't get a good review," Sam snapped back bluntly.
    
  Dima stood by the stove, arms crossed, watching the events unfold. His orders were to safely guide Sam and his friends through the Siberian landscape, but not to interfere or blow his cover. Nevertheless, he despised Wolf Kretschoff, as did everyone in his leadership. Finally, Wolf simply turned and walked toward the door where Dima stood. Once he was gone and everyone relaxed, Dima looked at Sam, breathing a sigh of relief. "Now, would you like some vodka?"
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  After everyone had left, the train was lit only by the lights of the narrow corridor. Casper prepared to jump, and Sam was strapping on one of his new favorites-a rubber collar with a built-in camera, the same one he used for diving, but Purdue had modified for him. It would transmit all recorded footage to an independent server that Purdue had set up specifically for this purpose. At the same time, it saved the recorded material on a tiny memory card. This prevented Sam from being caught filming where he shouldn't have been.
    
  Nina was tasked with guarding the nest, communicating with Sam via a tablet linked to his watch. Casper oversaw all the synchronization and coordination, the adjustments and preparations, while the train whistled softly. He shook his head. "Man, you two look like characters from MI6."
    
  Sam and Nina grinned and looked at each other with mischievous amusement. Nina whispered, "That remark is creepier than you think, Casper."
    
  "Okay, I'll search the engine room and the front, and you take care of the cars and galleys, Casper," Sam instructed. Casper didn't care which side of the train he started searching from, as long as they found Olga. While Nina guarded their makeshift base, Sam and Casper advanced until they reached the first car, where they split up.
    
  Sam crept past the compartment in the hum of the gliding train. He didn't like the idea of the tracks not making the hypnotic beat they had in the old days, when steel wheels still gripped the joints in the tracks. When he reached the dining room, he noticed a faint light shining through the double doors two bays above.
    
  "The engine room. Could she be there?" he wondered, continuing. His skin felt icy cold even under his clothes, which was odd since the entire train was climate-controlled. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps the prospect of finding Olga dead, that made Sam's skin crawl.
    
  With great caution, Sam opened and passed the first door, entering the personnel-only section just ahead of the engine. It chugged like an old steamer, and Sam found it oddly calming. He heard voices in the engine room, which awakened his natural instinct to explore.
    
  "Please, Zelda, you can't be so negative," Taft said to the woman in the control room. Sam adjusted his camera's capture settings to optimize visibility and sound.
    
  "She's taking too long," Bessler complained. "Hurst is supposed to be one of our best, and here we are, on board, and she still needs to send the last few digits."
    
  "Remember, she told us Purdue is completing it as we speak," Taft said. "We're almost to Tyumen. Then we can go out and observe from a distance. As long as you set the boost to hypersonic after the group returns to formation, we can manage the rest."
    
  "No, we can't, Clifton!" she hissed. "That's the point. Until Hurst sends me a solution with the last variable, I can't program the speed. What happens if we can't set the acceleration before they all turn on again on the bad section? Maybe we should just give them a nice train ride to Novosibirsk? Don't be a fucking idiot."
    
  Sam's breath caught in the darkness. 'Hypersonic acceleration? Jesus Christ, that'll kill everyone, not to mention the impact when we run out of leads!' his inner voice warned. Masters was right after all, Sam thought. He hurried back to the back of the train, talking into the communicator. "Nina. Casper," he whispered. "We have to find Olga now! If we're still on this train after Tyumen, we're screwed."
    
    
  29
  Decay
    
    
  Glasses and bottles exploded over Purdue's head as Lilith opened fire. He had to duck behind the bar near the fireplace for a long moment because he was too far away to subdue Lilith before she pulled the trigger. Now he was cornered. He grabbed a bottle of tequila and swung the open bottle, sending the contents splattering across the counter. He pulled the lighter he'd been using to start the fire in the fireplace from his pocket and ignited the alcohol to distract Lilith.
    
  Just as flames erupted along the counter, he leaped up and pounced on her. Purdue wasn't as quick as usual, due to the aggravation caused by his relatively new surgical abbreviations. Luckily for him, she was a poor shot when the skulls were just inches away, and he heard her fire off three more. Smoke billowed from the counter as Purdue lunged at Lilith, trying to wrest the gun from her.
    
  "And I was trying to help you regain some interest in science!" he growled under the pressure of the fight. "Now you've just proven yourself to be a cold-blooded killer, just like that man said!"
    
  She elbowed Perdue. Blood ran through his sinuses and out of his nose, mixing with Masters' blood on the floor. She hissed, "All you had to do was complete the equation again, but you had to betray me for a stranger's trust! You're as bad as Philip said you were when he died! He knew you were just a selfish bastard who valued relics and extorting other countries' treasures more than caring about the people who admire you."
    
  Perdue decided to no longer feel guilty about it.
    
  "Look where caring about people has gotten me, Lilith!" he retorted, throwing her to the ground. Masters' blood clung to her clothes and legs, as if it had possessed his killer, and she screamed at the thought. "You're a nurse," Purdue snorted, trying to throw the hand with the gun to the floor. "It's just blood, isn't it? Take your damn medicine!"
    
  Lilith wasn't playing fair. With all her strength, she pressed down on Purdue's fresh scars, eliciting a cry of agony from him. At the door, she heard security trying to open it, shouting Purdue's name, while the fire alarm went off. Lilith abandoned the idea of killing Purdue, choosing escape. But not before she rushed down the stairs to the server room to retrieve the last piece of data, static on the old machine. She wrote it down with Purdue's pen and rushed upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve her bag and communication devices.
    
  Downstairs, the guards pounded on the door, but Purdue wanted to catch her while she was still there. If he opened the door for them, Lilith would have time to escape. His whole body ached and burned from her onslaught, he hurried up the stairs to intercept her.
    
  Purdue confronted her at the entrance to a dark hallway. Looking like she'd just wrestled with a lawnmower, Lilith pointed her Glock straight at him. "Too late, David. I just relayed the final part of Einstein's equation to my colleagues in Russia."
    
  Her finger began to tighten, this time leaving him no chance to escape. He counted her bullets, and she still had half a clip left. Purdue didn't want to waste his final moments berating himself for his terrible weaknesses. He had nowhere to run, as both walls of the hallway surrounded him on both sides, and the security men were still storming the doors. A window shattered below, and they heard the device finally burst into the house.
    
  "I guess it"s time for me to go," she smiled through broken teeth.
    
  A tall figure appeared in the shadows behind her, his blow landing squarely on the base of her skull. Lilith collapsed instantly, revealing her attacker to Perdue. "Yes, madam, I dare say it's about time you fucking did," the stern butler said.
    
  Purdue squealed with delight and relief. His knees buckled, but Charles caught him just in time. "Charles, you're a sight to behold," Purdue muttered as his butler turned on the light to help him to the bed. "What are you doing here?"
    
  He sat Perdue down and looked at him like he was crazy. "Well, sir, I live here."
    
  Purdue was exhausted and in pain, his house smelled of firewood, and his dining room floor was covered in a dead body, and yet he laughed with joy.
    
  "We heard gunshots," Charles explained. "I came to get my things from my apartment. Since security couldn't get in, I entered through the kitchen, as always. I still have my key, see?"
    
  Purdue was overjoyed, but he needed to retrieve Lilith's transmitter before it passed out. "Charles, can you grab her bag and bring it here?" I don't want the police giving it back to her as soon as they get here.
    
  "Certainly, sir," the butler replied, as if he had never left.
    
    
  30
  Chaos, Part I
    
    
  The Siberian morning chill was a special kind of hell. There was no heating where Nina, Sam, and Casper were hiding. It was more like a small storage room for tools and extra linens, though Valkyrie was approaching disaster and hardly needed to store comfort items. Nina shivered violently, rubbing her gloved hands together. Hoping they had found Olga, she waited for Sam and Casper to return. On the other hand, she knew that if they discovered her, it would cause some commotion.
    
  The information Sam passed on scared Nina to death. After all the dangers she'd faced on Purdue's expeditions, she didn't want to think about meeting her end in a nuclear explosion in Russia. He was on the way back, searching the dining car and galleys. Kasper was checking the empty compartments, but he had a strong suspicion that Olga was being held captive by one of the main villains on the train.
    
  At the very end of the first car, he stopped in front of Taft's compartment. Sam reported seeing Taft with Bessler in the engine room, which seemed like the perfect moment for Casper to inspect Taft's empty quarters. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. There was no sound other than the creaking of the train and the heaters. Sure enough, the compartment was locked when he tried to open the door. Casper examined the panels next to the door to find an entrance. He pulled back a sheet of steel covering from the edge of the doorway, but it proved too strong.
    
  Something caught his eye beneath the wedged sheet, something that sent a chill down his spine. Kasper gasped, recognizing the titanium bottom panel and its construction. Something thudded inside the room, forcing him to find a way in.
    
  "Think with your head. You're an engineer," he told himself.
    
  If it was what he thought, he knew how to open the door. He quickly crept back into the back room where Nina was, hoping to find what he needed among the tools.
    
  "Oh, Casper, you"re giving me a heart attack!" Nina whispered as he appeared from behind the door. "Where"s Sam?"
    
  "I don"t know," he answered quickly, looking completely preoccupied. "Nina, please find me something like a magnet. Hurry, please."
    
  His persistence made her realize there was no time for further questions, so she began rummaging through the panels and shelves, searching for a magnet. "Are you sure there were magnets on the train?" she asked him.
    
  His breathing quickened as he searched. "This train is moving in a magnetic field emitted by the tracks. There are bound to be loose pieces of cobalt or iron here."
    
  "What does it look like?" she wanted to know, holding something in her hand.
    
  "No, it's just a corner faucet," he remarked. "Look for something more boring. You know what a magnet looks like. The same material, but bigger."
    
  "How so?" she asked, provoking his impatience, but she was only trying to help. Sighing, Casper agreed and glanced at what she had. She held a gray disk in her hands.
    
  "Nina!" he exclaimed. "Yes! This is perfect!"
    
  A kiss on the cheek rewarded Nina for finding her way into Taft's room, and before she knew it, Casper was outside. He crashed straight into Sam in the darkness, and both men cried out at the sudden start.
    
  "What are you doing?" Sam asked in an insistent tone.
    
  "I'm going to use this to get into Taft's room, Sam. I'm pretty sure he had Olga there," Casper rushed, trying to push past Sam, but Sam blocked his way.
    
  "You can't go there now. He just returned to his compartment, Kasper. That's what brought me back here. Go back inside with Nina," he commanded, checking the corridor behind them. Another figure was approaching, a large and imposing one.
    
  "Sam, I need to get her," Casper groaned.
    
  "Yeah, and you will, but use your head, man," Sam replied, unceremoniously pushing Casper into the pantry. "You can't get in there while he's in there."
    
  "I can. I'll just kill him and take her," the distraught physicist whined, grasping at reckless possibilities.
    
  "Just sit back and relax. She's not leaving until tomorrow. At least we have an idea where she is, but right now we need to shut the hell up. The wolf is coming," Sam said sternly. Again, the mention of his name made Nina feel nauseous. The three of them huddled and sat motionless in the darkness, listening to Wolf march past, checking the hallway. He shuffled to a stop in front of their door. Sam, Casper, and Nina held their breath. Wolf fiddled with the doorknob of their hiding place, and they braced themselves for discovery, but instead he locked the door tightly and left.
    
  "How are we going to get out?" Nina croaked. "This isn't a compartment you can open from the inside! It doesn't have a lock!"
    
  "Don't worry," Casper said. "We can open this door like I was going to open Taft's door."
    
  "With a magnet," Nina answered.
    
  Sam was confused. "Tell me."
    
  "I think you"re right that we should get off this train at the first opportunity, Sam," said Casper. "You see, it"s not really a train. I recognize its design because... I built it. It"s the vessel I was working on for the Order! It"s an experimental vessel they planned to use to break the barrier using speed, weight, and acceleration. When I tried to break into Taft"s room, I found the underlying panels, the magnetic sheets I"d placed on the vessel at the Meerdalwood construction site. It"s the big brother of the experiment that went horribly wrong years ago, the reason I abandoned the project and hired Taft."
    
  "Oh my god!" Nina gasped. "Is this an experiment?"
    
  "Yes," Sam agreed. Now it all made sense. "Masters explained that they'll use Einstein's equation, discovered by Purdue in 'The Lost City,' to accelerate this train-this ship-to hypersonic speeds to enable the dimensional change?"
    
  Casper sighed with a heavy heart. "And I built it. They have a module that will capture the destroyed atomic energy at the impact site and use it as a capacitor. There are many of them in several countries, including your hometown, Nina."
    
  "That's why they used McFadden," she realized. "Fuck me."
    
  "We have to wait until morning," Sam shrugged. "Taft and his goons are disembarking in Tyumen, where the delegation will inspect the Tyumen power plant. The catch is, they're not returning to the delegation. After Tyumen, this train heads straight for the mountains past Novosibirsk, accelerating with every second."
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  The next day, after a cold night with little sleep, three stowaways heard the Valkyrie pull into the station in Tyumen. Bessler announced over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our first inspection, city of Tyumen."
    
  Sam hugged Nina tightly, trying to warm her. He took short breaths to bolster his courage and looked at his comrades. "The moment of truth, people. As soon as they're all off the train, each of us will take our compartment and look for Olga."
    
  "I broke the magnet into three pieces so we could get to where we needed to go," Casper said.
    
  "Just be calm if you run into the waiters or other staff. They don't know we're not in a group," Sam advised. "Let's go. We have an hour, tops."
    
  The three of them split up, moving step by step through the stationary train to find Olga. Sam wondered how Masters had accomplished his mission and whether he had managed to convince Purdue not to complete the equation. While he was rummaging through cabinets, under bunks and tables, he heard a noise in the galley as they were getting ready to leave. Their shift on this train was over.
    
  Kasper continued his plan to infiltrate Taft's room, and his secondary plan was to prevent the delegation from boarding the train again. Using magnetic manipulation, he gained access to the room. As Kasper entered, he let out a cry of panic, which both Sam and Nina heard. He saw Olga on the bed, restrained and violent. Worse, he saw Wolf sitting on the bed with her.
    
  "Hey, Jacobs," Wolf grinned in his mischievous way. "I was just waiting for you."
    
  Casper had no idea what to do. He'd assumed Wolf was with the others, and seeing him sitting next to Olga was a living nightmare. With a malicious chuckle, Wolf lunged forward and grabbed Casper. Olga's screams were muffled, but she struggled so hard against her restraints that her skin was torn in places. Casper's blows were useless against the bandit's steely torso. Sam and Nina burst in from the hallway to help him.
    
  When Wolf saw Nina, his eyes froze on her. "You! I killed you."
    
  "Fuck you, freak!" Nina challenged him, keeping her distance. She distracted him just long enough for Sam to act. Sam kicked Wolfe full force into his knee, shattering it at the kneecap. Roaring in pain and rage, Wolfe collapsed, leaving his face wide open for Sam to rain down his fists. The thug was used to fighting and fired several shots at Sam.
    
  "Free her and get off this damn train! Now!" Nina screamed at Casper.
    
  "I have to help Sam," he protested, but the impudent historian grabbed his arm and pushed him toward Olga.
    
  "If you two don't get off this train, all of this will be for nothing, Dr. Jacobs!" Nina shrieked. Kasper knew she was right. There was no time to argue or consider alternatives. He untied his girlfriend while Wolfe ground Sam with a hard knee to the stomach. Nina tried to find something to knock him out, but luckily, Dima, the Bratva contact, joined her. A master of close-quarters combat, Dima quickly took Wolfe down, sparing Sam another blow to the face.
    
  Kasper carried the seriously injured Olga out and glanced back at Nina before disembarking from the Valkyrie. The historian blew them a kiss and gestured for them to leave before disappearing back into the room. He was supposed to take Olga to the hospital, asking passersby where the nearest medical facility was. They immediately rendered aid to the injured couple, but the delegation was returning in the distance.
    
  Zelda Bessler received the transmission sent by Lilith Hurst before being overwhelmed by the butler in Reichtisusis, and the engine timer was set to start. Flashing red lights under the panel indicated the activation of the remote control held by Clifton Taft. She heard the group returning aboard and headed to the back of the train to leave. Hearing a commotion in Taft's room, she tried to pass by, but Dima stopped her.
    
  "You stay!" he shouted. "Get back to the control room and sign out!"
    
  Zelda Bessler was momentarily stunned, but what the Bratva soldier didn't know was that she was armed, just like him. She opened fire on him, ripping his abdomen into strips of crimson flesh. Nina remained silent, so as not to attract attention. Sam was unconscious on the floor, as was Wolf, but Bessler needed to catch the elevator, and he thought they were dead.
    
  Nina tried to bring Sam back to his senses. She was strong, but there was no way she could do it. To her horror, she felt the train move, and a recorded announcement came over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the Valkyrie. Our next inspection will take place in Novosibirsk."
    
    
  31
  Corrective measures
    
    
  After the police left the Raichtisusis premises with George Masters in a body bag and Lilith Hearst in shackles, Perdue trudged through the grim surroundings of his lobby and the adjoining living room and dining room. He assessed the damage to the place by the bullet holes in its rosewood paneling and furniture. He stared at the bloodstains on his expensive Persian tapestries and rugs. Repairing the burned-out bar and the damaged ceiling would take some time.
    
  "Tea, sir?" Charles asked, but Perdue looked like a devil on his feet. Perdue silently wandered off to his server room. "I could use some tea, thank you, Charles." Perdue's gaze was drawn to Lillian standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling at him. "Hello, Lily."
    
  "Hello, Mr. Purdue," she beamed, happy to know he was okay.
    
  Purdue entered the dark, solitude of the warm, humming chamber, filled with electronics, where he felt at home. He examined the telltale signs of deliberate sabotage to his wiring and shook his head. "And they wonder why I remain alone."
    
  He decided to review the messages on his private servers and was shocked to discover dark and ominous news from Sam, though it was a little too late. Perdue's eyes scanned George Masters's words, Dr. Casper Jacobs's information, and the full interview Sam had conducted with him about the secret plan to assassinate the delegates. Perdue recalled that Sam had been on his way to Belgium, but nothing had been heard from him since.
    
  Charles brought his tea. The scent of Earl Grey, mingled with the warmth of the computer fans, was heaven to Purdue. "I can't apologize enough, Charles," he told the butler who had saved his life. "I'm ashamed of how easily I was influenced and how I acted, all because of a damn woman."
    
  "And for a sexual weakness for long division," Charles joked in his dry manner. Perdue had to laugh, even though his body ached. "All's well, sir. As long as all ends well."
    
  "It will be," Perdue smiled, shaking Charles's gloved hand. "Do you know when this arrived, or did Mr. Cleve call?"
    
  "Unfortunately, no, sir," the butler replied.
    
  "Dr. Gould?" he asked.
    
  "No, sir," Charles replied. "Not a word. Jane will be back tomorrow if that helps."
    
  Purdue checked his satellite device, email, and personal cell phone and found them all cluttered with missed calls from Sam Cleave. When Charles left the room, Purdue was shaking. The amount of chaos caused by his obsession with Einstein's equation was reprehensible, and he had to, so to speak, start cleaning house.
    
  The contents of Lilith's purse were on his desk. He handed her already searched bag to the police. Among the technology she was carrying, he found her transmitter. When he saw that the completed equation had been sent to Russia, Purdue's heart sank.
    
  "Holy shit!" he breathed.
    
  Perdue immediately jumped to his feet. He took a quick sip of tea and rushed to another server that could support satellite transmissions. His hands shook as he hurried. Once the connection was established, Perdue began coding like crazy, triangulating the visible channel to track the receiver's position. At the same time, he tracked the remote device controlling the object to which the equation had been sent.
    
  "Want to play war?" he asked. "Let me remind you who you're dealing with."
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  While Clifton Taft and his lackeys impatiently sipped martinis and anxiously awaited the results of their lucrative failure, their limousine headed northeast toward Tomsk. Zelda carried a transmitter that monitored the Valkyrie's locks and collision data.
    
  "How are things going?" Taft asked.
    
  "Acceleration is currently on track. They should be approaching Mach 1 in about twenty minutes," Zelda reported smugly. "Looks like Hurst did her job after all. Did Wolf take his own convoy?"
    
  "I have no idea," McFadden said. "I tried calling him, but his cell phone is off. To tell you the truth, I"m glad I don"t have to deal with him anymore. You should have seen what he did to Dr. Gould. I almost, almost felt sorry for her."
    
  "He did his bit. He probably went home to screw his spotter," Taft growled with a perverted laugh. "By the way, I saw Jacobs last night on the train, fiddling with my room door."
    
  "Okay, then he"s taken care of too," Bessler grinned, happy to take his place as project manager.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Meanwhile, aboard the Valkyrie, Nina desperately tried to wake Sam. She could feel the train speeding up from time to time. Her body was telling the truth, feeling the G-forces of the speeding train. Outside, in the corridor, she could hear the confused murmurs of the international delegation. They, too, had felt the jolt of the train and, with neither a galley nor a bar nearby, were becoming suspicious of the American tycoon and his accomplices.
    
  "They're not here. I checked," she heard the United States representative tell the others.
    
  "Perhaps they will be left behind?" the Chinese delegate suggested.
    
  "Why did they forget to board their own train?" someone else suggested. Somewhere in the next car, someone started vomiting. Nina didn't want to cause panic by clarifying the situation, but it would be better than letting them all speculate and go crazy.
    
  Peeking out the door, Nina gestured for the head of the Atomic Energy Agency to come to her. She closed it behind her so he wouldn't see Wolf Kretschoff's unconscious body.
    
  "Sir, my name is Dr. Gould from Scotland. I can tell you what's going on, but I need you to remain calm, do you understand?" she began.
    
  "What is this about?" he asked sharply.
    
  "Listen carefully. I'm not your enemy, but I know what's going on, and I need you to address the delegation with an explanation while I try to resolve the problem," she said. Slowly and calmly, she relayed the information to the man. She could see him growing increasingly frightened, but she kept her tone as calm and controlled as possible. His face turned ashen, but he retained his composure. Nodding to Nina, he left to talk to the others.
    
  She rushed back into the room and tried to wake Sam.
    
  "Sam! Wake up, for Christ"s sake! I need you!" she whined, slapping Sam across the cheek, trying not to become so desperate that she might hit him. "Sam! We"re going to die. I want company!"
    
  "I'll keep you company," Wolf said sarcastically. He woke up from the crushing blow Dima had dealt him and was delighted to see the dead mafia soldier at the foot of the bed where Nina was bending over Sam.
    
  "God, Sam, if there was ever a good time to wake up, it's now," she muttered, slapping him. The Wolf's laughter filled Nina with pure horror, reminding her of his cruelty to her. He crawled across the bed, his face bloody and obscene.
    
  "Want more?" he grinned, blood appearing on his teeth. "I'm making you scream harder this time, huh?" He laughed wildly.
    
  It was obvious Sam wasn't reacting to her. Nina surreptitiously reached for Dima's ten-inch khanjali, a magnificent and deadly dagger holstered under his arm. Feeling more confident now that she had it, Nina wasn't afraid to admit to herself that she appreciated the opportunity to take revenge on him.
    
  "Thank you, Dima," she muttered as her eyes settled on the predator.
    
  What she didn't expect was his sudden attack. His massive body leaned against the edge of the bed, ready to crush her, but Nina reacted quickly. Rolling away, she dodged his attack and waited for him to hit the floor. Nina drew her knife, placing it directly at his throat, stabbing the Russian bandit in the expensive suit. The blade entered his throat and passed through. She felt the tip of the steel dislocate the vertebrae in his neck, severing his spinal cord.
    
  Hysterical, Nina couldn't take it anymore. Valkyrie sped up even more, pushing the bile back into her throat. "Sam!" she screamed until her voice broke. It didn't matter, as the delegates in the dining car were just as upset. Sam woke up, his eyes dancing in his sockets. "Wake up, damn it!" she screamed.
    
  "I"m up!" he winced, groaning.
    
  "Sam, we have to get to the engine room immediately!" she sniffled, crying in shock after her new ordeal with Wolf. Sam sat up to hug her and saw blood pouring from the monster's neck.
    
  "I got him, Sam," she screamed.
    
  He smiled: "I couldn"t have done a better job."
    
  Sniffling, Nina stood up and straightened her clothes. "The engine room!" Sam said. "It's the only place I'm sure is open." They quickly washed and dried their hands in a basin and rushed to the front of the Valkyrie. As they passed the delegates, Nina tried to reassure them, though she was convinced they were all headed to Hell.
    
  Once in the engine room, they carefully examined the flickering lights and controls.
    
  "None of this has anything to do with running this train," Sam yelped in frustration. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Oh my God, I can't believe this still works," he remarked, trying to find a signal. The train picked up another notch, and screams filled the carriages.
    
  "You can't scream, Sam," she frowned. "You know that."
    
  "I'm not calling," he coughed from the force of the speed. "Soon we won't be able to move. Then our bones will start to creak."
    
  She glanced at him sideways. "I don"t need to hear this."
    
  He entered the code into his phone, the code Purdue had given him to connect to the satellite tracking system, which required no maintenance to operate. "Please, God, let Purdue see this."
    
  "Unlikely," Nina said.
    
  He looked at her with conviction. "Our only chance."
    
    
  32
  Chaos, Part II
    
    
    
  Railway Clinical Hospital - Novosibirsk
    
    
  Olga was still in serious condition, but she had been discharged from the intensive care unit and was recovering in a private room paid for by Casper Jacobs, who remained at her bedside. She would occasionally regain consciousness and talk briefly, only to fall asleep again.
    
  He was furious that Sam and Nina had to pay for what his service to Black Sun had led to. Not only was this upsetting, but he was also furious that the American scumbag Taft had managed to survive the impending tragedy and celebrate it with Zelda Bessler and that Scottish loser McFadden. But what drove him over the edge was the knowledge that Wolf Kretschoff would get away with what he did to Olga and Nina.
    
  Thinking madly, the worried scientist tried to find a way to do something. On the bright side, he decided all was not lost. He called Purdue, just as he had the first time he'd been trying incessantly to reach him, only this time it was Purdue who answered.
    
  "Oh my God! I can't believe I got through to you," Casper breathed.
    
  "I"m afraid I"m a little distracted," Perdue replied. "Is this Dr. Jacobs?"
    
  "How did you know?" Casper asked.
    
  "I see your number on my satellite tracker. Are you with Sam?" Perdue asked.
    
  "No, but that's exactly why I'm calling," Casper replied. He'd explained everything to Perdue, right down to where he and Olga had to get off the train, and had no idea where Taft and his henchmen were headed. "However, I believe Zelda Bessler has the remote control for the Valkyrie," Casper told Perdue.
    
  The billionaire smiled at the flickering light of his computer screen. "So, that's what it is?"
    
  "Do you have a position?" Casper exclaimed excitedly. "Mr. Perdue, can I have that tracking code, please?"
    
  Purdue had learned from reading Dr. Jacobs's theories that the man was a genius in his own right. "Do you have a pen?" Purdue grinned, feeling like his old, carefree self again. He was manipulating the situation again, untouchable by his technology and intellect, just like in the old days. He checked the signal from Bessler's remote device and gave Casper Jacobs the tracking code. "What are you planning to do?" he asked Casper.
    
  "I intend to use a failed experiment to ensure a successful eradication," Casper replied coldly. "Before I go, please hurry. If you can do anything to weaken Valkyrie's magnetism, Mr. Purdue. Your friends are about to enter a dangerous phase from which they will not return."
    
  "Good luck, old man," Perdue said goodbye to his new acquaintance. He immediately tapped into the moving vessel's signal, simultaneously hacking the railway system it was traveling on. He was heading for the intersection in the town of Polskaya, where he expected to reach Mach 3.
    
  "Hello?" he heard from the speaker connected to his communication system.
    
  "Sam!" Perdue exclaimed.
    
  "Purdue! Help us!" he shouted through the loudspeaker. "Nina's passed out. Most people on the train have. I'm losing my sight fast, and it's like a damn oven in here!"
    
  "Listen, Sam!" Perdue shouted over him. "I'm reorienting the track mechanics as we speak. Wait another three minutes. Once the Valkyrie switches trajectory, it will lose its magnetic generation and slow down!"
    
  "Jesus Christ! Three minutes? We'll be fried by then!" Sam screamed.
    
  "Three minutes, Sam! Hold on!" Perdue shouted. At the door of the server room, Charles and Lillian approached to see what was causing the roar. They knew better than to ask or interfere, but they listened to the drama from a distance, looking terribly worried. "Of course, changing tracks carries the risk of a head-on collision, but I don't see any other trains right now," he told his two employees. Lillian prayed. Charles swallowed hard.
    
  On the train, Sam gasped for air, finding no solace in the icy landscape that melted as the Valkyrie passed. He lifted Nina to revive her, but his body weighed the weight of a 16-wheeler, and he couldn't move any further. "Mach 3 in a few seconds. We're all dead."
    
  A sign for Polskaya appeared in front of the train and passed them in the blink of an eye. Sam held his breath, feeling his own weight rapidly increase. He couldn't see anything anymore, when suddenly he heard the clank of a railway switch. It seemed as if the Valkyrie was derailing due to a sudden break in the magnetic field, but Sam held on to Nina. The turbulence was enormous, and Sam and Nina's bodies were thrown into the room's equipment.
    
  As Sam had feared, after another kilometer, the Valkyrie began to derail. It was simply moving too fast to stay on the rails, but by this point it had slowed enough to accelerate to below normal speed. He gathered his courage and hugged Nina's unconscious body to him, covering her head with his hands. A magnificent crash followed, followed by the demon-possessed vessel capsizing at its still impressive speed. The deafening crash folded the machine in half, shedding the plates beneath the outer surface.
    
  When Sam woke up on the side of the tracks, his first thought was to get everyone out of there before the fuel burned out. It was nuclear fuel, after all, he thought. Sam wasn't an expert on which minerals were the most volatile, but he didn't want to take any chances with thorium. However, he discovered that his body had completely failed him, and he couldn't move an inch. Sitting there in the Siberian ice, he realized how utterly out of place he felt. His body still weighed a ton, and a minute ago he was being roasted alive, and now he was cold.
    
  Some of the surviving members of the delegation gradually crawled out onto the freezing snow. Sam watched as Nina slowly came to her senses and dared to smile. Her dark eyes fluttered as she looked at him. "Sam?"
    
  "Yes, my love," he coughed and smiled. "After all, there is a God."
    
  She smiled and looked up at the gray sky above, exhaling a sigh of relief and pain. Grateful, she said, "Thank you, Purdue."
    
    
  33
  Redemption
    
    
    
  Edinburgh - three weeks later
    
    
  Nina received treatment at a proper medical facility after she and the other survivors were airlifted with all her injuries. It took her and Sam three weeks to return to Edinburgh, where their first stop was Raichtisusis. Purdue, in an effort to reconnect with his friends, arranged for a large catering company to organize a dinner so he could dote on his guests.
    
  Known for his eccentricity, Perdue set a precedent when he invited his housekeeper and butler to a private dinner. Sam and Nina were still wearing black and blue, but they were safe.
    
  "I believe a toast is in order," he said, raising his crystal champagne flute. "To my hardworking and ever-faithful slaves, Lily and Charles."
    
  Lily giggled while Charles kept his expression impassive. She poked him in the ribs. "Smile."
    
  "Once a butler, always a butler, my dear Lillian," he replied ironically, causing the others to laugh.
    
  "And my friend David," Sam interjected. "Let him receive treatment only in the hospital and give up home care forever!"
    
  "Amen," Perdue agreed, his eyes wide.
    
  "By the way, did we miss anything while we were recovering in Novosibirsk?" Nina asked through a mouthful of caviar and salty biscuit.
    
  "I don"t care," Sam shrugged, swallowing his champagne to top up his whiskey.
    
  "You might find this interesting," Perdue assured them, a glint in his eye. "It was on the news after the deaths and injuries from the train tragedy. I recorded it the day after you were admitted to the hospital there. Come see it."
    
  They turned to the laptop screen, which Perdue had sitting on the still-charred bar. Nina gasped and nudged Sam at the sight of the same reporter who'd done the ghost train story she'd recorded for Sam. He had a subheading.
    
  "After claims that a ghost train killed two teenagers on deserted train tracks a few weeks ago, this reporter brings you the unthinkable again."
    
  Behind the woman, in the background, was a Russian city called Tomsk.
    
  The mangled bodies of American tycoon Clifton Taft, Belgian scientist Dr. Zelda Bessler, and Scottish mayoral candidate the Hon. Lance McFadden was discovered on the train track yesterday. Locals reported seeing a locomotive appear seemingly out of nowhere, while three visitors were reportedly walking along the tracks after their limousine broke down.
    
  "It's electromagnetic pulses that do it," Purdue grinned from his seat at the counter.
    
  Tomsk Mayor Vladimir Nelidov condemned the tragedy but explained that the so-called ghost train's appearance was simply the result of the train traveling through yesterday's heavy snowfall. He insisted there was nothing unusual about the horrific incident and that it was simply an unfortunate accident due to poor visibility.
    
  Perdue turned it off and shook his head, smiling.
    
  "It seems Dr. Jacobs has enlisted the help of Olga's late uncle's colleagues in the Russian Secret Physics Society," Perdue laughed, recalling that Kasper had mentioned the failed physics experiment in Sam's interview.
    
  Nina sipped her sherry. "I wish I could say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Does that make me a bad person?"
    
  "No," Sam replied. "You're a saint, a saint who gets gifts from the Russian mob for killing their main rival with a fucking dagger." His statement provoked more laughter than she'd expected.
    
  "But overall, I'm glad Dr. Jacobs is in Belarus now, far from the vultures of the Nazi elite," Perdue sighed. He looked at Sam and Nina. "God knows he's atoned for his actions a thousand times over by calling me, otherwise I would never have known you were in danger."
    
  "Don't exclude yourself, Perdue," Nina reminded him. "It's one thing that he warned you, but you still made the crucial decision to atone for your guilt."
    
  She winked: "You answered."
    
    
  END
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
  Preston W. Child
  Babylonian mask
    
    
  What is the point of feelings when there is no face?
    
  Where does the Blind Man wander when there is only darkness and holes, emptiness around?
    
  Where does the Heart speak without the tongue freeing its lips to say goodbye?
    
  Where can you smell the sweet scent of roses and the breath of a lover when there is no scent of lies?
    
  How shall I say it?
    
  How shall I say it?
    
  What are they hiding behind their masks?
    
  When their faces are hidden and their voices are forced?
    
  Do they hold up the Heavens?
    
  Or do they own Hell?
    
    - Masque de Babel (circa 1682 - Versailles)
    
    
    Chapter 1 - The Burning Man
    
    
  Nina blinked widely.
    
  Her eyes listened to her synapses as her sleep shifted into REM sleep, surrendering her to the cruel clutches of her subconscious. In a private room at Heidelberg University Hospital, the lights were on late at night, where Dr. Nina Gould had been admitted to treat, as best she could, the terrible effects of radiation sickness. Until now, it had been difficult to determine how critical her case truly was, as the man who accompanied her had misrepresented the level of her exposure. The best he could say was that he found her wandering through Chernobyl's underground tunnels for hours longer than any living being could recover from.
    
  "He didn't tell us everything," Nurse Barken confirmed to her small group of subordinates, "but I had a strong suspicion it wasn't even half of what Dr. Gould had to endure down there before he claimed to have found her." She shrugged and sighed. "Unfortunately, short of arresting him for a crime we have no evidence of, we had to let him go and deal with the little information we had."
    
  The obligatory sympathy played across the interns' faces, but they were merely masking their nocturnal boredom with professional façades. Their young blood sang for the freedom of the pub, where the group usually gathered after their shift, or for the embrace of their lovers at this time of night. Sister Barken had no patience for their ambiguity and missed the company of her peers, where she could exchange factual, convincing verdicts with those equally qualified and passionate about medicine.
    
  Her bulging eyeballs raked them over one by one as she recounted Dr. Gould's condition. The corners of her thin lips drooped downward, expressing the displeasure she often reflected in her sharp, low tone when speaking. Besides being a stern veteran of the German medical practice practiced at Heidelberg University, she was also known as a rather brilliant diagnostician. It was a surprise to her colleagues that she never bothered to further her career by becoming a physician or even a permanent consultant.
    
  "What is the nature of her circumstances, Sister Barken?" the young nurse asked, shocking the nurse with her display of genuine interest. The healthy, fifty-year-old supervisor took a minute to answer, looking almost happy to have been asked a question instead of spending the entire night staring into the comatose gaze of the titled short men.
    
  "Well, that's all we could find out from the German gentleman who brought her here, Nurse Marks. We couldn't find any confirmation regarding the cause of her illness other than what the man told us." She sighed, frustrated by the lack of information about Dr. Gould's condition. "All I can say is that she appears to have been saved in time to undergo treatment. Although she has all the signs of acute poisoning, her body seems to be able to fight it satisfactorily... for now."
    
  Nurse Marks nodded, ignoring her colleagues' amused reactions. This intrigued her. After all, she'd heard a lot about this Nina Gould from her mother. At first, judging by the way she chatted about her, she thought her mother actually knew the diminutive Scottish historian. However, it didn't take long for medical student Marlene Marks to discover that her mother was simply an avid reader of Gould's journals and two books. Thus, Nina Gould was something of a celebrity in her household.
    
  Was this another of the historian's secret excursions, similar to those she briefly touched on in her books? Marlene often wondered why Dr. Gould didn't write more about her adventures with the renowned Edinburgh explorer and inventor David Purdue, instead hinting at her many travels. Then there was her well-known connection with the world-renowned investigative journalist Sam Cleave, about whom Dr. Gould had written. Marlene's mother not only spoke of Nina as a family friend but also discussed her life as if the feisty historian were a walking soap opera.
    
  It was only a matter of time before Marlene's mother began reading books about Sam Cleave, or those published by him, if only to learn more about the other rooms in the Goulds' grand mansion. It was precisely because of this obsession that the nurse kept Gould's stay in Heidelberg a secret, fearing that her mother would stage a one-woman march to the west wing of the 14th-century medical facility to protest her imprisonment or something of the sort. This made Marlene smile to herself, but, risking the carefully avoided wrath of Nurse Barken, she hid her amusement.
    
  A group of medical students were unaware of the crawling column of wounded approaching the emergency room on the floor below. Beneath their feet, a team of orderlies and night nurses surrounded a screaming young man who refused to be strapped to a gurney.
    
  "Please, sir, you have to stop screaming!" the charge nurse pleaded with the man, blocking his furious path of destruction with her rather large body. Her eyes darted to one of the orderlies, armed with a succinylcholine injection, stealthily approaching the burn victim. The horrific sight of the crying man made the two new staff members choke, barely holding their breath as they waited for the charge nurse to shout her next order. However, for most of them, this was a typical panic scenario, although each circumstance was different. For example, they had never before encountered a burn victim running into the emergency room, let alone one still smoking as he skidded, losing chunks of flesh from his chest and abdomen along the way.
    
  Thirty-five seconds felt like two hours to the baffled German medical workers. Shortly after the large woman cornered the victim, his head and chest blackened, the screams abruptly stopped, replaced by the sounds of suffocation.
    
  "Airway edema!" she roared in a powerful voice that could be heard throughout the emergency room. "Intubate, immediately!"
    
  A crouching male nurse rushed forward, plunging the needle into the man's crisp, choking skin, and pressing the plunger without hesitation. He winced as the syringe crunched into the poor patient's skin, but it had to be done.
    
  "Oh my God! That smell is disgusting!" one of the nurses snorted under her breath, turning to her colleague, who nodded in agreement. They covered their faces with their hands for a moment to catch their breath as the stench of cooked flesh assaulted their senses. It wasn't very professional, but they were only human, after all.
    
  "Get him to OR B!" a burly woman thundered to her staff. "Schnell! He"s in cardiac arrest, people! Move!" They placed an oxygen mask on the convulsing patient when his coherence weakened. No one noticed the tall old man in a black coat following in his wake. His long, stretching shadow darkened the pristine door glass where he stood, watching the smoking carcass being wheeled away. His green eyes gleamed from under the brim of his felt hat, and his parched lips smirked in defeat.
    
  Despite the chaos in the emergency room, he knew he wouldn't be noticed, so he slipped through the doors to visit the locker room on the first floor, a few feet away from the reception area. Once inside, he avoided detection by avoiding the bright glow of the small overhead lights above the benches. Since it was the middle of the night shift, there were likely no medical staff in the locker room, so he grabbed a couple of gowns and headed to the shower. In one of the darkened stalls, the old man shed his clothes.
    
  Under the tiny round bulbs above him, his bony, powdery figure appeared in the reflection in the Plexiglas. Grotesque and emaciated, his elongated limbs had shed their suit and donned a cotton uniform. His heavy breathing wheezed as he moved, mimicking a robot clad in android skin, pumping hydraulic fluid through its joints during each shift. When he removed his fedora to replace it with a cap, his misshapen skull mocked him in the mirrored Plexiglas. The angle of the light highlighted every dent and protrusion of his skull, but he kept his head tilted as much as he could while trying on the cap. He didn't want to face his greatest flaw, his most powerful deformity-his facelessness.
    
  His human face revealed only his eyes, perfectly formed but lonely in their normality. The old man couldn't bear the humiliation of being mocked by his own reflection, his cheekbones framing his expressionless features. Between his almost nonexistent lips and above his meager mouth, there was barely a hole, and only two tiny cracks served as nostrils. The final element of his cunning disguise was to be a surgical mask, elegantly completing his ruse.
    
  He corrected his posture by stuffing his suit into the farthest closet against the east wall and simply closing the narrow door.
    
  "Go away," he muttered.
    
  He shook his head. No, his dialect was wrong. He cleared his throat and paused to collect his thoughts. "Abend." No. Again. "Ah, bent," he said more clearly and listened to his raspy voice. The accent was almost there; he still had one or two tries left.
    
  "Go away," he said clearly and loudly as the locker room door swung open. Too late. He held his breath to utter the word.
    
  "Abend, Herr Doktor," the orderly smiled as he entered, heading into the next room to use the urinals. "Wie geht's?"
    
  "Giblets, giblets," the old man replied hastily, relieved by the nurse's obliviousness. He cleared his throat and headed for the door. It was late, and he still had unfinished business involving the hot new arrival.
    
  Feeling almost ashamed of the animalistic method he'd used to track down the young man he'd followed into the emergency room, he tilted his head back and sniffed the air. That familiar scent compelled him to follow it, like a shark relentlessly following blood across miles of water. He paid little attention to the polite greetings of the staff, cleaners, and night doctors. His clothed feet moved soundlessly, step by step, as he obeyed the pungent scent of burning flesh and disinfectant that permeated his nostrils.
    
  "Zimmer 4," he muttered as his nose led him left toward a T-junction. He would have smiled-if he could. His thin body crept down the burn unit corridor to where the young man was being treated. From the back of the room, he could hear the voices of the doctor and nurses announcing the patient's chances of survival.
    
  "He will live, though," the male doctor sighed sympathetically, "I don"t think he will be able to retain his facial functions-features, yes, but his sense of smell and taste will be permanently severely impaired."
    
  "Does he still have a face under all that, Doctor?" the nurse asked quietly.
    
  "Yes, but hardly, as the damage to the skin will cause his features to... well... dissolve even further into his face. His nose will be undefined, and his lips," he hesitated, feeling genuine pity for the attractive young man on the barely preserved driver's license in his charred wallet, "will be gone. Poor child. He's barely twenty-seven, and this happens to him."
    
  The doctor shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Please, Sabina, administer some IV analgesics and begin urgent fluid replacement."
    
  "Yes, Doctor." She sighed and helped her colleague gather up the dressing. "He'll have to wear a mask for the rest of his life," she said, addressing no one in particular. She pulled the cart closer, carrying sterile bandages and saline solution. They were unaware of the alien presence of the intruder peering in from the hallway, spotting his target through the slowly closing crack in the door. Only one word escaped him, silently.
    
  "Mask".
    
    
  Chapter 2 - The Purdue Kidnapping
    
    
  Feeling a little uneasy, Sam strolled casually through the expansive gardens of a private establishment near Dundee, beneath a roaring Scottish sky. After all, was there any other view? Inside, however, he felt good. Empty. So much had happened to him and his friends recently that it was surprising to have nothing to think about, for a change. Sam had returned from Kazakhstan a week ago and hadn't seen either Nina or Purdue since returning to Edinburgh.
    
  He was informed that Nina had suffered serious injuries from radiation exposure and was hospitalized in Germany. After sending his new acquaintance, Detlef Holzer, to find her, he remained in Kazakhstan for several days and was unable to obtain any news on Nina's condition. Apparently, Dave Perdue was also discovered in the same location as Nina, only to be subdued by Detlef for his strangely aggressive behavior. But until now, this, too, was at best speculation.
    
  Perdue himself had contacted Sam the day before to notify him of his own incarceration at the Sinclair Medical Research Center. The Sinclair Medical Research Center, funded and operated by the Renegade Brigade, had been a secret ally of Perdue's in the previous battle against the Order of the Black Sun. The organization, it so happened, was composed of former Black Sun members-renegades, so to speak, from the faith Sam had also joined several years earlier. His operations for them were few and far between, as their need for intelligence was only sporadic. As an astute and effective investigative journalist, Sam Cleave was invaluable to the Brigade in this regard.
    
  Besides the latter, he was free to act as he pleased and pursue his own freelance work whenever he chose. Tired of undertaking anything as strenuous as his last mission anytime soon, Sam decided to take the time to visit Purdue in the insane asylum the eccentric researcher had visited this time.
    
  There was very little information about Sinclair's establishment, but Sam had a nose for the smell of meat under the lid. As he approached, he noticed that the windows on the third floor of the building's four floors were barred.
    
  "I bet you're in one of these rooms, hey, Purdue?" Sam chuckled to himself as he headed toward the main entrance of the creepy building with its overly white walls. A chill ran through Sam's body as he entered the lobby. "Oh my God, is the Hotel California impersonating Stanley Much?"
    
  "Good morning," the petite, blonde receptionist greeted Sam. Her smile was genuine. His stern, dark appearance instantly intrigued her, even if he was old enough to be her much older brother or almost too-old uncle.
    
  "Yes, that is correct, young lady," Sam agreed eagerly. "I"m here to see David Perdue."
    
  She frowned, "Then who is this bouquet for, sir?"
    
  Sam simply winked and lowered his right hand to hide the flower arrangement under the counter. "Shh, don't tell him. He hates carnations."
    
  "Um," she stuttered, extremely uncertain, "he"s in room 3, two floors up, room 309."
    
  "Tha," Sam grinned and whistled as he headed toward the stairs marked in white and green-"Ward 2, Ward 3, Ward 4"-lazyly waving the bouquet as he climbed. In the mirror, he was greatly amused by the shifting gaze of a confused young woman, still trying to figure out what the flowers were for.
    
  "Yeah, just like I thought," Sam muttered as he found a hallway to the right of the landing where the same uniform green and white sign read "Ward 3." "Crazy floor with the bars, and Perdue's the mayor."
    
  In fact, the place didn't resemble a hospital at all. It looked more like a cluster of medical offices and practices in a large shopping mall, but Sam had to admit he found the lack of the expected frenzy a little unsettling. Nowhere did he see people in white hospital gowns or wheelchairs transporting the half-dead and dangerous. Even the medical staff, whom he could distinguish only by their white coats, looked surprisingly serene and matter-of-fact.
    
  They nodded and greeted him warmly as he passed them, without asking a single question about the flowers he held. This admission simply robbed Sam of his sense of humor, and he tossed the bouquet into the nearest trash can just before reaching his assigned room. The door, of course, was closed, as it was set in a barred floor, but Sam was stunned to discover it unlocked. Even more surprising was the room's interior.
    
  Aside from one heavily curtained window and two plush luxury armchairs, there was nothing else here but a carpet. His dark eyes scanned the strange room. It lacked a bed and the privacy of a private bathroom. Purdue sat with his back to Sam, staring out the window.
    
  "So glad you came, old man," he said in the same cheerful, richer-than-God tone he usually used with guests at his mansion.
    
  "My pleasure," Sam replied, still trying to solve the furniture puzzle. Purdue turned to face him, looking healthy and relaxed.
    
  "Sit down," he invited the puzzled reporter, whose expression suggested he was scanning the room for bugs or hidden explosives. Sam sat. "So," Perdue began, "where are my flowers?"
    
  Sam stared at Purdue. "I thought I had mind control powers?"
    
  Perdue seemed unfazed by Sam's statement, something they both knew but neither supported. "No, I saw you strolling down the alley with it in your hand, no doubt purchased solely to embarrass me one way or another."
    
  "God, you know me all too well," Sam sighed. "But how can you see anything beyond the maximum security bars here? I noticed the prisoners' cells are left unlocked. What's the point of locking you up if they keep your doors open?"
    
  Purdue smiled, amused, and shook his head. "Oh, it's not to stop us from escaping, Sam. It's to stop us from jumping." For the first time, a bitter, sarcastic note crept into Purdue's voice. Sam detected his friend's anxiety, which came to the fore during the ebb and flow of his self-control. It turned out that Purdue's apparent calm was merely a mask beneath this uncharacteristic discontent.
    
  "Are you prone to this kind of thing?" Sam asked.
    
  Purdue shrugged. "I don't know, Master Cleve. One moment everything's fine, and the next I'm back in that damn fish tank, wishing I could drown before that inky fish swallows my brain."
    
  Perdue's expression instantly changed from cheerful foolishness to a worried, pale depression, filled with guilt and anxiety. Sam dared to put his hand on Perdue's shoulder, unsure how the billionaire would react. But Perdue did nothing as Sam's hand calmed his confusion.
    
  "Is that what you're doing here? Trying to reverse the brainwashing that fucking Nazi put you through?" Sam asked him brazenly. "But that's good, Purdue. How's the treatment going? In many ways, you seem like yourself again."
    
  "Really?" Purdue chuckled. "Sam, do you know what it's like not to know? It's worse than knowing, I can assure you. But I've found that knowing breeds a different demon than forgetting your actions."
    
  "What do you mean?" Sam frowned. "I take it some real memories came back; things you couldn"t remember before?"
    
  Purdue's pale blue eyes stared straight ahead, into space, through the clear lenses of his glasses, as he considered Sam's opinion before explaining. He looked almost manic in the darkening cloudy light streaming through the window. His long, slender fingers fiddled with the carvings on the wooden arm of his chair, transfixed. Sam thought it best to change the subject for now.
    
  "So why the hell isn"t there a bed?" he exclaimed, looking around the almost empty room.
    
  "I never sleep."
    
  That was all.
    
  That was all Purdue could say on the matter. His lack of elaboration unnerved Sam, because it was the complete opposite of the man's signature behavior. Usually, he cast aside all decorum or inhibitions and spewed out a grandiose story, filled with what, why, and who. Now he was content with just the fact, so Sam pressed him not only to force an explanation, but also because he genuinely wanted to know. "You know it's biologically impossible, unless you want to die in a psychotic episode."
    
  The look Purdue gave him sent shivers down Sam's spine. It was somewhere between madness and perfect happiness; the look of a wild animal being fed, if Sam had to guess. His gray-streaked blond hair was, as always, painfully neat, combed back in long strands separating it from his gray sideburns. Sam imagined Purdue with his hair disheveled in the communal showers, those pale blue piercing gazes from the guards when they discovered him chewing on someone's ear. What bothered him most was how unremarkable such a scenario suddenly seemed given his friend's condition. Purdue's words pulled Sam out of his disgusting thoughts.
    
  "And what do you think is sitting right here in front of you, you old cock?" Purdue chuckled, looking rather ashamed of his condition beneath the drooping smile he was trying to maintain. "This is what psychosis looks like, not that Hollywood bullshit where people overreact, where people tear their hair out and write their names in shit on the walls. It"s a quiet thing, a silent, creeping cancer that makes you no longer care what you have to do to stay alive. You"re left alone with your thoughts and activities, not thinking about food..." He glanced back at the bare patch of carpet where the bed should have been, "...sleeping. At first, my body sagged under the pressure of rest. Sam, you should have seen me. Distraught and exhausted, I was passing out on the floor." He moved closer to Sam. The journalist uncomfortably smelled medicinal perfume and old cigarettes on Purdue"s breath.
    
  "Purdue..."
    
  "No, no, you asked. Now, listen, are you al-okay?" Purdue insisted in a whisper. "I haven"t slept in over four days straight, and you know what? I feel great! I mean, look at me. Don"t I look the picture of health?"
    
  "That's what worries me, buddy," Sam winced, scratching the back of his head. Purdue laughed. It wasn't a manic chuckle at all, but a civilized, gentle chuckle. Purdue swallowed his mirth to whisper, "You know what I think?"
    
  "That I'm not really here?" Sam guessed. "God knows, this bland and boring place would make me seriously doubt reality."
    
  "No. No. I think when Black Sun brainwashed me, they somehow removed the need for sleep. They must have reprogrammed my brain... unlocked...that primitive power they used on the supersoldiers in World War II to turn people into animals. They didn"t fall when they were shot, Sam. They kept going, on and on and on..."
    
  "Screw this. I'm getting you out of here," Sam decided.
    
  "I'm not done with my treatment yet, Sam. Let me stay and let them erase all these monstrous behaviorisms," Perdue insisted, trying to sound reasonable and sane, even though all he wanted to do was break out of the facility and run back to his home in Raichtisusis.
    
  "You say that," Sam dismissed with a smart tone, "but that's not what you mean."
    
  He pulled Perdue out of his chair. The billionaire smiled at his savior, looking visibly inspired. "You clearly still have the ability to control minds."
    
    
  Chapter 3 - The Figure with Bad Words
    
    
  Nina awoke feeling ill but acutely aware of her surroundings. It was the first time she had woken without being jolted awake by a nurse's voice or a doctor tempted to administer a dose at an unholy hour. She had always been fascinated by how nurses would wake patients to give them "something to sleep on" at absurd times, often between two and five in the morning. The logic of such practices completely eluded her, and she made no secret of her frustration at such idiocy, regardless of the explanation offered. Her body ached under the sadistic oppression of radiation poisoning, but she tried to endure it as long as she could.
    
  To her relief, she learned from the doctor on duty that the occasional burns on her skin would heal over time, and that the exposure she had suffered near ground zero in Chernobyl had been surprisingly minor for such a dangerous zone. Nausea bothered her daily, at least until her antibiotics ran out, but her blood condition remained a major concern.
    
  Nina understood his concern about the damage to her autoimmune system, but for her, there were worse scars-both emotional and physical. She hadn't been able to concentrate well since being released from the tunnels. It was unclear whether this was due to prolonged visual impairment from hours spent in near-pitch darkness, or whether it was also a result of exposure to high concentrations of old nuclear radiation. Regardless, her emotional trauma was worse than the physical pain and blistering skin.
    
  She was plagued by nightmares of Purdue hunting her in the darkness. Reviving tiny fragments of memory, her dreams reminded her of the moans he'd made after laughing evilly somewhere in the hellish darkness of the Ukrainian underworld where they'd been trapped together. Through another IV line, sedatives kept her mind locked in dreams, preventing her from fully waking up to escape them. It was a subconscious torment she couldn't share with the scientifically minded, who were only concerned with alleviating her physical ailments. They had no time to waste on her approaching madness.
    
  Outside the window, the pale menace of dawn flickered, though the world around her still slept. She dimly heard the low tones and whispers of the medical staff, punctuated by the strange clink of teacups and coffee stoves. It reminded Nina of early mornings during school holidays, when she was a little girl in Oban. Her parents and her mother's father would whisper like that as they packed their camping gear for a trip to the Hebrides. They tried not to wake little Nina while they packed the cars, and only at the very end would her father sneak into her room, wrap her in blankets like a hot dog roll, and carry her out into the frosty morning air to lay her on the backseat.
    
  It was a pleasant memory, one she briefly returned to in much the same way. Two nurses entered her room to check her IV and change the sheets on the empty bed across from her. Although they spoke in hushed tones, Nina used her knowledge of German to eavesdrop, just as she had on those mornings when her family thought she was fast asleep. By remaining still and breathing deeply through her nose, Nina managed to trick the nurse on duty into believing she was fast asleep.
    
  "How is she doing?" the nurse asked her boss as she roughly rolled up an old sheet she had removed from an empty mattress.
    
  "Her vital signs are fine," the older sister replied quietly.
    
  "I wanted to say that they should have smeared more flammazine on his skin before putting the mask on him. I think I'm right in suggesting that. Dr. Hilt had no reason to bite my head off," the nurse complained about the incident, which Nina believed they had discussed before they came to see her.
    
  "You know I agree with you on this, but you must remember that you cannot question treatments or dosages prescribed-or administered-by highly qualified doctors, Marlene. Just keep your diagnosis to yourself until you have a stronger position in the food chain here, okay?" the plump sister advised her subordinate.
    
  "Will he occupy this bed when he leaves the ICU, Nurse Barken?" she asked curiously. "Here? With Dr. Gould?"
    
  "Yes. Why not? This isn"t the Middle Ages or elementary school camp, my dear. You know, we have special-needs wards for men." Nurse Barken smiled slightly, reprimanding the star-struck nurse, who she knew adored Dr. Nina Gould. Who? Nina considered. Who the hell are they planning to room with me that deserves such damned attention?
    
  "Look, Dr. Gould's frowning," Nurse Barken noted, unaware that it was Nina's displeasure at soon having a very undesirable roommate. Silent, awakening thoughts controlled her expression. "Those must be the splitting headaches from the radiation. Poor thing." Yes! Nina thought. "The headaches are killing me, by the way. Your painkillers are great for a party, but they don't do a damn thing for a frontal lobe attack, you know?"
    
  Her strong, cold hand suddenly squeezed Nina's wrist, sending a shock through the feverish historian's body, already sensitive to the temperature. Inadvertently, Nina's large, dark eyes widened.
    
  "Jesus Christ, woman! Are you going to tear my skin from my muscles with that icy claw?" she screamed. Flashes of pain shot through Nina's nervous system, her deafening response leaving both nurses stunned.
    
  "Dr. Gould!" Nurse Barken exclaimed in surprise, speaking flawlessly. "I'm so sorry! You're supposed to be sedated." Across the room, a young nurse was grinning from ear to ear.
    
  Realizing she'd just delivered her farce in the most brutal manner possible, Nina decided to play the victim to hide her embarrassment. She immediately clutched her head, groaning slightly. "A sedative? The pain cuts right through all the painkillers. I apologize for startling you, but...it's like my skin is on fire," Nina said. Another nurse impatiently approached her bed, still smiling like a fan who'd received a backstage pass.
    
  "Sister Marx, would you be so kind as to bring Dr. Gould something for her headache?" asked Sister Barken. "Bitte," she said a little louder, to distract young Marlene Marx from her silly fixation.
    
  "Um, yes, of course, sister," she replied, reluctantly accepting her task before practically skipping out of the room.
    
  "Sweet girl," Nina said.
    
  "Excuse her. She's actually her mother-they're big fans of yours. They know all about your travels, and some of the things you wrote about have completely captivated Nurse Marks. So please ignore her stare," Nurse Barken explained kindly.
    
  Nina got straight to the point, until they were disturbed by a drooling puppy in a medical uniform, who was due back soon. "Who's going to sleep there then? Someone I know?"
    
  Nurse Barken shook her head. "I don't think he should even know who he really is," she whispered. "Professionally, I'm not at liberty to share, but since you'll be sharing a room with a new patient..."
    
  "Guten Morgen, Sister," the man said from the doorway. His words were muffled by the surgical mask, but Nina could tell his accent wasn't authentic German.
    
  "Excuse me, Dr. Gould," Nurse Barken said, approaching to speak to the tall figure. Nina listened intently. At this sleepy hour, the room was still relatively quiet, making it easy to listen, especially when Nina closed her eyes.
    
  The doctor asked Nurse Barken about the young man who had been brought in the previous night and why the patient was no longer in what Nina called 'Ward 4.' Her stomach twisted when the nurse asked for the doctor's identification, and he responded with a threat.
    
  "Sister, if you don't give me the information I need, someone will die before you can call security. I can assure you of that."
    
  Nina's breath caught in her throat. What was he planning to do? Even with her eyes wide open, she could barely see properly, so trying to memorize his features was nearly useless. The best thing to do was simply pretend she didn't understand German and that she was too drowsy to hear anything anyway.
    
  "No. Do you think this is the first time a charlatan has tried to intimidate me in my twenty-seven years of medical work? Get out, or I'll beat you up myself," Sister Barken threatened. After that, the nurse said nothing, but Nina detected a frantic scuffle, followed by an uneasy silence. She dared to turn her head. The woman stood firm in the doorway, but the stranger had vanished.
    
  "That was too easy," Nina said under her breath, but she played dumb for everyone's sake. "Is this my doctor?"
    
  "No, my dear," Nurse Barken replied. "And please, if you see him again, notify me or any other staff member immediately." She looked very irritated, but showed no fear as she rejoined Nina at her bedside. "They should be bringing in a new patient within the next day. They"ve stabilized him for now. But don"t worry, he"s heavily sedated. He won"t be a problem for you."
    
  "How long will I be imprisoned here?" Nina asked. "And don't tell me until I'm better."
    
  Nurse Barken chuckled. "You tell me, Doctor Gould. You've amazed everyone with your ability to fight off infection and demonstrated healing abilities bordering on the supernatural. What are you, some kind of vampire?"
    
  The nurse's humor was most welcome. Nina was pleased to know that some people still felt a certain amount of wonder. But what she couldn't tell even the most open-minded was that her supernatural healing ability was the result of a blood transfusion she'd received many years earlier. At the gates of death, Nina had been saved by the blood of a particularly vicious enemy, a virtual remnant of Himmler's experiments to create a superhuman, a wonder weapon. Her name was Lita, and she was a monster with truly powerful blood.
    
  "Perhaps the damage wasn't as extensive as the doctors initially thought," Nina replied. "Besides, if I'm healing so well, why am I going blind?"
    
  Sister Barken placed a soothing hand on Nina's forehead. "Perhaps this is simply a symptom of your electrolyte imbalance or insulin levels, my dear. I'm sure your vision will clear soon. Don't worry. If you keep up the good work you're doing, you'll be out of here soon."
    
  Nina hoped the lady's assumption was correct, because she needed to find Sam and ask about Purdue. She needed a new phone, too. Until then, she'd simply been checking the news for anything about Purdue, since he might have been famous enough to make the news in Germany. Even though he'd tried to kill her, she hoped he was okay-wherever he was.
    
  "The man who brought me here... did he ever say he'd come back?" Nina asked about Detlef Holzer, the acquaintance she'd harmed before he saved her from Purdue and the devil's veins beneath the infamous Reactor 4 at Chernobyl.
    
  "No, we haven't heard from him since," Barken's sister admitted. "He wasn't my boyfriend in any capacity, was he?"
    
  Nina smiled, remembering the sweet, obtuse bodyguard who'd helped her, Sam, and Perdue find the famed Amber Room before everything fell apart in Ukraine. "Not a guy," she smiled at the hazy image of her nursing sister. "A widower."
    
    
  Chapter 4 - Charm
    
    
  "How"s Nina?" Purdue asked Sam as they left the bedless room with Purdue"s coat and a small suitcase as luggage.
    
  "Detlef Holzer put her in the hospital in Heidelberg. I plan to check on her in a week or so," Sam whispered, checking the hallway. "It's a good thing Detlef is so forgiving, otherwise your ass would be wandering around Pripyat by now."
    
  After looking left and right, Sam gestured for his friend to follow him to the right, where he was heading toward the stairs. They heard voices arguing on the landing. After a moment's hesitation, Sam stopped and pretended to be engrossed in a phone conversation.
    
  "They're not Satan's agents, Sam. Come on," Purdue chuckled, tugging Sam by the sleeve past two janitors who were chatting about nothing. "They don't even know I'm a patient. For all they know, you're my patient."
    
  "Mr. Perdue!" a woman shouted from behind, strategically interrupting Perdue"s statement.
    
  "Keep walking," Perdue muttered.
    
  "Why?" Sam teased loudly. "They think I"m your patient, remember?"
    
  "Sam! For God's sake, keep going," Perdue insisted, only slightly amused by Sam's childish exclamation.
    
  "Mr. Purdue, please stop right here. I need to have a quick word with you," the woman repeated. He paused with a defeated sigh and turned to face the attractive woman. Sam cleared his throat. "Please tell me this is your doctor, Purdue. Because...well, she could brainwash me any day now."
    
  "Looks like she already did," Perdue muttered, shooting a sharp glance at his partner.
    
  "I haven"t had the pleasure," she smiled, meeting Sam"s gaze.
    
  "Would you like to?" Sam asked, receiving a powerful elbow from Purdue.
    
  "Excuse me?" she asked, joining them.
    
  "He"s a little shy," Perdue lied. "I"m afraid he needs to learn to speak up. He must seem so rude, Melissa. I"m sorry."
    
  "Melissa Argyle." She smiled as she introduced herself to Sam.
    
  "Sam Cleave," he said simply, monitoring Purdue's secret signals on his peripheral. "Are you Mr. Purdue's brainwashing machine...?"
    
  "... the treating psychologist?" Sam asked, locking his thoughts securely away.
    
  She gave a shy, amused smile. "No! Oh, no. I wish I had that kind of power. I"m just the head of administration here at Sinclair, since Ella went on maternity leave."
    
  "So you"re leaving in three months?" Sam feigned regret.
    
  "I'm afraid so," she replied. "But everything will be fine. I have a part-time position at the University of Edinburgh as an assistant or advisor to the Dean of the Faculty of Psychology."
    
  "You hear that, Purdue?" Sam was overly impressed. "She's in Fort Edinburgh! It's a small world. I visit that place too, but mostly for information, when I'm researching my assignments."
    
  "Oh, right," Perdue smiled. "I know where she is-on duty."
    
  "Who do you think gave me this position?" she swooned and looked at Perdue with boundless adoration. Sam couldn't pass up the opportunity for mischief.
    
  "Oh, he did? You're an old bastard, Dave! Helping talented, up-and-coming scientists get tenure, even if you don't get the credit or anything. Isn't he the best, Melissa?" Sam praised his friend, not misleading Purdue at all, but Melissa was convinced of his sincerity.
    
  "I owe Mr. Purdue so much," she chirped. "I just hope he knows how much I appreciate it. In fact, he gave me this pen." She ran the back of the pen across her deep pink lipstick from left to right as she subconsciously flirted, her yellow curls barely covering her hard nipples, which were visible through her beige cardigan.
    
  "I"m sure Pen appreciates your efforts too," Sam said bluntly.
    
  Perdue turned white, mentally screaming at Sam to shut up. The blonde immediately stopped sucking her hand, realizing what she was doing. "What do you mean, Mr. Cleve?" she asked sternly. Sam was unfazed.
    
  "I mean, Pen would appreciate it if you discharged Mr. Perdue in a few minutes," Sam smiled confidently. Perdue couldn't believe it. Sam was busy using his strange talent on Melissa, making her do what he wanted, he realized immediately. Trying not to smile at the journalist's impudence, he maintained a pleasant expression.
    
  "Absolutely," she beamed. "Just let me get your resignation papers, and I"ll meet you both in the lobby in ten minutes."
    
  "Thank you so much, Melissa," Sam called after her as she came down the stairs.
    
  Slowly his head turned to see the strange expression on Purdue's face.
    
  "You are incorrigible, Sam Cleve," he reprimanded.
    
  Sam shrugged.
    
  "Remind me to buy you a Ferrari for Christmas," he grinned. "But first, we're going to drink until Hogmanay and beyond!"
    
  "Rocktober was last week, didn't you know?" Sam said matter-of-factly as the two of them walked down to the reception area on the first floor.
    
  "Yes".
    
  At the reception desk, the flustered girl Sam had confused stared at him again. Purdue didn't need to ask. He could only guess what kind of mind games Sam must have been playing on the poor girl. "You know that when you use your powers for evil, the gods will take them away from you, right?" he asked Sam.
    
  "But I'm not using them for evil. I'm getting my old friend out of here," Sam defended himself.
    
  "Not me, Sam. The women," Perdue corrected what Sam already knew he meant. "Look at their faces. You did something."
    
  "Nothing they'll regret, unfortunately. Maybe I should just indulge in a little female attention, with the help of the gods, huh?" Sam tried to elicit sympathy from Purdue, but got nothing but a nervous grin.
    
  "Let's get out of here scot-free first, old man," he reminded Sam.
    
  "Ha, good choice of words, sir. Oh, look, now there"s Melissa," he gave Perdue a mischievous smile. "How did she earn that Caran d"Ache? With those pink lips?"
    
  "She's in one of my beneficiary programs, Sam, as are several other young women... and men, for that matter," Perdue defended himself hopelessly, knowing full well that Sam was playing him.
    
  "Hey, your preferences have nothing to do with me," Sam mimicked.
    
  After Melissa signed Perdue's discharge papers, he wasted no time in reaching Sam's car on the other side of the vast botanical garden that surrounded the building. Like two boys skipping class, they jogged away from the establishment.
    
  "You've got balls, Sam Cleve. I give you that," Perdue chuckled as they walked past security with the signed release papers.
    
  "I believe it. Let's prove it," Sam joked as they got into the car. Perdue's quizzical expression prompted him to reveal the secret party location he'd been referring to. "West of North Berwick, we're going...to a beer tent city...and we'll be wearing kilts!"
    
    
  Chapter 5 - Hidden Marduk
    
    
  Windowless and damp, the basement lay silently awaiting the creeping shadow that made its way along the wall, gliding down the stairs. Just like a real shadow, the man who cast it moved silently, stealthily approaching the only deserted spot he could find to hide long enough for the shift change. The exhausted giant carefully plotted his next move, but he was never oblivious to the reality-he would have to lie low for at least another two days.
    
  The final decision was made after a thorough review of the staff roster on the second floor, where the administrator had pinned the weekly schedule to the bulletin board in the staff room. In a colorful Excel document, he spotted the persistent nurse's name and her shift details. He didn't want to run into her again, and she had two more days to work, leaving him no choice but to hunker down in the concrete solitude of the dimly lit boiler room, with only the running water for entertainment.
    
  What a disaster, he thought. But ultimately, reaching pilot Olaf Lanhagen, who until recently had served in a Luftwaffe unit at Büchner Air Base, was worth the wait. The lurking old man couldn't allow the seriously wounded pilot to remain alive at any cost. What the young man might have done if he hadn't been stopped was simply too risky. The long wait began for the disfigured hunter, the embodiment of patience, now hiding in the depths of Heidelberg's medical facility.
    
  He held the surgical mask he'd just removed, wondering what it would be like to walk among people without any covering on his face. But after such reflection, an undeniable disdain for the desire arose. He had to admit to himself that he would be deeply uncomfortable walking in daylight without a mask, if only for the discomfort it would cause him.
    
  Naked.
    
  He would feel naked, barren, no matter how expressionless his face was now, if he were forced to reveal his flaw to the world. And he wondered what it would be like to appear normal by definition as he sat in the quiet darkness of the basement's eastern corner. Even if he weren't deformed and wore an acceptable face, he would feel exposed and terribly conspicuous. In fact, the only desire he could salvage from that notion was the privilege of proper speech. No, he changed his mind. The ability to speak wouldn't be the only thing that would give him pleasure; the joy of smiling itself would be like an elusive dream captured in memory.
    
  He finally curled up under a rough blanket of stolen linens, courtesy of the laundry. He'd rolled up some bloody, canvas-like sheets he'd found in one of the canvas bins to act as insulation between his dehydrated body and the hard floor. After all, his protruding bones left bruises on even the softest mattress, and his thyroid gland wouldn't allow him to absorb even a drop of the soft, lipid-like tissue that would provide comfortable cushioning.
    
  His childhood illness only exacerbated his birth defect, turning him into a pain-ridden monster. But this was his curse-to equal the blessing of being who he was, he assured himself. At first, Peter Marduk found it difficult to accept, but once he found his place in the world, his purpose became clear. Disfigurement, physical or spiritual, had to give way to the role given to him by the cruel Creator who had created him.
    
  Another day passed, and he remained unnoticed, his greatest skill in all endeavors. Peter Marduk, seventy-eight years old, laid his head on the stinking sheets to get some sleep while he waited for another day to pass. The smell didn't bother him. His senses were highly selective; one of the blessings he'd been cursed with when he didn't have a nose. When he wanted to track a scent, his sense of smell was like a shark's. On the other hand, he had the ability to use the opposite. That's what he did now.
    
  His sense of smell shut off, he perked his ears, listening for any normally inaudible sound while he slept. Fortunately, after more than two full days of being awake, the old man closed his eyes-his remarkably normal eyes. From a distance, he could hear the wheels of the cart creaking under the weight of dinner in Ward B just before visiting hours. Losing consciousness left him blind and reassured, hoping for a dreamless sleep until his task roused him to perform again.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  "I'm so tired," Nina told Nurse Marks. The young nurse was on night duty. Since meeting Dr. Nina Gould over the past two days, she had somewhat shed her lovesick mannerisms and shown more professional warmth toward the ailing historian.
    
  "Fatigue is part of the illness, Dr. Gould," she said sympathetically to Nina, adjusting her pillows.
    
  "I know, but I haven"t felt this tired since I was admitted. Did they give me a sedative?"
    
  "Let me see," Nurse Marks offered. She pulled Nina's medical chart from a slot at the foot of the bed and slowly flipped through the pages. Her blue eyes scanned the medications administered over the past twelve hours, then she slowly shook her head. "No, Dr. Gould. I don't see anything here other than a topical medication in your IV. Of course, no sedatives. Are you sleepy?"
    
  Marlene Marx gently took Nina's hand and checked her vital signs. "Your pulse is quite weak. Let me check your blood pressure."
    
  "Oh my God, I feel like I can't lift my arms, Sister Marx," Nina sighed heavily. "It feels like..." She didn't have the right way to ask, but in light of her symptoms, she felt she had to. "Have you ever been roofie?"
    
  Looking a little concerned that Nina knew what it was like to be under the influence of Rohypnol, the nurse shook her head again. "No, but I have a good idea what a drug like that does to the central nervous system. Is that what you're feeling?"
    
  Nina nodded, now barely able to open her eyes. Nurse Marks was alarmed to see that Nina's blood pressure was extremely low, plummeting in a manner that completely contradicted her previous prediction. "My body feels like an anvil, Marlene," Nina muttered quietly.
    
  "Wait, Dr. Gould," the nurse insisted, trying to speak sharply and loudly to wake Nina's mind as she ran to call her colleagues. Among them was Dr. Eduard Fritz, the physician who had treated the young man who had arrived two nights later with second-degree burns.
    
  "Dr. Fritz!" Nurse Marks called in a tone that wouldn't alarm other patients but would convey a level of urgency to the medical staff. "Dr. Gould's blood pressure is dropping rapidly, and I'm struggling to keep her conscious!"
    
  The team rushed to Nina's side and pulled the curtains. The onlookers were stunned by the staff's reaction to the small woman occupying a double room alone. Visiting hours hadn't seen such an event in a long time, and many visitors and patients waited to make sure the patient was okay.
    
  "This looks like something out of Gray's Anatomy," Nurse Marks overheard a visitor say to her husband as she ran past with the medications Dr. Fritz had requested. But all Marks cared about was getting Dr. Gould back before she completely collapsed. Twenty minutes later, they parted the curtains again, talking in smiling whispers. From their expressions, passersby could tell the patient's condition had stabilized and he had returned to the bustling atmosphere usually associated with that time of night in the hospital.
    
  "Thank God we were able to save her," Sister Marks breathed, leaning against the reception desk to take a sip of coffee. Little by little, visitors began to leave the ward, bidding farewell to their incarcerated loved ones until tomorrow. Gradually, the hallways grew quieter, as footsteps and muffled tones faded into nothingness. For most of the staff, it was a relief to have a little rest before the final rounds of the evening.
    
  "Excellent work, Sister Marx," Dr. Fritz smiled. The man rarely smiled, even at the best of times. As a result, she knew his words would be savored.
    
  "Thank you, doctor," she replied modestly.
    
  "Indeed, if you hadn't acted immediately, we could have lost Dr. Gould tonight. I fear her condition is more serious than her biology indicates. I must admit, I was confused by this. You say her vision was impaired?"
    
  "Yes, Doctor. She complained that her vision was blurry until last night, when she directly used the words 'going blind.' But I was in no position to give her any advice, as I have no idea what could have caused it other than an obvious immune deficiency," Sister Marks suggested.
    
  "That's what I like about you, Marlene," he said. He wasn't smiling, but his statement was nonetheless respectful. "You know your place. You don't pretend to be a doctor and don't presume to tell patients what you think is troubling them. You leave that to the professionals, and that's a good thing. With that attitude, you'll go far under my care."
    
  Hoping Dr. Hilt hadn't relayed her previous behavior, Marlene merely smiled, but her heart pounded with pride at Dr. Fritz's approval. He was a leading expert in the field of broad-spectrum diagnostics, spanning various medical fields, yet he remained a humble physician and consultant. Considering his career accomplishments, Dr. Fritz was relatively young. In his early forties, he had already authored several award-winning articles and lectured internationally during his sabbaticals. His opinions were highly valued by most medical scientists, especially by humble nurses like Marlene Marx, who had just completed her internship.
    
  This was true. Marlene knew her place beside him. No matter how chauvinistic or sexist Dr. Fritz's statement sounded, she knew what he meant. However, there were many other female employees who wouldn't have understood its meaning so well. To them, his power was selfish, whether he deserved it or not. They saw him as a misogynist both in the workplace and in society, often discussing his sexuality. But he paid them no attention. He was simply stating the obvious. He knew better, and they weren't qualified to make a diagnosis right away. Therefore, they had no right to express their opinions, least of all when he was obligated to do so properly.
    
  "Look quicker, Marx," said one of the orderlies as he passed.
    
  "Why? What's going on?" she asked, her eyes wide. She usually prayed for a little activity during the night shift, but Marlen had already endured enough stress for one night.
    
  "We're moving Freddy Krueger to the Chernobyl lady," he replied, gesturing for her to begin preparing the bed for the move.
    
  "Hey, show some respect to the poor guy, you idiot," she said to the orderly, who only laughed at her reprimand. "He's someone's son, you know!"
    
  She opened the bed for its new occupant in the dim, lonely light above. Pulling back the blankets and top sheet to form a neat triangle, Marlene considered, if only for a moment, the fate of the poor young man, who had lost most of his features, not to mention his abilities, due to severe nerve damage. Dr. Gould moved to a darkened part of the room a few feet away, pretending to be well rested for a change.
    
  They delivered the new patient with minimal disruption and transferred him to a new bed, grateful that he hadn't woken up from what would undoubtedly have been excruciating pain during their treatment. They quietly left once he was settled, while in the basement, everyone slept just as soundly, posing an imminent threat.
    
    
  Chapter 6 - The Luftwaffe Dilemma
    
    
  "My God, Schmidt! I'm the commander, Inspector General of the Luftwaffe Command!" Harold Mayer shouted in a rare moment of loss of control. "These journalists will want to know why a missing pilot used one of our fighter jets without the permission of my office or the Joint Operations Command of the Bundeswehr! And I'm only now learning that the fuselage was discovered by our own people-and hidden?"
    
  Gerhard Schmidt, the second-in-command, shrugged and looked at his superior's flushed face. Lieutenant General Harold Meyer was not one to lose control of his emotions. The scene unfolding before Schmidt was highly unusual, but he fully understood why Meyer had reacted as he had. This was a very serious matter, and it wouldn't be long before some nosy journalist discovered the truth about the defecting pilot, the man who had escaped alone in one of their million-euro planes.
    
  "Have they found pilot Lö Wenhagen yet?" he asked Schmidt, the officer who had the misfortune of being appointed, to tell him the shocking news.
    
  "No. No body was found at the scene, which leads us to believe he's still alive," Schmidt replied thoughtfully. "But you also have to consider that he could very well have died in the crash. The explosion could have destroyed his body, Harold."
    
  "All this talk of "could have" and "may have to"-that"s what worries me most. I"m worried about the uncertainty of what follows from this whole affair, not to mention the fact that some of our squadrons have people on short-term leave. For the first time in my career, I feel uneasy," Meyer admitted, finally sitting down for a moment to think. He suddenly looked up, locking eyes with Schmidt"s own steely gaze, but he was looking beyond his subordinate"s face. A moment passed before Meyer made his final decision. "Schmidt..."
    
  "Yes, sir?" Schmidt quickly responded, wanting to know how the commander would save them all from disgrace.
    
  "Get three men you trust. I need smart people, with brains and brawn, my friend. Men like you. They need to understand the trouble we're in. This is a PR nightmare waiting to happen. I-and probably you too-will likely be fired if what this little asshole managed to do under our noses comes to light," Meyer said, again veering off topic.
    
  "And you need us to track him down?" Schmidt asked.
    
  "Yes. And you know what to do if you find him. Use your own discretion. If you like, interrogate him to find out what madness drove him to this foolish act of bravery-you know what his intentions were," Meyer suggested. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands. "But Schmidt, if he so much as breathes incorrectly, throw him out. After all, we are soldiers, not nannies or psychologists. The collective well-being of the Luftwaffe is far more important than one maniacal idiot who has something to prove, understand?"
    
  "Completely," Schmidt agreed. He wasn't just pleasing his superior; he sincerely held the same opinion. The two of them hadn't endured years of testing and training in the German Air Corps just to be destroyed by some snot-nosed pilot. As a result, Schmidt was secretly excited about the mission he'd been given. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "Done. Give me three days to assemble my trio, and after that, we'll report to you daily."
    
  Meyer nodded, suddenly feeling a certain relief at collaborating with a like-minded man. Schmidt put on his cap and saluted ceremoniously, smiling. "That is, if it takes us that long to resolve this dilemma."
    
  "Let's hope the first message is the last," Meyer replied.
    
  "We"ll keep in touch," Schmidt promised as he left the office, leaving Meyer feeling considerably better.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Once Schmidt had selected his three men, he briefed them under the guise of a covert operation. They were to conceal information about this mission from everyone else, including their families and colleagues. With great tact, the officer ensured his men understood that extreme bias was the mission's path. He chose three meek, intelligent men of varying ranks from different combat units. That was all he needed. He didn't bother with details.
    
  "So, gentlemen, do you accept or decline?" he finally asked from his makeshift podium, perched on a raised concrete platform in the base's maintenance bay. The stern expression on his face and subsequent silence conveyed the weight of the mission. "Come on, guys, this isn't a marriage proposal! Yes or no! This is a simple mission: find and destroy a mouse in our wheat bin, guys."
    
  "I'm in."
    
  "Ah, danke Himmelfarb! I knew I chose the right man when I chose you," said Schmidt, using reverse psychology to push the other two. Thanks to peer pressure prevailing, he ultimately succeeded. Soon after, the red-haired demon named Kohl clicked his heels in his typical show-off manner. Naturally, the last man, Werner, had to give in. He resisted, but only because he had planned to play a little in Dillenburg over the next three days, and Schmidt's little excursion had disrupted his plans.
    
  "Let's go get this little bastard," he said indifferently. "I beat him twice at blackjack last month, and he still owes me 137 euros."
    
  His two colleagues chuckled. Schmidt was pleased.
    
  "Thanks for volunteering your time and expertise, guys. Let me get the information this evening, and I'll have your first orders ready on Tuesday. Dismissed."
    
    
  Chapter 7 - Meeting the Killer
    
    
  The cold, black gaze of motionless, beady eyes met Nina's as she gradually emerged from her blissful slumber. This time, she was not plagued by nightmares, but nevertheless, she awoke to this horrific sight. She gasped as the dark pupils in the bloodshot eyes became the reality she thought she had lost in her dreams.
    
  Oh God, she mouthed when she saw him.
    
  He responded with what might have been a smile if there had been any muscle left in his face, but all she could see was the crinkling of his eyes in friendly recognition. He nodded politely.
    
  "Hello," Nina forced herself to say, even though she wasn't in the mood for conversation. She hated herself for silently hoping the patient had lost the power of speech, just so he'd leave her alone. After all, she'd merely greeted him, a show of politeness. To her horror, he responded in a hoarse whisper. "Hello. I'm sorry I scared you. I just thought I'd never wake up again."
    
  This time Nina smiled without moral coercion. "I'm Nina."
    
  "Nice to meet you, Nina. I'm sorry...it's hard to talk," he apologized.
    
  "Don"t worry. Don"t say anything if it hurts."
    
  "I wish it would hurt. But my face is just numb. It feels..."
    
  He sighed deeply, and Nina saw immense sadness in his dark eyes. Suddenly, her heart ached with pity for the man with melted skin, but she didn't dare speak now. She wanted to let him finish what he wanted to say.
    
  "It feels like I'm wearing someone else's face." He struggled with his words, his emotions in turmoil. "Just this dead skin. Just this numbness, like when you touch someone else's face, you know? It's like-a mask."
    
  As he spoke, Nina imagined his suffering, and this forced her to abandon her previous viciousness, wishing he would remain silent for her own comfort. She imagined everything he had said and put herself in his place. How terrible it must be! But regardless of the reality of his suffering and inevitable shortcomings, she wanted to maintain a positive tone.
    
  "I'm sure it will get better, especially with the medication they're giving us," she sighed. "I'm surprised I can feel my butt on the toilet seat."
    
  His eyes narrowed and wrinkled again, and a rhythmic wheeze escaped from his gullet that she now knew was laughter, though the rest of his face showed no sign of it. "Like when you fall asleep on your own arm," he added.
    
  Nina pointed at him with decisive concession. "Right."
    
  The hospital ward bustled around the two new acquaintances, making their morning rounds and carrying breakfast trays. Nina wondered where Nurse Barken was, but said nothing when Dr. Fritz entered the room, accompanied by two strangers in professional attire, with Nurse Marks following close behind. The strangers turned out to be hospital administrators, one man and one woman.
    
  "Good morning, Dr. Gould," Dr. Fritz smiled, but he led his team to another patient. Nurse Marks gave Nina a quick smile before returning to her work. They drew the thick green curtains, and she heard the staff talking to the new patient in relatively hushed voices, presumably for her benefit.
    
  Nina frowned in frustration at their incessant questioning. The poor man could barely pronounce his words correctly! However, she could hear enough to know that the patient couldn't remember his own name and that the only thing he remembered before catching fire was flying.
    
  "But you came running here still engulfed in flames!" Dr. Fritz informed him.
    
  "I don"t remember that," the man replied.
    
  Nina closed her weakening eyes to sharpen her hearing. She heard the doctor say, "My nurse took your wallet when they sedated you. From what we can decipher from the charred remains, you're twenty-seven years old and from Dillenburg. Unfortunately, your name on the card was destroyed, so we can't determine who you are or who we should contact about your treatment and the like." Oh, my God! she thought furiously. They barely saved his life, and the first conversation they have with him is about financial trivia! Typical!
    
  "I-I have no idea what my name is, Doctor. I know even less about what happened to me." There was a long pause, and Nina couldn't hear anything until the curtains parted again and the two bureaucrats emerged. As they passed, Nina was shocked to hear one say to the other, "We can't publish the composite sketch on the news either. He doesn't have a bloody face that anyone could recognize."
    
  She couldn't help but defend him. "Hey!"
    
  Like good sycophants, they stopped and smiled sweetly at the renowned scientist, but what she said wiped the false smiles from their faces. "At least this man has one face, not two. Savvy?"
    
  Without a word, the two embarrassed pen sellers left, while Nina glared at them with a raised eyebrow. She pouted proudly, quietly adding, "And in perfect German, bitches."
    
  "I must admit, that was impressively German, especially for a Scotsman." Dr. Fritz smiled as he wrote down the young man's file. Both the burn patient and Nurse Marx acknowledged the cheeky historian's chivalry with thumbs-up gestures, making Nina feel like her old self again.
    
  Nina beckoned Nurse Marks closer, making sure the young woman knew she wanted to share something discreet. Dr. Fritz glanced at the two women, suspecting there was something he should be informed of.
    
  "Ladies, I won't be long. Let me just get our patient comfortable." Turning to the burn patient, he said, "My friend, we'll have to tell you a name in the meantime, don't you think?"
    
  "What about Sam?" the patient suggested.
    
  Nina's stomach clenched. I still need to contact Sam. Or even just Detlef.
    
  "What"s the matter, Dr. Gould?" Marlene asked.
    
  "Hmm, I don"t know who else to tell or if this is even appropriate, but," she sighed sincerely, "I think I"m losing my sight!"
    
  "I"m sure it"s just a by-product of the radia..." Marlene tried, but Nina grabbed her arm tightly in protest.
    
  "Listen! If one more employee in this hospital uses radiation as an excuse instead of doing something about my eyes, I will start a mutiny. Do you understand?" She chuckled impatiently. "Please. PLEASE. Do something about my eyes. An examination. Anything. I"m telling you, I"m going blind, even though Nurse Barken assured me I was getting better!"
    
  Dr. Fritz listened to Nina's complaint. He stuffed his pen in his pocket and, with an encouraging wink at the patient he now called Sam, left.
    
  "Dr. Gould, can you see my face or just the outline of my head?"
    
  "Both, but I can"t tell the color of your eyes, for example. Everything was blurry before, but now it"s become impossible to see anything further than an arm"s length away," Nina replied. "I used to be able to see..." She didn"t want to call the new patient by his chosen name, but she had to: "...Sam"s eyes, even the pinkish color of the whites of his eyes, Doctor. That was literally an hour ago. Now I can"t make anything out."
    
  "Sister Barken told you the truth," he said, pulling out a light pen and pushing Nina's eyelids apart with his gloved left hand. "You're healing so quickly, almost unnaturally." He lowered his nearly sterile face next to hers to test her pupils' reaction as she gasped.
    
  "I see you!" she cried. "I see you clear as day. Every flaw. Even the stubble on your face peeking out from your pores."
    
  Confused, he looked at the nurse on the other side of Nina's bed. Her face was full of concern. "We'll run some blood tests later today. Nurse Marks, have the results ready for me tomorrow."
    
  "Where is Sister Barken?" Nina asked.
    
  "She"s not on duty until Friday, but I"m sure a promising nurse like Miss Marks can take care of it, right?" The young nurse nodded vigorously.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Once evening visiting hours ended, most of the staff were busy getting patients ready for bed, but Dr. Fritz had earlier given Dr. Nina Gould a sedative to ensure she got a good night's sleep. She had been quite upset all day, acting unusually due to her deteriorating vision. Uncharacteristically, she was reserved and a little sullen, as expected. When the lights went out, she was fast asleep.
    
  By 3:20 a.m., even the hushed conversations between the night nurses had ceased, all struggling with various bouts of boredom and the lulling power of silence. Nurse Marks was working an extra shift, spending her free time on social media. It was a shame she was professionally forbidden from publishing the confession of her heroine, Dr. Gould. She was sure it would have aroused the envy of the history buffs and World War II fanatics among her online friends, but alas, she had to keep the shocking news to herself.
    
  The soft, slapping sound of skipping footsteps echoed down the hallway before Marlene looked up to see one of the orderlies from the first floor rushing toward the nurses' station. The wicked janitor was hot on his heels. Both men had shocked expressions, desperately calling for the nurses to be quiet until they reached them.
    
  Out of breath, the two men stopped at the door of the office where Marlene and the other nurse were waiting for an explanation for their strange behavior.
    
  "There-e-e," the cleaner began first, "there is an intruder on the first floor, and he is coming up the fire escape as we speak."
    
  "So, call security," Marlene whispered, surprised by their inability to handle the security threat. "If you suspect someone poses a threat to staff and patients, know that you..."
    
  "Listen, honey!" The orderly leaned right over to the young woman, whispering mockingly in her ear as quietly as he could. "Both security officers are dead!"
    
  The janitor nodded wildly. "It"s true! Call the police. Now! Before he gets here!"
    
  "What about the staff on the second floor?" she asked, frantically trying to find the line to the receptionist. The two men shrugged. Marlene was alarmed to find the switchboard beeping incessantly. This meant there were either too many calls to handle or the system was faulty.
    
  "I can't catch the main lines!" she whispered urgently. "Oh my God! No one knows there's trouble. We have to warn them!" Marlene used her cell phone to call Dr. Hilt on his personal phone. "Dr. Hook?" she said, wide-eyed, while the anxious men continually checked the figure they'd seen climbing the fire escape.
    
  "He's going to be furious that you called him on his cell phone," the orderly warned.
    
  "Who cares? As long as she doesn't get to him, Victor!" grumbled another nurse. She followed suit, using her cell phone to call the local police, while Marlene dialed Dr. Hilt's number again.
    
  "He's not answering," she breathed out. "He calls, but there's no voicemail either."
    
  "Great! And our phones are in our fucking lockers!" the orderly, Victor, seethed hopelessly, running his frustrated fingers through his hair. In the background, they heard another nurse talking to the police. She shoved the phone into the orderly's chest.
    
  "Over here!" she insisted. "Tell them the details. They"re sending two cars."
    
  Victor explained the situation to the emergency operator, who dispatched patrol cars. He then remained on the line while she continued to obtain additional information from him and relayed it by radio to the patrol cars as they rushed to Heidelberg Hospital.
    
    
  Chapter 8 - It's all fun and games until...
    
    
  "Zig-zag! I want a challenge!" roared a loud, overweight woman as Sam began to flee from the table. Purdue was too drunk to care, watching Sam try to win a bet that a stocky girl with a knife couldn't stab him. The nearby drinkers formed a small crowd of cheering, betting hooligans, all familiar with Big Morag's talent with a blade. They were all lamenting and eager to profit from the misguided courage of this idiot from Edinburgh.
    
  The tents were illuminated by the festive glow of lanterns, casting shadows of swaying drunks singing heartily to the tunes of a folk band. It wasn't yet completely dark, but the heavy, cloud-covered sky reflected the lights of the vast field below. A few people rowed along the winding river that flowed past the stalls, enjoying the gentle ripples of the shimmering water around them. Children played under the trees near the parking lot.
    
  Sam heard the first dagger whistle past his shoulder.
    
  "Ouch!" he cried out accidentally. "Almost spilled my ale there!"
    
  He heard screaming women and men urging him on over the din of Morag's fans chanting her name. Somewhere in the frenzy, Sam heard a small group chanting, "Kill the bastard! Kill the vamp!"
    
  There was no support from Purdue, even when Sam briefly turned to see where Maura had changed her sights. Dressed in his family's tartan over his kilt, Purdue staggered through the frantic parking lot toward the clubhouse on the property.
    
  "Traitor," Sam muttered. He took another sip of his ale just as Mora raised her flabby hand to level the last of the three daggers. "Oh, hell!" Sam cried, throwing his mug aside and running toward the hill by the river.
    
  As he'd feared, his intoxication served two purposes: humiliation, and then the subsequent ability to keep his ass from getting in trouble. His disorientation on the turn caused him to lose his balance, and after just one leap forward, his foot caught the back of his other ankle, knocking him down onto the wet, loose grass and mud with a dull thud. Sam's skull struck a rock hidden among the long tufts of greenery, and a bright flash of light painfully pierced his brain. His eyes rolled back into their sockets, but he regained consciousness instantly.
    
  The speed of his fall threw his heavy kilt forward as his body came to an abrupt halt. On his lower back, he could feel the horrific confirmation of his upturned garment. If that weren't enough to confirm the nightmare that followed, the fresh air on his buttocks did the trick.
    
  "Oh, God! Not again," he groaned through the smell of dirt and manure as the crowd's booming laughter chastised him. "On the other hand," he told himself, sitting up, "I won't remember this in the morning. That's right! It won't matter."
    
  But he was a terrible journalist, forgetting to remember that the flashing lights that occasionally blinded him from a short distance meant that even when he forgot about the ordeal, the photos would prevail. For a moment, Sam just sat there, wishing he'd been so painfully conventional; wishing he'd worn underwear, or at least a thong! Morag's toothless mouth was wide open with laughter as she staggered closer to pick him up.
    
  "Don"t worry, dear!" she chuckled. "These aren"t the same people we saw for the first time!"
    
  In one swift movement, the sturdy girl pulled him to his feet. Sam was too drunk and nauseous to fight her off as she brushed off his kilt and groped him, putting on a show at his expense.
    
  "Hey! Uh, lady..." he stuttered, his arms flailing like a drugged flamingo as he tried to regain his composure. "Watch your hands there!"
    
  "Sam! Sam!" he heard cruel jeers and whistles coming from somewhere inside the bubble, coming from the large gray tent.
    
  "Purdue?" he called, searching the thick, muddy lawn for his mug.
    
  "Sam! Come on, we have to go! Sam! Stop messing around with the fat girl!" Purdue staggered forward, muttering incoherently as he got closer.
    
  "What do you see?" Morag screamed in response to the insult. Frowning, she moved away from Sam to give Purdue her full attention.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  "A little ice on that, buddy?" the bartender asked Purdue.
    
  Sam and Perdue walked into the clubhouse unsteadily after most people had already vacated their seats, opting to go outside and watch the flame eaters during the drum show.
    
  "Yes! Ice for both of us," Sam cried, clutching his head where the stone had made contact. Perdue strutted beside him, raising his hand to order two servings of mead while they nursed their wounds.
    
  "My God, that woman hits like Mike Tyson," Perdue remarked, pressing an ice pack to his right eyebrow, the spot where Morag's first shot had signaled her disapproval of his comment. The second punch landed just below his left cheekbone, and Perdue couldn't help but be a little impressed by her combination.
    
  "Well, she throws knives like an amateur," Sam interjected, clutching the glass in his hand.
    
  "You know she didn't actually mean to hit you, right?" the bartender reminded Sam. He thought for a moment and then countered, "But then she's stupid to make a bet like that. I got my money back double."
    
  "Yeah, but she bet on herself with four times the odds, man!" the bartender chuckled heartily. "She didn't earn that reputation by being stupid, did she?"
    
  "Ha!" Perdue exclaimed, his eyes glued to the TV behind the bar. This was the very reason he'd come looking for Sam in the first place. What he'd seen on the news earlier had seemed disturbing, and he wanted to hang out until it aired again so he could show Sam.
    
  Within the next hour, exactly what he'd been waiting for appeared on the screen. He leaned forward, knocking over several glasses on the counter. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Look, Sam! Isn't this the hospital our dear Nina is in right now?"
    
  Sam watched as a reporter described the drama that had unfolded at a prominent hospital just hours earlier. It instantly alarmed him. The two men exchanged worried glances.
    
  "We have to go and get her, Sam," Perdue insisted.
    
  "If I were sober, I would leave right now, but we can"t go to Germany in this condition," Sam lamented.
    
  "That's no problem, my friend," Perdue smiled in his usual mischievous manner. He raised his glass and drained the last of the alcohol. "I have a private jet and a crew that can fly us there while we catch up on sleep. As much as I'd hate to fly back to Detlef's, this is Nina we're talking about."
    
  "Yeah," Sam agreed. "I don"t want her to stay there another night. Not if I can help it."
    
  Perdue and Sam left the party completely shit-stained on their faces and somewhat battered with cuts and scrapes, determined to clear their heads and come to the aid of the other third of their social alliance.
    
  As night fell on the Scottish coast, they left a cheerful trail behind them, listening to the fading sounds of bagpipes. It was a harbinger of more serious events, when their momentary recklessness and mirth would give way to the urgent rescue of Dr. Nina Gould, who shared her space with a debauched murderer.
    
    
  Chapter 9 - The Faceless Man's Scream
    
    
  Nina was terrified. She slept through most of the morning and early afternoon, but Dr. Fritz took her to the examination room for an eye exam as soon as the police cleared them to move. The first floor was heavily guarded by both the police and the local security company, which had sacrificed two of its own during the night. The second floor was closed to anyone not incarcerated there or to medical personnel.
    
  "You"re lucky you were able to sleep through all this madness, Dr. Gould," Nurse Marks told Nina when she came to check on her that evening.
    
  "I don't even know what happened, really. Were there security people killed by the attacker?" Nina frowned. "That's all I could make out from the fragments of what was discussed. No one could tell me what the hell was really going on."
    
  Marlene looked around to make sure no one had seen her telling Nina the details.
    
  "We shouldn't scare patients with unnecessary information, Dr. Gould," she said under her breath, pretending to check Nina's vital signs. "But last night, one of our cleaners saw someone kill one of our security officers. Of course, he didn't stop to see who it was."
    
  "Did they catch the perpetrator?" Nina asked seriously.
    
  The nurse shook her head. "That's why this place is quarantined. They're searching the hospital for anyone not authorized to be here, but so far, no luck."
    
  "How is that possible? He must have slipped out before the cops arrived," Nina suggested.
    
  "We think so too. I just don't understand what he was looking for that cost two men their lives," Marlene said. She took a deep breath and decided to change the subject. "How's your vision today? Better?"
    
  "Same thing," Nina replied indifferently. Clearly, she had other things on her mind.
    
  "Given the current intervention, it will take a little longer to get your results. But once we know, we can begin treatment."
    
  "I hate this feeling. I'm constantly sleepy, and now I can barely see more than a blurry image of the people I encounter," Nina groaned. "You know, I need to contact my friends and family so they know I'm okay. I can't stay here forever."
    
  "I understand, Dr. Gould," Marlene sympathized, glancing over at her other patient across from Nina, who had stirred in his bed. "Let me go check on Sam."
    
  As Nurse Marks approached the burn victim, Nina watched as he opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling, as if he could see something they couldn't. Then a sad nostalgia washed over her, and she whispered to herself.
    
  "Sam".
    
  Nina's fading gaze satisfied her curiosity as she watched patient Sam raise his hand and grasp Nurse Marks' wrist, but she couldn't discern his expression. Nina's flushed skin, damaged by Chernobyl's toxic air, had almost completely healed. But she still felt like she was dying. Nausea and dizziness prevailed, while her vital signs showed only improvement. For someone as enterprising and passionate as the Scottish historian, such supposed weaknesses were unacceptable and caused her considerable disappointment.
    
  She could hear whispers before Nurse Marks shook her head, denying everything he asked. Then the nurse tore herself away from the patient and quickly left without looking at Nina. The patient, however, was looking at Nina. That was all she could see. But she had no idea why. Tellingly, she was confronting him.
    
  "What"s the matter, Sam?"
    
  He didn't look away, but remained calm, as if hoping she'd forget she'd spoken to him. Trying to sit up, he groaned in pain and fell back onto the pillow. He sighed wearily. Nina decided to leave him alone, but then his hoarse words broke the silence between them, demanding her attention.
    
  "Y-you know... you know... the person they"re looking for?" he stammered. "You know? The intruder?"
    
  "Yes," she replied.
    
  "He's hunting m-me. It's me he's looking for, Nina. A-and tonight... he's coming to kill me," he said in a shaky, muttered mess. His words made Nina's blood run cold, as if she hadn't expected the criminal to be looking for anything anywhere near her. "Nina?" he pressed.
    
  "Are you sure?" she asked.
    
  "I am," he confirmed, to her horror.
    
  "Look, how do you know who it is? Did you see him here? Did you see him with your own eyes? Because if you didn"t, you"re probably just being paranoid, my friend," she stated, hoping to help him consider his assessment and bring some clarity to it. She also hoped he was wrong, as she was in no condition to hide from a killer. She could see his wheels turning as he processed her words. "And one more thing," she added, "if you can"t even remember who you are or what happened to you, how do you know you"re being hunted by some faceless adversary?"
    
  Nina didn't know it, but her choice of words reversed all the effects the young man had suffered-the memories came flooding back. His eyes widened in horror as she spoke, her black gaze piercing her so intensely that she could see it even with her failing vision.
    
  "Sam?" she asked. "What is it?"
    
  "Mein Gott, Nina!" he croaked. It was actually a scream, but the damage to his vocal cords had muffled it to a mere hysterical whisper. "Faceless, you say! Damn face-faceless! He was... Nina, the man who set me on fire...!"
    
  "Yes? What about him?" she insisted, even though she knew what he wanted to say. She just wanted more details, if she could get them.
    
  "The man who tried to kill me... he had...no face!" the terrified patient screamed. If he could cry, he would have sobbed at the memory of the monstrous man who stalked him after the game that night. "He caught up with me and set me on fire!"
    
  "Nurse!" Nina screamed. "Nurse! Someone! Please help!"
    
  Two nurses came running, their expressions perplexed. Nina pointed at the upset patient and exclaimed, "He just remembered his attack. Please give him something for shock!"
    
  They rushed to his aid and pulled the curtains, giving him a sedative to calm him down. Nina felt her own lethargy threatening, but she tried to solve the strange puzzle on her own. Was he serious? Was he coherent enough to reach such an accurate conclusion, or was he making it all up? She doubted he was insincere. After all, the man could barely move on his own or utter a sentence without a struggle. He certainly wouldn't have been so insane if he hadn't been convinced that his incapacitated state would cost him his life.
    
  "God, I wish Sam were here to help me think," she muttered as her mind begged for sleep. "Even Purdue would have done if he could refrain from trying to kill me this time." It was approaching dinnertime, and since neither of them were expecting visitors, Nina was free to sleep if she wanted. Or so she thought.
    
  Dr. Fritz smiled as he walked in. "Dr. Gould, I just came to give you something for your eye problems."
    
  "Damn," she muttered. "Hello, Doctor. What are you giving me?"
    
  "It's simply a remedy to reduce the constriction of the capillaries in your eyes. I have reason to believe your vision is deteriorating due to constricted blood flow to the eye area. If you have any problems overnight, you can simply contact Dr. Hilt. He'll be back on duty this evening, and I'll contact you in the morning, okay?"
    
  "Okay, Doctor," she agreed, watching as he injected the unknown substance into her arm. "Do you have the test results yet?"
    
  Dr. Fritz initially pretended not to hear her, but Nina repeated her question. He didn't look at her, obviously focused on what he was doing. "We'll discuss this tomorrow, Dr. Gould. I should have the lab results by then." He finally looked at her with a look of failed confidence, but she was in no mood for further conversation. By this time, her roommate had calmed down and quieted down. "Good night, dear Nina." He smiled kindly and shook Nina's hand before closing the folder and placing it back at the foot of the bed.
    
  "Good night," she sang as the drug took effect, lulling her mind.
    
    
  Chapter 10 - Escape from Safety
    
    
  A bony finger poked Nina in the arm, startling her into a horrified awakening. Reflexively, she pressed her hand to the affected area, unexpectedly catching it under her palm, which startled her half to death. Her groggy eyes widened to see who was speaking to her, but other than the piercing dark spots beneath the brows of the plastic mask, she couldn't make out a face.
    
  "Nina! Shh," the empty face pleaded with a soft creaking sound. It was her roommate, standing by her bed in a white hospital gown. The tubes had been removed from his arms, leaving traces of oozing scarlet, carelessly wiped onto the bare white skin around them.
    
  "W-what the hell?" she frowned. "Seriously?"
    
  "Listen, Nina. Just be very quiet and listen to me," he whispered, crouching slightly so his body was hidden from the entrance to the room by Nina's bed. Only his head was raised so he could speak in her ear. "The man I told you about is coming for me. I need to find a quiet place until he leaves."
    
  But he was out of luck. Nina was drugged to the point of delirium, and she didn't care much about his fate. She simply nodded until her free-floating eyes sank beneath heavy lids again. He sighed in despair and looked around, his breathing quickening with each passing moment. Yes, the police presence protected the patients, but frankly, armed guards couldn't even save the people they hired, let alone those who were unarmed!
    
  It would be better, thought patient Sam, if he hid instead of risking escape. If discovered, he could deal with his attacker accordingly, and hopefully Dr. Gould would be spared any further violence. Nina's hearing had improved significantly since she began losing her sight; this allowed her to hear the shuffling of her paranoid roommate's feet. One by one, his footsteps moved away from her, but not toward his bed. She continued to drift in and out of sleep, but her eyes remained closed.
    
  Soon after, a stunning pain blossomed deep behind Nina's eye sockets, a flower of pain seeping into her brain. Her nerve connections quickly familiarized her receptors with the splitting migraine it caused, and Nina screamed loudly in her sleep. Suddenly, a gradually worsening headache filled her eyeballs and caused a burning sensation in her forehead.
    
  "Oh my God!" she screamed. "My head! My head is killing me!"
    
  Her screams echoed in the near-silence of the late night in the ward, quickly attracting medical staff. Nina's trembling fingers finally found the emergency button, and she pressed it repeatedly, summoning the night nurse for her illegal assistance. A new nurse, fresh from the academy, rushed in.
    
  "Dr. Gould? Dr. Gould, are you all right? What"s the matter, dear?" she asked.
    
  "Oh, my God..." Nina stuttered, despite the drug-induced disorientation, "my head is splitting! It"s right in front of my eyes now, and it"s killing me. Oh my God! It feels like my skull is splitting."
    
  "I'll just go get Dr. Hilt. He just came out of the operating room. Just relax. He'll be right there, Dr. Gould." The nurse turned and hurried off to get help.
    
  "Thank you," Nina sighed, exhausted by the terrible pain, no doubt from her eyes. She raised her head briefly to check on Sam, the patient, but he was gone. Nina frowned. "I could have sworn he spoke to me while I slept." She thought about it further. "No. I must have dreamed it."
    
  "Dr. Gould?"
    
  "Yes? Sorry, I can hardly see," she apologized.
    
  "Dr. Ephesus is with me." Turning to the doctor, she said, "Excuse me, I just need to run into the next room for a minute to help Frau Mittag with her bed linen."
    
  "Of course, nurse. Please take your time," the doctor replied. Nina heard the nurse's footsteps. She looked at Dr. Hilt and told him her specific complaint. Unlike Dr. Fritz, who was very proactive and liked to make quick diagnoses, Dr. Hilt was a better listener. He waited for Nina to explain how exactly the headache had settled behind her eyes before answering.
    
  "Dr. Gould? Can you even get a good look at me?" he asked. "Headaches are usually a direct result of impending blindness, you understand?"
    
  "Not at all," she said sullenly. "This blindness seems to be getting worse every day, and Dr. Fritz hasn't done anything constructive about it. Could you please just give me something for the pain? It's almost unbearable."
    
  He removed his surgical mask so he could speak clearly. "Of course, my dear."
    
  She saw him tilt his head, looking at Sam's bed. "Where's the other patient?"
    
  "I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe he went to the bathroom. I remember he told Nurse Marks he had no intention of using the pan."
    
  "Why doesn't he use the restroom here?" the doctor asked, but Nina was frankly getting really sick of hearing about her roommate when she needed help easing her splitting headache.
    
  "I don"t know!" she snapped at him. "Look, can you please just give me something for the pain?"
    
  He wasn't at all impressed by her tone, but he took a deep breath and sighed. "Dr. Gould, are you hiding your roommate?"
    
  The question was both absurd and unprofessional. Nina felt utterly irritated by his absurd question. "Yes. He's somewhere in the room. Twenty points if you can give me some painkillers before you find him!"
    
  "You must tell me where he is, Dr. Gould, or you will die tonight," he said bluntly.
    
  "Are you completely crazy?" she shrieked. "Are you seriously threatening me?" Nina sensed something was very wrong, but she couldn't scream. She watched him with blinking eyes, her fingers furtively searching for the red button still on the bed next to her, while her gaze never left his absent face. His blurry shadow lifted the call button for her to see. "Are you looking for this?"
    
  "Oh God," Nina burst into tears, covering her nose and mouth with her hands as she realized she was now remembering that voice. Her head was pounding and her skin was burning, but she didn't dare move.
    
  "Where is he?" he whispered evenly. "Tell me, or you die."
    
  "I don"t know, okay?" her voice trembled softly beneath her hands. "I really don"t know. I"ve been sleeping this whole time. My God, am I his keeper?"
    
  The tall man replied, "You're quoting Cain straight from the Bible. Tell me, Dr. Gould, are you religious?"
    
  "Fuck you!" she screamed.
    
  "Ah, an atheist," he remarked thoughtfully. "There are no atheists in foxholes. That's another quote-perhaps more fitting for you at that moment of final restoration, when you meet your death at the hands of that which will make you wish you had a god."
    
  "You're not Dr. Hilt," the nurse said behind him. Her words came out as a question, laced with disbelief and realization. Then he knocked her down with such elegant speed that Nina didn't even have time to appreciate the brevity of his action. As the nurse fell, her hands released the bedpan. It skidded across the polished floor with a deafening crash that immediately attracted the attention of the night staff at the nurses' station.
    
  Out of nowhere, police officers started shouting in the hallway. Nina expected them to seize the impostor in her room, but instead they rushed right past her door.
    
  "Go! Forward! Forward! He's on the second floor! Corner him in the drugstore! Quickly!" the commander shouted.
    
  "What?" Nina frowned. She couldn't believe it. All she could discern was the figure of the charlatan rapidly approaching her, and just like the poor nurse's fate, he dealt her a powerful blow to the head. For a moment, she felt excruciating pain before dissolving into a black river of oblivion. Nina came to only moments later, still awkwardly huddled on her bed. Her headache now had company. The blow to her temple had taught her a new level of pain. It was now swollen, making her right eye seem smaller. The night nurse was still sprawled on the floor next to her, but Nina didn't have time. She had to get out of here before the creepy stranger returned to her, especially now that he knew her better.
    
  She grabbed the dangling call button again, but the head of the device was severed. "Damn," she groaned, carefully lowering her legs over the edge of the bed. All she could see were the simple outlines of objects and people. There were no signs of identity or intent when she couldn't see their faces.
    
  "Damn! Where are Sam and Purdue when I need them? How do I always end up in this mess?" she whined, half in frustration and fear, as she walked, fumbling for a way to free herself from the tubes in her hands and pushing past the crowd of women beside her unsteady feet. The police activity had attracted the attention of most of the night staff, and Nina noticed that the third floor was eerily quiet, save for the distant echo of the TV weather forecast and two patients whispering in the next room. Clear. This prompted her to find her clothes and dress as best she could in the gathering darkness due to her deteriorating vision, which would soon leave her. After dressing, holding her shoes in her hands so as not to arouse suspicion when she left, she crept back to Sam's bedside table and opened his drawer. His charred wallet was still inside. She put the license card back inside, tucking it into the back pocket of her jeans.
    
  She was beginning to worry about her roommate's whereabouts, his condition, and most of all, whether his desperate plea was real. Until now, she'd dismissed it as just a dream, but now that he was missing, she began to think twice about his visit earlier that night. Either way, she now needed to escape the impostor. The police couldn't offer any protection against the faceless threat. They were already pursuing suspects, and none of them had actually seen the person responsible. The only way Nina knew who was responsible was through his reprehensible behavior toward her and Sister Barken.
    
  "Oh, shit!" she said, stopping dead in her tracks, almost at the end of the white hallway. "Sister Barken. I have to warn her." But Nina knew that asking for the fat nurse would alert the staff that she was slipping away. There was no doubt they wouldn't allow it. Think, think, think! Nina convinced herself, standing motionless and hesitating. She knew what she had to do. It was unpleasant, but it was the only way.
    
  Returning to her dark room, using only the light from the hallway falling on the flickering floor, Nina began undressing the night nurse. Luckily for the little historian, the nurse was two sizes too big for her.
    
  "I"m so sorry. I really am," Nina whispered, removing the woman"s scrubs and putting them on over her own clothes. Feeling rather terrible about what she was doing to the poor woman, Nina"s clumsy moral compulsion compelled her to throw her bed linen over the nurse. After all, the lady was in her underwear on the cold floor. Give her a bun, Nina, she thought upon looking at her again. No, this is stupid. Just get the fuck out of here! But the nurse"s motionless body seemed to be calling out to her. Perhaps Nina"s pity was the cause of the blood streaming from her nose, the blood that formed a sticky, dark pool on the floor beneath her face. We don"t have time! The compelling arguments gave her pause. "Screw this," Nina decided out loud and rolled the unconscious lady over once, allowing the bed linen to envelop her body and protect her from the hard floor.
    
  As a nurse, Nina could have thwarted the police and escaped before they noticed she was having trouble finding the stairs and doorknobs. When she finally reached the ground floor, she overheard two police officers talking about a murder victim.
    
  "I wish I were here," one said. "I would have caught that son of a bitch."
    
  "Of course, all the action takes place before our shift. Now we're forced to make do with what's left," another lamented.
    
  "This time the victim was a doctor-the one on night duty," the first one whispered. Perhaps Dr. Hilt? she thought, heading for the exit.
    
  "They found this doctor with a piece of skin torn off his face, just like that guard the previous night," she heard him add.
    
  "Early shift?" one of the officers asked Nina as she passed. She took a breath and formulated her German as best she could.
    
  "Yes, my nerves couldn't handle the murder. I lost consciousness and hit my face," she muttered quickly, trying to find the door handle.
    
  "Let me get this for you," someone said, opening the door to their expressions of sympathy.
    
  "Good night, sister," the policeman said to Nina.
    
  "Danke sh ön," she smiled, feeling the cool night air on her face, fighting a headache and trying not to fall down the steps.
    
  "And good night to you too, Doctor... Ephesus, isn't it?" the policeman asked behind Nina at the door. Her blood ran cold, but she remained faithful.
    
  "That"s true. Good night, gentlemen," the man said cheerfully. "Be safe!"
    
    
  Chapter 11 - Margaret's Cub
    
    
  "Sam Cleve is just the man for this, sir. I'll contact him."
    
  "We can't afford Sam Cleve," Duncan Gradwell quickly replied. He was dying for a cigarette, but when news of the fighter jet crash in Germany streamed through the wires to his computer screen, it demanded immediate and urgent attention.
    
  "He's an old friend of mine. I'll... twist his arm," he heard Margaret say. "Like I said, I'll get in touch with him. We worked together years ago when I helped his fiancée, Patricia, with her first job as a professional."
    
  "Is this the girl he saw shot dead by that gun ring they uncovered?" Gradwell asked, his tone rather emotionless. Margaret lowered her head and nodded slowly. "No wonder he turned to the bottle so much in later years," Gradwell sighed.
    
  Margaret couldn't help but laugh at this. "Well, sir, Sam Cleve didn't need much persuasion to get him to take a swig from the bottle. Neither before Patricia, nor after... the incident."
    
  "Ah! So tell me, is he too unstable to tell us this story?" Gradwell asked.
    
  "Yes, Mr. Gradwell. Sam Cleve is not only reckless, he's notoriously a bit twisted," she said with a gentle smile. "Exactly the kind of journalist you'd want to expose the secret operations of the German Luftwaffe command. I'm sure their Chancellor would be thrilled to learn of this, especially now."
    
  "I agree," Margaret confirmed, clasping her hands in front of her as she stood at attention in front of her editor's desk. "I'll contact him immediately and see if he'd be willing to reduce his fee a little for an old friend."
    
  "I should hope so!" Gradwell's double chin trembled as his voice rose. "The man is now a famous writer, so I'm sure these crazy excursions he goes on with that rich idiot aren't necessarily heroic."
    
  The "rich idiot" Gradwell so affectionately called was David Perdue. Gradwell had cultivated a growing disrespect for Perdue over the past few years due to the billionaire's disdain for a personal friend of Gradwell's. The friend in question, Professor Frank Matlock of the University of Edinburgh, was forced to resign as head of his department in the much-publicized Brixton Tower affair after Perdue withdrew his generous donations to the department. Naturally, a furor ensued over Perdue's subsequent romantic infatuation with Matlock's favorite toy, the object of his misogynistic precepts and denials, Dr. Nina Gould.
    
  The fact that all this was ancient history, worthy of a decade and a half of "water under the bridge," mattered nothing to the embittered Gradwell. He now headed the Edinburgh Post, a position he had earned through hard work and fair play, years after Sam Cleave had left the newspaper's dusty halls.
    
  "Yes, Mr. Gradwell," Margaret replied politely. "I'll get to him, but what if I can't get him to spin?"
    
  "In two weeks, world history will be made, Margaret," Gradwell grinned like a Halloween rapist. "In just over a week, the world will watch live from The Hague, where the Middle East and Europe will sign a peace treaty guaranteeing an end to all hostilities between the two worlds. The undeniable threat to this happening is the recent suicide flight of Dutch pilot Ben Gruijsman, remember?"
    
  "Yes, sir." She bit her lip, knowing exactly where he was going with this, but refusing to anger him by interrupting. "He infiltrated an Iraqi airbase and hijacked a plane."
    
  "That's right! And it crashed into CIA headquarters, causing the mess that's unfolding now. As you know, the Middle East apparently sent someone to retaliate by destroying a German airbase!" he exclaimed. "Now tell me again why the reckless and insightful Sam Cleave wouldn't jump at the chance to get into this mess."
    
  "Point taken," she smiled shyly, feeling extremely awkward watching her boss drool as he spoke passionately about the escalating situation. "I have to go. Who knows where he is now? I'll have to start calling everyone immediately."
    
  "That's right!" Gradwell growled after her as she headed straight for her small office. "Hurry and get Clive to tell us about it before another anti-peace idiot triggers suicide and World War III!"
    
  Margaret didn't even glance at her colleagues as she passed them, but she knew they were all laughing heartily at Duncan Gradwell's delightful remarks. His choice of words was an inside joke. Margaret usually laughed the loudest when the veteran editor of six previous press offices became flustered by a news story, but she didn't dare now. What if he saw her giggling at what he considered a newsworthy assignment? Imagine his outburst if he saw her smirk reflected in the large glass panels of her office?
    
  Margaret looked forward to talking to young Sam again. On the other hand, he wasn't young Sam anymore. But to her, he would always be the wayward and overzealous news reporter who exposed injustice wherever he could. He had been Margaret's understudy in the previous era of the Edinburgh Post, when the world was still in the chaos of liberalism and conservatives wanted to restrict every individual's freedom. Things had changed dramatically since the World Unity Organization assumed political control of several former EU countries, and several South American territories seceded from what had once been Third World governments.
    
  Margaret was by no means a feminist, but the World Unity Organization, led predominantly by women, demonstrated a significant difference in how they managed and resolved political tensions. Military action no longer enjoyed the favor it once enjoyed from male-dominated governments. Advances in problem-solving, invention, and resource optimization were achieved through international donations and investment strategies.
    
  At the helm of the World Bank stood the chair of what was established as the Council on International Tolerance, Professor Martha Sloan. She was the former Polish ambassador to England, who had won the last election to lead the new alliance of nations. The Council's primary goal was to eliminate military threats by negotiating agreements of mutual compromise rather than terrorism and military intervention. Trade was more important than political hostility, the professor said. Sloan always shared this in her speeches. In fact, this became a principle associated with her in all media.
    
  "Why must we lose our sons by the thousands to feed the greed of a few old men in power when war will never touch them?" she was heard proclaiming just days before she was elected in a landslide. "Why must we cripple the economy and destroy the hard work of architects and masons? Or destroy buildings and kill innocent people while modern warlords profit from our misery and the severing of our bloodlines? Youth sacrificed to serve an endless cycle of destruction is a folly perpetuated by the feeble-minded leaders who control your future. Parents losing their children, spouses lost, brothers and sisters torn from us because of the inability of older and bitter men to resolve conflicts?"
    
  With her dark hair braided into a ponytail and her signature velvet necklace that matched any outfit she wore, the petite, charismatic leader shocked the world with her seemingly simple remedies for the destructive practices of religious and political systems. In fact, she was once ridiculed by her official opposition for claiming that the spirit of the Olympic Games had become nothing more than another financial powerhouse.
    
  She insisted it should be used for the same reasons it was created-a peaceful competition in which the winner is determined without casualties. "Why can"t we start a war on a chessboard or a tennis court? Even an arm-wrestling match between two countries could determine who gets their way, for heaven"s sake! It"s the same idea, only without the billions spent on war materials or the countless lives destroyed by casualties between foot soldiers that have nothing to do with the immediate cause. These people are killing each other for no reason other than orders! If you, my friends, can"t walk up to someone on the street and shoot them in the head without regret or psychological trauma," she asked from her podium in Minsk some time ago, "why are you forcing your children, brothers, sisters, and spouses to do so by voting for these old-fashioned tyrants who perpetuate this atrocity? Why?"
    
  Margaret didn't care whether the new unions were criticized for what opposition campaigns called the rise of feminists or the insidious coup of agents of the Antichrist. She would support any ruler who opposed the senseless mass murder of our own human race in the name of power, greed, and corruption. Essentially, Margaret Crosby supported Sloane because the world had become less oppressive since she came to power. The dark veils that concealed centuries-old feuds were now directly removed, opening a channel of communication between discontented countries. If it were up to me, the dangerous and immoral restrictions of religion would be freed of their hypocrisy, and the dogmas of terror and enslavement would be abolished. Individualism is key in this new world. Uniformity is for formal attire. Rules are based on scientific principles. Freedom concerns the individual, respect, and personal discipline. This will enrich each of us, mind and body, and allow us to be more productive, to be better at what we do. And as we become better at what we do, we will learn humility. Humility gives birth to friendliness.
    
  Martha Sloan's speech played on Margaret's office computer as she searched for the last number she'd dialed for Sam Cleve. She was thrilled to be able to talk to him again after all this time and couldn't help but giggle as she dialed his number. When the first dial tone sounded, Margaret was distracted by the swaying figure of a male colleague just outside her window. A wall. He waved his arms wildly to get her attention, pointing at his watch and the flat screen of her computer.
    
  "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, hoping his lip-reading skills had surpassed his gestural ones. "I"m on the phone!"
    
  Sam Cleve's phone went to voicemail, so Margaret interrupted the call to open the door and listen to what the clerk was saying. Jerking open the door with a devilish scowl, she barked, "What in the name of all that's holy is so important, Gary? I'm trying to contact Sam Cleve."
    
  "That's the point!" Gary exclaimed. "Watch the news. He's on the news, already in Germany, at the hospital in Heidelberg, where the reporter said the guy who crashed the German plane was!"
    
    
  Chapter 12 - Self-Assignment
    
    
  Margaret ran back to her office and changed the channel to SKY International. Without taking her eyes off the landscape on the screen, she picked her way through the strangers in the background to see if she could recognize her old colleague. Her attention was so focused on this task that she barely noticed the reporter's commentary. Here and there, a word would break through the jumble of facts, striking her mind in just the right place to remember the overall story.
    
  "Authorities have yet to apprehend the elusive killer responsible for the deaths of two security personnel three days ago and another death last night. The identity of the deceased will be released once the investigation by the Wiesloch Criminal Investigation Department at the Heidelberg headquarters is complete." Margaret suddenly spotted Sam among the onlookers behind the cordon signs and barriers. "My God, boy, how you've changed in..." She put on her glasses and leaned in for a closer look. She remarked approvingly, "Quite a handsome raggard now that you're a man, huh?" What a metamorphosis he'd undergone! His dark hair was now grown just below his shoulders, the ends sticking up in a wild, unkempt style, giving him an air of wilful sophistication.
    
  He wore a black leather coat and boots. A green cashmere scarf was roughly wrapped around his collar, complementing his dark features and equally dark clothing. In the misty, gray German morning, he made his way through the crowd to get a better look. Margaret noticed him talking to a police officer, who shook his head at Sam's suggestion.
    
  "Probably trying to get inside, huh, dear?" Margaret gave a slight smirk. "Well, you haven't changed that much, have you?"
    
  Behind him, she recognized another man, one she often saw at press conferences and in the flashy footage of university parties sent to the news booth by the entertainment editor. The tall, gray-haired man leaned forward to scrutinize the scene next to Sam Cleave. He, too, was impeccably dressed. His glasses were tucked into his front coat pocket. His hands remained hidden in his trouser pockets as he paced. She noticed his brown, Italian-cut fleece blazer, concealing what she assumed was a concealed weapon.
    
  "David Perdue," she announced quietly as the scene played out in two smaller versions behind her glasses. Her eyes flicked away from the screen to glance around the open-plan office, ensuring Gradwell was still. This time, he was calm, scanning the article he'd just received. Margaret chuckled and returned her gaze to the flatscreen with a wry smile. "Obviously, you haven't seen that Clive is still friends with Dave Perdue, have you?" she chuckled.
    
  "Two patients have been reported missing since this morning, and a police spokesman..."
    
  "What?" Margaret frowned. She'd heard this before. It was then that she decided to perk up her ears and pay attention to the report.
    
  "...police have no idea how two patients could have escaped from a building with only one exit, an exit guarded by officers 24 hours a day. This has led authorities and hospital administrators to believe that the two patients, Nina Gould and a burn victim known only as 'Sam,' may still be at large inside the building. The reason for their escape, however, remains a mystery."
    
  "But Sam's outside the building, you idiots," Margaret frowned, completely baffled by the message. She was familiar with Sam Cleave's relationship with Nina Gould, whom she'd once met briefly after a lecture on pre-World War II strategies visible in modern politics. "Poor Nina. What happened to land them in a burns ward? My God. But Sam-that's..."
    
  Margaret shook her head and licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, as she always did when trying to solve a puzzle. Nothing made sense here; not the patients disappearing through police barriers, not the mysterious deaths of three employees, no one had even seen a suspect, and strangest of all-the confusion caused by the fact that Nina's other patient was "Sam," while Sam was standing outside among onlookers...in the first glance.
    
  Sam's old colleague's keen deductive thinking kicked in, and she leaned back in her chair, watching as Sam disappeared off-camera with the rest of the crowd. She steepled her fingers and stared blankly ahead, oblivious to the changing news reports.
    
  "In plain sight," she repeated again and again, embodying her formulas into various possibilities. "In plain sight..."
    
  Margaret jumped up, knocking over her thankfully empty teacup and one of her press awards that had been lying on the edge of her desk. She gasped at her sudden insight, inspired even more to talk to Sam. She wanted to get to the bottom of this whole matter. From the confusion she was experiencing, she realized there had to be a few pieces of the puzzle she didn't have, pieces that only Sam Cleve could contribute to her new quest for the truth. And why not? He would only be glad if someone with her logical mind could help him solve the mystery of Nina's disappearance.
    
  It would be a shame if the pretty little historian were ever caught in the building with some kidnapper or lunatic. That almost guaranteed bad news, and she certainly didn't want it to come to that if she could help it.
    
  "Mr. Gradwell, I'm setting aside a week for an article in Germany. Please arrange for the time I'm away," she said irritably, throwing open Gradwell's door, still hastily putting on her coat.
    
  "What in heaven's name are you talking about, Margaret?" Gradwell exclaimed, turning around in his chair.
    
  "Sam Cleve is in Germany, Mr. Gradwell," she announced excitedly.
    
  "Good! Then you can let him in on the story he's here for," he squealed.
    
  "No, you don't understand. There's more, Mr. Gradwell, so much more! It looks like Dr. Nina Gould is there too," she informed him, blushing as she rushed to fasten her belt. "And now the authorities are reporting her missing."
    
  Margaret took a moment to catch her breath and see what her boss was thinking. He stared at her incredulously for a moment. Then he roared, "What the hell are you still doing here? Go and get Clive. Let's expose the Krauts before someone else jumps on this bloody suicide machine!"
    
    
  Chapter 13 - Three Strangers and a Missing Historian
    
    
  "What are they saying, Sam?" Perdue asked quietly as Sam joined him.
    
  "They say two patients have gone missing since early this morning," Sam replied just as reservedly as the two of them stepped away from the crowd to discuss their plans.
    
  "We have to get Nina out before she becomes another target for this animal," Perdue insisted, his thumbnail clenched crookedly between his front teeth as he considered this.
    
  "It's too late, Purdue," Sam announced, his expression grim. He stopped and scanned the sky above, as if seeking help from some higher power. Purdue's light blue eyes stared questioningly at him, but Sam felt a stone lodged in his stomach. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "Nina's missing."
    
  Perdue didn't immediately realize it, perhaps because it was the last thing he wanted to hear... After news of her death, of course. Instantly snapping out of his reverie, Perdue stared at Sam with an expression of utter concentration. "Use your mind control to get us some information. Come on, you used it to get me out of Sinclair," he urged Sam, but his friend only shook his head. "Sam? This is for the lady we both..." He reluctantly used the word he had in mind and tactfully replaced it with "adored."
    
  "I can't," Sam complained. He looked distraught at the admission, but there was no point in perpetuating the delusion. It wouldn't do his ego any good, and it wouldn't help anyone around him. "I've l-lost... this... ability," he struggled.
    
  It was the first time Sam had said it out loud since the Scottish holidays, and it sucked. "I lost her, Purdue. When I tripped over my own bloody feet running from Giantess Greta, or whatever her name was, my head hit a rock and, well," he shrugged and gave Purdue a look of utter guilt. "I"m sorry, man. But I lost what I could have done. God, when I had her, I thought she was some evil curse-something making my life miserable. Now that I don"t have her... Now that I really need her, I wish she"d never disappear."
    
  "Great," Purdue groaned, his hand sliding across his forehead and below his hairline to delve into the thick white of his hair. "Okay, let"s think about it. Think about it. We"ve survived much worse than this without the aid of some psychic trickery, right?"
    
  "Yeah," Sam agreed, still feeling like he"d let his side down.
    
  "So we just need to use old-fashioned tracking to find Nina," Perdue suggested, trying his best to project his usual never-say-die attitude.
    
  "What if she's still there?" Sam shattered any illusions. "They say there's no way she could have gotten out of here, so they think she might still be inside the building."
    
  The police officer he spoke to didn't tell Sam that a nurse had complained of being assaulted the previous night - a nurse who had had her uniform taken away before waking up on the floor of her hospital room, wrapped in blankets.
    
  "Then we have to go in. There's no point in searching all over Germany if we haven't properly surveyed the original site and its surroundings," Purdue mused. His eyes noted the proximity of deployed officers and plainclothes security personnel. Using his tablet, he secretly recorded the scene, access to the floor outside the brown building, and the basic layout of its entrances and exits.
    
  "Nice," Sam said, keeping a straight face and feigning innocence. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes to help him think. Lighting his first mask was like shaking hands with an old friend. Sam inhaled the smoke and instantly felt calm, centered, as if he'd stepped back from it all to see the big picture. Coincidentally, he also spotted a SKY International News van and three suspicious-looking men loitering near it. They seemed out of place for some reason, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
    
  Glancing at Purdue, Sam noticed the white-haired inventor was panning his tablet, slowly moving it from right to left to capture the panorama.
    
  "Purdue," Sam said through pursed lips, "go far left, quick. By the van. There are three suspicious-looking bastards by the van. Do you see them?"
    
  Purdue did as Sam suggested and picked off three men, all in their early thirties, as far as he could tell. Sam was right. It was clear they weren't there to see what the commotion was about. Instead, they all glanced at their watches, their hands resting on the buttons. While they waited, one of them spoke.
    
  "They're synchronizing their watches," Perdue remarked, barely moving his lips.
    
  "Yeah," Sam agreed through a long stream of smoke that helped him observe without looking obvious. "What do you think, a bomb?"
    
  "Unlikely," Purdue replied calmly, his voice breaking like a distracted lecturer"s as he held the clipboard frame over the men. "They wouldn"t have stayed in such close proximity."
    
  "Unless they're suicidal," Sam retorted. Perdue peered over his gold-rimmed glasses, still holding the clipboard.
    
  "Then they wouldn't have to synchronize their clocks, would they?" he said impatiently. Sam had to give in. Purdue was right. They were supposed to be there as observers, but from what? He pulled out another cigarette, not even finishing the first.
    
  "Gluttony is a mortal sin, you understand," Purdue teased, but Sam ignored him. He stubbed out his stale cigarette and headed toward the three men before Purdue could react. He strolled casually across the flat, unkempt land, so as not to spook his targets. His German was atrocious, so this time he decided to play himself. Perhaps if they thought he was a dumb tourist, they'd be less reluctant to share.
    
  "Hello, gentlemen," Sam greeted cheerfully, pressing a cigarette between his lips. "I suppose you don't have a light?"
    
  They weren't expecting it. They stared in shock at the stranger standing there, grinning and looking foolish with his unlit cigarette.
    
  "My wife went out to lunch with the other women on tour and took my lighter with her." Sam made up an excuse, focusing on their personalities and clothing. After all, that was a journalist's prerogative.
    
  The red-haired slacker spoke to his friends in German. "Give him a light, for heaven's sake. Look how pathetic he looks." The other two grinned in agreement, and one stepped forward, lighting Sam's cigarette. Sam now realized his distraction had been ineffective, because all three were still keeping a close eye on the hospital. "Yes, Werner!" one of them suddenly exclaimed.
    
  A small nurse emerged from the police-guarded exit and gestured for one of them to come over. She exchanged a few words with the two guards at the door, and they nodded in satisfaction.
    
  "Kol," the dark-haired man slapped the red-haired man"s hand with the back of his hand.
    
  "Warum nicht Himmelfarb?" Kohl protested, after which a quick exchange of fire ensued, which was quickly resolved between the three.
    
  "Kohl! Sofort!" the imperious dark-haired man repeated insistently.
    
  Sam's mind struggled to process the words, but he assumed the first word was the boy's last name. The next word, he guessed, was something like "do it quickly," but he wasn't sure.
    
  "Oh, his wife gives orders too," Sam played dumb, lazily smoking. "Mine's not so sweet..."
    
  Franz Himmelfarb, with a nod from his colleague, Dieter Werner, immediately interrupted Sam. "Listen, friend, do you mind? We're duty officers trying to blend in, and you're making things difficult for us. Our job is to make sure the killer doesn't slip away undetected, and to do that, well, we don't need to be disturbed while we're doing our job."
    
  "I understand. I"m sorry. I thought you were just a bunch of idiots just waiting to steal gas from a news van. You seemed like the type," Sam replied with a somewhat deliberately sarcastic attitude. He turned and walked away, ignoring the sounds of one man restraining the other. Sam glanced back and saw them staring at him, which spurred him on a little faster toward Purdue"s house. However, he didn"t join his friend and avoided visual associations with him in case the three hyenas were looking for a black sheep to single out. Purdue knew what Sam was doing. Sam"s dark eyes widened slightly as their gazes met through the morning fog, and he surreptitiously gestured to Purdue not to engage him in conversation.
    
  Purdue decided to return to the rental car with several others who had left the scene to return to their day, while Sam remained behind. He, on the other hand, joined a group of locals who had volunteered to help police keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. This was simply his cover to keep an eye on the three wily Boy Scouts in their flannel shirts and windbreakers. Sam called Purdue from his vantage point.
    
  "Yes?" Purdue"s voice came through clearly on the line.
    
  "Military-issue watches, all the same exact model. These guys are in the armed forces," he said, his eyes wandering around the room to remain inconspicuous. "And names. Kol, Werner, and... uh..." He couldn't remember the third.
    
  "Yes?" Purdue pressed a button, entering names into a folder of German military personnel in the U.S. Department of Defense Archives.
    
  "Damn," Sam frowned, wincing at his poor ability to remember details. "That's a longer last name."
    
  "That, my friend, will not help me," Perdue mimicked.
    
  "I know! I know, for heaven"s sake!" Sam seethed. He felt incredibly powerless now that his once-extraordinary abilities had been challenged and deemed insufficient. His newfound self-loathing wasn"t due to the loss of his psychic abilities, but to the disappointment of not being able to compete in tournaments like he once had when he was younger. "Heaven. I think it has something to do with heaven. God, I need to work on my German-and my damn memory."
    
  "Maybe Engel?" Perdue tried to help.
    
  "No, too short," Sam countered. His gaze slid over the building, up to the sky, and down to the area where the three German soldiers were. Sam gasped. They were gone.
    
  "Himmelfarb?" Purdue guessed.
    
  "Yeah, that"s the one! That"s the name!" Sam exclaimed in relief, but now he was worried. "They"re gone. They"re gone, Perdue. Damn! I"m just losing her everywhere, aren"t I? I used to be able to chase a fart in a storm!"
    
  Purdue remained silent, reviewing the information he had obtained by hacking into classified files from the comfort of his car, while Sam stood in the cold morning air, waiting for something he didn't even understand.
    
  "These guys are like spiders," Sam groaned, scanning the people with eyes hidden under his whipping bangs. "They're threatening while you're watching, but it's much worse when you don't know where they've gone."
    
  "Sam," Perdue suddenly spoke up, leading the journalist, who was convinced he was being followed and ambushed, on to the topic. "They're all German Luftwaffe pilots, Leo 2 unit."
    
  "What does that mean? They're pilots?" Sam asked, almost disappointed.
    
  "Not exactly. They"re a little more specialized," Perdue explained. "Get back to the car. You"ll want to hear this over a double rum on the rocks."
    
    
  Chapter 14 - Unrest in Mannheim
    
    
  Nina woke up on the couch, feeling as if someone had implanted a stone in her skull and simply pushed her brain aside to make it ache. She reluctantly opened her eyes. It would have been too painful to discover she was completely blind, but it would have been too unnatural not to. She carefully allowed her eyelids to flutter and part. Nothing had changed since yesterday, for which she was extremely grateful.
    
  Toast and coffee floated in the living room where she'd relaxed after a very long walk with her hospital partner, "Sam." He still couldn't remember his name, and she still couldn't get used to calling him Sam. But she had to admit that, despite all the discrepancies about him, he'd helped her remain undetected by the authorities so far, authorities who would gladly send her back to the hospital where the madman had already come to say hello.
    
  They'd spent the entire previous day on foot, trying to reach Mannheim before dark. Neither of them had any documents or money, so Nina had to play the pity card to get them both a free ride from Mannheim to Dillenburg, north of there. Unfortunately, the sixty-two-year-old woman Nina was trying to convince thought it would be better for the two tourists to eat, take a warm shower, and get a good night's sleep. So she spent the night on the couch, hosting two large cats and an embroidered pillow that smelled of stale cinnamon. God, I have to get in touch with Sam. My Sam, she reminded herself as she sat up. Her lower back sagged along with her hips, and Nina felt like an old woman, full of pain. Her vision hadn't worsened, but it was still a challenge to act normally when she could barely see. On top of all this, she and her new friend had to hide from being identified as the two patients who had gone missing from the Heidelberg medical facility. This was especially difficult for Nina, as she had to spend most of her time pretending she didn't have a skin ache or fever.
    
  "Good morning!" said the kind hostess from the doorway. Spatula in hand, she asked, anxiously drawling her German, "Would you like some eggs on your toast, Schatz?"
    
  Nina nodded with a silly smile, wondering if she looked half as bad as she felt. Before she could ask where the bathroom was, the lady disappeared back into the lime-green kitchen, where the scent of margarine joined the myriad aromas wafting to Nina's sharp nose. Suddenly, it dawned on her. Where was Other Sam?
    
  She remembered how the lady of the house had given them each a sofa to sleep on the previous night, but his sofa was empty. It wasn't that she wasn't relieved to have some privacy, but he knew the area better than she did and still served as her eyes. Nina was still wearing her jeans and hospital shirt, having discarded her scrubs just outside the Heidelberg clinic once most eyes had turned away.
    
  Throughout the time she shared with the other Sam, Nina couldn't help but wonder how he could have passed for Dr. Hilt before following her out of the hospital. Surely the officers on guard must have known that the man with the burned face couldn't possibly be the late doctor, despite the clever disguise and name tag. Of course, she had no way of discerning his features with her current state of vision.
    
  Nina pulled her sleeves up over her reddened forearms, feeling nausea grip her body.
    
  "Toilet?" she managed to shout from the kitchen door before rushing down the short hallway indicated by the lady with the shovel. As soon as she reached the door, waves of convulsions washed over Nina, and she quickly slammed the door shut to relieve herself. It was no secret that acute radiation syndrome was the cause of her gastrointestinal illness, but the lack of treatment for this and other symptoms only worsened her condition.
    
  As she vomited even more violently, Nina timidly emerged from the bathroom and headed for the couch where she'd been sleeping. Another challenge was maintaining her balance without holding onto the wall as she walked. Throughout the small house, Nina realized every room was empty. Could he have left me here? Bastard! She frowned, overcome by a rising fever she could no longer fight. The added disorientation of her damaged eyes made her strain to reach the mangled object she hoped was the large couch. Nina's bare feet dragged across the carpet as the woman rounded the corner to bring her breakfast.
    
  "Oh! Mein Gott!" she screamed in panic as she saw her guest's frail body collapse. The hostess quickly placed the tray on the table and rushed to Nina's aid. "My dear, are you all right?"
    
  Nina couldn't tell her she was in the hospital. In fact, she could hardly tell her anything. Her brain sputtered inside her skull, and her breathing was like an open oven door. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she went limp in the lady's arms. Soon after, Nina came to again, her face icy beneath trickles of sweat. She had a washcloth on her forehead, and she felt an awkward movement in her hips that alarmed her and forced her to quickly sit upright. The cat met her gaze, indifferent, as her hand grasped the furry body and immediately released it. "Oh," was all Nina could manage, and she lay back down.
    
  "How are you feeling?" asked the lady.
    
  "I must be getting sick from the cold here in a strange country," Nina muttered quietly, to maintain her deception. Yes, that's right, her inner voice mimicked. A Scotsman recoiling from the German autumn. Excellent idea!
    
  Then her mistress uttered the golden words. "Liebchen, is there anyone I should call to come and pick you up? A husband? Family?" Nina's damp, pale face lit up with hope. "Yes, please!"
    
  "Your friend here didn't even say goodbye this morning. When I got up to drive you two into town, he was simply gone. Did you two have a fight?"
    
  "No, he said he was in a hurry to get to his brother's house. Maybe he thought I'd support him while I was sick," Nina replied, realizing her hypothesis was probably absolutely correct. When the two of them spent the day walking along a country road outside of Heidelberg, they hadn't exactly bonded. But he told her everything he could remember about his personality. At the time, Nina found the other Sam's memory surprisingly selective, but she didn't want to rock the boat while she was so dependent on his guidance and tolerance.
    
  She remembered that he was indeed wearing a long white cloak, but other than that, it was nearly impossible to make out his face, even if he still had one. What irritated her a little was the lack of shock they expressed at the sight of him, no matter where they asked for directions or interacted with others. Surely, if they had seen a man whose face and torso had turned to taffy, they would have made some sound or exclaimed some sympathetic word? But they reacted trivially, showing no sign of concern for the man's clearly fresh wounds.
    
  "What happened to your cell phone?" the lady asked her-a perfectly normal question, to which Nina effortlessly answered with the most obvious lie.
    
  "I was robbed. My bag with my phone, money, everything. It's gone. I guess they knew I was a tourist and targeted me," Nina explained, taking the woman's phone and nodding her thanks. She dialed the number she'd memorized so well. When the phone rang on the other end of the line, it gave Nina a surge of energy and a little warmth in her stomach.
    
  "Split." My God, what a beautiful word, Nina thought, suddenly feeling safer than she had in a long time. How long had it been since she heard the voice of her old friend, occasional lover, and occasional colleague? Her heart leaped. Nina hadn't seen Sam since he was kidnapped by the Order of the Black Sun while they were on a field trip searching for the famed 18th-century Amber Room in Poland almost two months ago.
    
  "S-Sam?" she asked, almost laughing.
    
  "Nina?" he shouted. "Nina? Is that you?"
    
  "Yes. How are you doing?" she smiled weakly. Her whole body ached, and she could hardly sit.
    
  "Jesus Christ, Nina! Where are you? Are you in danger?" he asked desperately over the heavy hum of the moving car.
    
  "I"m alive, Sam. Well, barely. But I"m safe. With a woman in Mannheim, here in Germany. Sam? Can you come and get me?" her voice cracked. The request struck Sam in the heart. Such a bold, intelligent, and independent woman would hardly beg for rescue like a small child.
    
  "Of course I'll come get you! Mannheim is just a short drive from where I am. Give me the address, and we'll come get you," Sam exclaimed excitedly. "Oh my God, you can't imagine how happy we are that you're okay!"
    
  "What does this whole we thing mean?" she asked. "And why are you in Germany?"
    
  "To take you home to the hospital, of course. We saw on the news that where Detlef left you, it was absolute hell. And when we got here, you were gone! I can't believe it," he raved, his laugh full of relief.
    
  "I'll hand you over to the dear lady who gave me the address. See you soon, okay?" Nina replied through heavy breathing and handed the phone back to her owner before falling into a deep sleep.
    
  When Sam said "we," she had a sinking feeling it meant he'd rescued Purdue from the dignified cage he'd been imprisoned in after Detlef shot him in cold blood near Chernobyl. But with the illness tearing through her body like punishment from the morphine god she'd left behind, she didn't care at the moment. All she wanted was to melt into the embrace of what awaited her.
    
  She could still hear the lady explaining what the house had been like when she had left the controls and fallen into a feverish sleep.
    
    
  Chapter 15 - Bad Medicine
    
    
  Nurse Barken sat on the thick leather of a vintage office chair, her elbows resting on her knees. Under the monotonous hum of the fluorescent lights, her hands rested on the sides of her head as she listened to the administrator's report on Dr. Hilt's passing. The overweight nurse mourned the doctor she had known for only seven months. She had had a difficult relationship with him, but she was a compassionate woman who sincerely regretted his death.
    
  "The funeral is tomorrow," the receptionist said before leaving the office.
    
  "I saw it on the news, you know, about the murders. Dr. Fritz told me not to come in unless necessary. He didn't want me to be in danger too," she told her subordinate, Nurse Marks. "Marlene, you need to ask for a transfer. I can't keep worrying about you every time I'm off duty."
    
  "Don't worry about me, Sister Barken," Marlene Marks smiled, handing her one of the cups of instant soup she'd prepared. "I figure whoever did this must have had a specific reason, you know? Like the target was already here."
    
  "You don"t think...?" Sister Barken"s eyes widened at Nurse Marks.
    
  "Dr. Gould," Nurse Marks confirmed her sister's fears. "I think it was someone who wanted to kidnap her, and now that they've taken her," she shrugged, "the danger to the staff and patients is over. I mean, I bet those poor people who died only met their ends because they got in the way of the killer, you know? They were probably trying to stop him."
    
  "I understand that theory, dear, but then why is patient 'Sam' also missing?" asked Nurse Barken. She could tell from Marlene's expression that the young nurse hadn't thought about it yet. She sipped her soup silently.
    
  "It's so sad, though, that he took Dr. Gould," Marlene lamented. "She was very ill, and her eyes were only getting worse, poor woman. On the other hand, my mother was furious when she heard about Dr. Gould's abduction. She was angry that she'd been here all this time, in my care, without me telling her."
    
  "Oh, my God," Sister Barken sympathized. "She must have been hell on you. I've seen that woman upset, and she scares even me."
    
  The two dared to laugh in this grim situation. Dr. Fritz entered the nurse's office on the third floor, a folder under his arm. His face was serious, instantly putting a stop to their meager mirth. Something akin to sadness or disappointment reflected in his eyes as he made himself a cup of coffee.
    
  "Guten Morgen, Dr. Fritz," said the young nurse to break the awkward silence.
    
  He didn't answer her. Nurse Barken was surprised by his rudeness and used her authoritarian voice to force the man to behave, repeating the same greeting, only a few decibels louder. Dr. Fritz jumped, roused from his comatose state of contemplation.
    
  "Oh, excuse me, ladies," he breathed. "Good morning. Good morning," he nodded to each, wiping his sweaty palm on his coat before stirring his coffee.
    
  It was very unlike Dr. Fritz to act this way. For most women who encountered him, he was the German medical industry's answer to George Clooney. His confident charm was his strength, surpassed only by his medical skill. And yet, here he stood, in a modest office on the third floor, with sweaty palms and an apologetic expression that baffled both women.
    
  Nurse Barken and Nurse Marks exchanged a quiet frown before the burly veteran stood to wash her cup. "Dr. Fritz, what's upset you? Nurse Marks and I volunteer to find whoever upset you and give them a free barium enema laced with my special Chai tea... straight from the teapot!"
    
  Nurse Marks couldn't help but choke on her soup from the unexpected laughter, though she wasn't sure how the doctor would react. Her wide eyes glared at her superior with subtle reproach, and her jaw dropped in amazement. Nurse Barken was unperturbed. She was very comfortable using humor to elicit information, even personal and highly emotional ones.
    
  Dr. Fritz smiled and shook his head. He liked this approach, although what he was hiding was by no means worthy of a joke.
    
  "As much as I appreciate your valiant gesture, Sister Barken, the cause of my grief is not so much a man as a man's fate," he said in his most civilized tone.
    
  "May I ask who?" Sister Barken pressed.
    
  "In fact, I insist," he replied. "You both treated Dr. Gould, so it would be more than appropriate if you knew Nina's test results."
    
  Both of Marlene's hands silently rose to her face, covering her mouth and nose in a gesture of anticipation. Sister Barken understood Sister Marks's reaction, as she herself hadn't taken the news very well. Besides, if Dr. Fritz was in a bubble of quiet ignorance about the world, that must be a good thing.
    
  "This is unfortunate, especially after she initially healed so quickly," he began, clutching the folder tighter. "The tests show a significant decline in her blood counts. The cellular damage was too severe for the time it took her to get treatment."
    
  "Oh, sweet Jesus," Marlene sobbed in her arms. Tears filled her eyes, but Sister Barken's face held the expression she'd been trained to accept bad news.
    
  Empty.
    
  "What level are we looking at?" Sister Barken asked.
    
  "Well, her intestines and lungs appear to be bearing the brunt of the developing cancer, but there are also clear indications that she's suffered some minor neurological damage, which is likely the cause of her vision deterioration, Sister Barken. She's only had tests, so I won't be able to make a definitive diagnosis until I see her again."
    
  In the background, Nurse Marks quietly whined upon hearing the news, but she tried her best to control herself and not let the patient affect her so personally. She knew it was unprofessional to cry over a patient, but this wasn't just any patient. This was Dr. Nina Gould, her inspiration and acquaintance, for whom she had a soft spot.
    
  "I just hope we can find her soon so we can bring her back before things get worse than they need to be. We can't just give up hope like that, though," he said, looking down at the young, tearful nurse. "It's pretty hard to stay positive."
    
  "Dr. Fritz, the Commander-in-Chief of the German Air Force is sending someone to speak with you sometime today," Dr. Fritz's assistant announced from the doorway. She didn't have time to ask why Sister Marx was in tears, as she was rushing back to Dr. Fritz's small office, the one she was responsible for.
    
  "Who?" he asked, his confidence returning.
    
  "He says his name is Werner. Dieter Werner from the German Air Force. This concerns the burn victim who disappeared from the hospital. I checked - he has military authorization to be here on behalf of Lieutenant General Harold Meyer." She practically says it all in one breath.
    
  "I don't know what to say to these people anymore," Dr. Fritz complained. "They can't clean up their mess themselves, and now they come and waste my time with..." and he left, muttering furiously. His assistant glanced at the two nurses one more time before hurrying after her boss.
    
  "What does this mean?" Nurse Barken sighed. "I'm glad I'm not in that poor doctor's shoes. Come on, Nurse Marks. It's time for our rounds." She reverted to her usual stern command, just to signal that work time had begun. And with her usual stern irritation, she added, "And dry your eyes, for God's sake, Marlene, before the patients think you're as high as they are!"
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  A few hours later, Sister Marks took a break. She had just left the maternity ward, where she worked her two-hour shift each day. Two staff nurses from the maternity ward had taken compassionate leave after the recent murders, so the ward was slightly understaffed. In the nurse's office, she eased the weight off her aching legs and listened to the promising purr of the kettle.
    
  As she waited, a few beams of gilded light illuminated the table and chairs in front of the small refrigerator, causing her to scrutinize the clean lines of the furniture. In her tired state, it reminded her of the sad news from earlier. Right there, on the smooth surface of the off-white table, she could still see Dr. Nina Gould's file, lying there like any other card she could read. Only this one had a distinct smell. It emanated a foul, decaying odor that choked Nurse Marks until she awoke from her dreadful dream with a sudden wave of her hand. She nearly dropped her teacup onto the hard floor, but caught it just in time, activating those adrenaline-fueled reflexes of sudden release.
    
  "Oh my God!" she whispered in a fit of panic, clutching the porcelain cup tightly. Her gaze fell on the empty desk surface, where not a single file was visible. To her relief, it was just an ugly mirage of the recent upheaval, but she desperately wished that the real news contained within was the same. Why couldn't this, too, be just a bad dream? Poor Nina!
    
  Marlene Marks felt her eyes water again, but this time it wasn't because of Nina's condition. It was because she had no idea whether the beautiful, dark-haired historian was even alive, let alone where this stone-hearted villain had taken her.
    
    
  Chapter 16 - A Merry Meeting / The Not-so-Merry Part
    
    
  "My old colleague from the Edinburgh Post, Margaret Crosby, just called," Sam confided, still looking at his phone with nostalgia after getting into the rental car with Perdue. "She's on her way here to offer me the opportunity to co-author an investigation into the German Air Force's involvement in some scandal."
    
  "Sounds like a good story. You should do it, old man. I sense an international conspiracy here, but I'm not a news fan," Perdue said as they headed toward Nina's temporary shelter.
    
  When Sam and Perdue pulled up in front of the house they'd been directed to, the place looked eerie. Though the modest house had been recently painted, the garden was wild. The contrast between the two made the house stand out. Thorny bushes surrounded the beige exterior walls beneath the black roof. Chipping pale pink paint on the chimney indicated it had deteriorated before it was painted. Smoke rose from it like a lazy gray dragon, merging with the cold, monochrome clouds of the overcast day.
    
  The house stood at the end of a small street next to the lake, which only added to the bleak loneliness of the place. As the two men got out of the car, Sam noticed the curtains on one of the windows flutter.
    
  "We've been spotted," Sam announced to his companion. Purdue nodded, his tall frame towering over the car door frame. His blond hair fluttered in the gentle breeze as he watched the front door open. A plump, kind face peered out from behind it.
    
  "Frau Bauer?" Perdue asked from the other side of the car.
    
  "Herr Cleve?" She smiled.
    
  Perdue pointed at Sam and smiled.
    
  "Go, Sam. I don't think Nina should date me right away, okay?" Sam understood. His friend was right. After all, he and Nina hadn't parted on the best of terms, what with Purdue stalking her in the dark, threatening to kill her, and all that.
    
  As Sam skipped up the porch steps to where the lady held the door open, he couldn't help but wish he could stay a while. The house smelled divine inside: a mingling scent of flowers, coffee, and the faint remnant of what might have been French toast just hours ago.
    
  "Thank you," he said to Frau Bauer.
    
  "She's here, on the other end. She's been asleep since we last spoke on the phone," she informed Sam, shamelessly eyeing his rough exterior. It gave him the uncomfortable feeling of being raped in prison, but Sam focused his attention on Nina. Her small figure was curled up under a pile of blankets, some of which transformed into cats when he pulled them back to reveal Nina's face.
    
  Sam didn't show it, but he was shocked to see how bad she looked. Her lips were blue against her pale face, her hair stuck to her temples as she breathed hoarsely.
    
  "Is she a smoker?" Frau Bauer asked. "Her lungs sound terrible. She wouldn"t let me call the hospital before you saw her. Should I call them now?"
    
  "Not yet," Sam said quickly. Frau Bauer had told him about the man who had accompanied Nina on the phone, and Sam assumed it was the other missing person from the hospital. "Nina," he said quietly, running his fingertips over the top of her head, repeating her name a little louder each time. Finally, her eyes opened, and she smiled. "Sam." Jesus! What's wrong with her eyes? He thought with horror of the faint haze of cataracts that had clouded her vision like a web.
    
  "Hello, beautiful," he replied, kissing her forehead. "How did you know it was me?"
    
  "Are you kidding me?" she said slowly. "Your voice is imprinted in my mind... just like your scent."
    
  "My smell?" he asked.
    
  "Marlboros and attitude," she joked. "God, I'd kill for a cigarette right now."
    
  Frau Bauer choked on her tea. Sam chuckled. Nina coughed.
    
  "We"ve been terribly worried, darling," Sam said. "Let us take you to the hospital. Please."
    
  Nina's damaged eyes widened. "No."
    
  "Everything's calmed down there now." He tried to deceive her, but Nina was having none of it.
    
  "I'm not stupid, Sam. I've been following the news from here. They haven't caught the son of a bitch yet, and the last time we spoke, he made it clear I was playing on the wrong side of the fence," she croaked quickly.
    
  "Okay, okay. Calm down a little and tell me exactly what this means, because it sounds to me like you've had direct contact with the killer," Sam replied, trying to keep the true horror he felt at what she was hinting at out of his voice.
    
  "Tea or coffee, Herr Cleve?" the kind hostess quickly asked.
    
  "Doro makes great cinnamon tea, Sam. Try it," Nina suggested wearily.
    
  Sam nodded amiably, sending the impatient German woman off to the kitchen. He was concerned that Perdue was sitting in the car for the time it would take to sort out Nina's current situation. Nina had fallen into a daze again, lulled by the Bundesliga war on television. Concerned for her life in the midst of a teenage meltdown, Sam sent Perdue a text message.
    
  She is as stubborn as we thought.
    
  Terminally ill. Any ideas?
    
  He sighed, waiting for some ideas on how to get Nina to the hospital before her stubbornness led to her death. Naturally, nonviolent coercion was the only way to deal with someone delirious and angry at the world, but he was afraid it would further alienate Nina, especially from Purdue. The sound of his phone broke the monotony of the commentator on TV, waking Nina. Sam looked down to where he'd hidden his phone.
    
  Suggest another hospital?
    
  Otherwise, knock her out with charged sherry.
    
  Sam realized Perdue was joking in the last one. The first, however, was a great idea. Immediately after the first message, another one arrived.
    
  Universitätsklinikum Mannheim.
    
  Theresienkrankenhaus.
    
  A deep frown crossed Nina's clammy forehead. "What the hell is this constant noise?" she muttered through the swirling funhouse of her fever. "Make it stop! Oh my God..."
    
  Sam turned off his phone to calm the frustrated woman he was trying to save. Frau Bauer entered with a tray. "Sorry, Frau Bauer," Sam apologized very quietly. "We'll be rid of your hair in just a few minutes."
    
  "Don"t be crazy," she croaked in her thick accent. "Take your time. Just make sure Nina gets to the hospital soon. I don"t think she looks too bad."
    
  "Danke," Sam replied. He took a sip of tea, careful not to burn his mouth. Nina was right. The hot drink was as close to ambrosia as he could imagine.
    
  "Nina?" Sam dared again. "We have to get out of here. Your friend from the hospital abandoned you, so I don't entirely trust him. If he comes back with a few friends, we'll be in trouble."
    
  Nina opened her eyes. Sam felt a wave of sadness wash over him as she looked past his face into the space behind him. "I'm not going back."
    
  "No, no, you don't have to," he soothed. "We'll take you to the local hospital here in Mannheim, my love."
    
  "No, Sam!" she pleaded. Her chest heaved anxiously as her hands tried to find the facial hair that bothered her. Nina's slender fingers clenched at the back of her neck as she repeatedly tried to remove the stuck curls, growing increasingly irritated each time she failed. Sam did it for her while she stared at what she thought was his face. "Why can't I go home? Why can't they treat me in the hospital in Edinburgh?"
    
  Nina suddenly gasped and held her breath, her nostrils flaring slightly. Frau Bauer stood in the doorway with the guest she had followed.
    
  "You can".
    
  "Purdue!" Nina choked, trying to swallow through a dry throat.
    
  "You can be taken to the medical facility of your choice in Edinburgh, Nina. Just let us get you to the nearest emergency hospital to stabilize you. Once they do, Sam and I will send you home immediately. I promise you that," Perdue told her.
    
  He tried to speak in a soft, even voice so as not to upset her nerves. His words were imbued with a positive tone of determination. Purdue knew he had to give her what she wanted, without any further discussion of Heidelberg.
    
  "What do you say, my love?" Sam smiled, stroking her hair. "You don't want to die in Germany, do you?" He looked up apologetically at his German hostess, but she only smiled and waved him off.
    
  "You tried to kill me!" Nina growled at something around her. At first, she could hear where he was standing, but Perdue's voice wavered when he spoke, so she pounced anyway.
    
  "He was programmed, Nina, to follow the commands of that idiot from Black Sun. Come on, you know Purdue would never hurt you intentionally," Sam tried, but she was choking wildly. They couldn't tell if Nina was furious or terrified, but her hands flailed around frantically until she found Sam's hand. She clutched at him, her milky eyes darting from side to side.
    
  "Please God, don't let it be Purdue," she said.
    
  Sam shook his head in disappointment as Perdue left the house. There was no doubt that Nina's remark had stung him deeply this time. Frau Bauer watched the tall, blond man leave with sympathy. Finally, Sam decided to wake Nina.
    
  "Come on," he said, gently touching her fragile body.
    
  "Leave the blankets. I can knit more," Frau Bauer smiled.
    
  "Thank you so much. You've been so, so helpful," Sam said to the waitress, picking up Nina and carrying her to the car. Perdue's face was blank and expressionless as Sam loaded the sleeping Nina into the car.
    
  "Yeah, she's in," Sam announced airily, trying to console Purdue without getting tearful. "I think we'll need to go back to Heidelberg to pick up her file from her previous doctor after she gets admitted to Mannheim."
    
  "You can go. I'm heading back to Edinburgh as soon as we deal with Nina." Purdue's words left a hole in Sam.
    
  Sam frowned, stunned. "But you said you'd fly her to the hospital there." He understood Purdue's disappointment, but there was no point in gambling with Nina's life.
    
  "I know what I said, Sam," he said sharply. The blank look was back; the same look he'd had on Sinclair when he'd told Sam he couldn't be helped. Purdue started the car. "I know what she said, too."
    
    
  Chapter 17 - Double Trick
    
    
  In the top office on the fifth floor, Dr. Fritz met with a respected representative of the tactical air force base 34 Büchel on behalf of the Supreme Commander of the Luftwaffe, who was currently being pursued by the press and the family of the missing pilot.
    
  "Thank you for seeing me without warning, Dr. Fritz," Werner said cordially, disarming the medical specialist with his charisma. "The lieutenant general asked me to come because he's currently swamped with visits and legal threats, which I'm sure you can appreciate."
    
  "Yes. Please sit down, Mr. Werner," Dr. Fritz said sharply. "As I"m sure you can appreciate, I also have a busy schedule, as I have to care for critical and terminal patients without unnecessary interruptions to my daily work."
    
  Werner grinned and sat down, confused not only by the doctor's appearance but also by his reluctance to see him. However, when it came to missions, such things didn't bother Werner in the least. He was there to obtain as much information as possible about pilot Lö Wenhagen and the extent of his injuries. Dr. Fritz would have had no choice but to assist him in his search for the burn victim, especially under the pretext of reassuring his family. Of course, in reality, he was fair game.
    
  What Werner also failed to highlight was the fact that the commander didn't trust the medical facility enough to simply accept the information. He carefully concealed the fact that while he was working with Dr. Fritz on the fifth floor, two of his colleagues were sweeping the building with a well-prepared fine-tooth comb for possible pests. Each man searched the area separately, climbing up one flight of fire escape and descending the next. They knew they only had a limited amount of time to complete their search before Werner finished questioning the chief physician. Once they were certain that Lö Wenhagen wasn't at the hospital, they could expand their search to other possible locations.
    
  It was just after breakfast that Dr. Fritz asked Werner a more pressing question.
    
  "Lieutenant Werner, if you don't mind," his words were laced with sarcasm. "How come your squadron commander isn't here to talk to me about this? I think we should stop talking nonsense, you and I. We both know why Schmidt is after the young pilot, but what does that have to do with you?"
    
  "He does. I"m just a representative, Dr. Fritz. But my report will accurately reflect how quickly you helped us," Werner replied firmly. But in truth, he had no idea why his commanding officer, Captain Gerhard Schmidt, was sending him and his aides after the pilot. The three of them assumed they intended to kill the pilot simply for embarrassing the Luftwaffe by crashing one of their obscenely expensive Tornado fighters. "Once we get what we want," he bluffed, "we"ll all get a reward for it."
    
  "The mask doesn't belong to him," Dr. Fritz declared defiantly. "Go and tell that to Schmidt, you errand boy."
    
  Werner's face turned ashen. He was filled with rage, but he wasn't there to pick apart the medical professional. The doctor's blatant, dismissive taunt was an undeniable call to arms, one that Werner had mentally filed away on his to-do list. But for now, he was focused on this juicy tidbit of information Captain Schmidt hadn't counted on.
    
  "I'll tell him exactly that, sir." Werner's clear, narrowed eyes pierced Dr. Fritz. A smirk appeared on the fighter pilot's face, while the clatter of dishes and the chatter of the hospital staff drowned out their words about a secret duel. "As soon as the mask is found, I'll be sure to invite you to the ceremony." Again, Werner peeked, trying to insert key words whose meaning was impossible to discern.
    
  Dr. Fritz laughed loudly. He slapped the table cheerfully. "Ceremony?"
    
  Werner briefly feared he'd ruined the show, but his curiosity soon paid off. "Is that what he told you? Ha! He told you you needed a ceremony to assume the guise of a victim? Oh, my boy!" Dr. Fritz sniffled, wiping tears of amusement from the corners of his eyes.
    
  Werner was delighted by the doctor's arrogance, so he took advantage of it, putting aside his ego and seemingly admitting he'd been fooled. Looking extremely disappointed, he continued, "He lied to me?" His voice was muffled, barely above a whisper.
    
  "Absolutely correct, Lieutenant. The Babylonian Mask is not ceremonial. Schmidt is deceiving you to prevent you from profiting from it. Let's face it, it's an extremely valuable item to the highest bidder," Dr. Fritz readily shared.
    
  "If she was so valuable, why did you return her to Löwenhagen?" Werner looked deeper.
    
  Dr. Fritz stared at him in complete bewilderment.
    
  "Löwenhagen. Who is Löwenhagen?"
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  While Nurse Marks was clearing away the remnants of used medical waste from her rounds, the faint sound of a ringing telephone at the nurses' station caught her attention. With a strained groan, she ran to open it, as none of her colleagues had yet finished with their patients. It was the reception desk on the first floor.
    
  "Marlene, someone here wants to see Dr. Fritz, but no one's answering his office," the secretary said. "He says it's urgent and lives depend on it. Could you please connect me with the doctor?"
    
  "Hmm, he"s not around. I"d have to go and look for him. What"s she talking about?"
    
  The receptionist replied in a hushed voice, "He insists that if he doesn't see Dr. Fritz, Nina Gould will die."
    
  "Oh, my God!" Sister Marks gasped. "He has Nina?"
    
  "I don't know. He just said his name was...Sam," whispered the receptionist, a close friend of Nurse Marks, who knew about the burn victim's fictitious name.
    
  Nurse Marks's body went numb. Adrenaline pushed her forward, and she waved to attract the attention of the third-floor security guard. He came running from the far side of the hallway, hand on his holster, walking past visitors and staff across the clean floor, his reflection reflecting off him.
    
  "Okay, tell him I'm coming for him and taking him to Dr. Fritz," said Nurse Marks. After hanging up, she told the security officer, "There's a man downstairs, one of the two missing patients. He says he needs to see Dr. Fritz or the other missing patient will die. I need you to come with me to apprehend him."
    
  The guard unbuckled his holster with a click and nodded. "Understood. But you stay behind me." He radioed his unit to report that he was about to arrest a possible suspect and followed Nurse Marks into the waiting room. Marlene felt her heart beat faster, terrified but excited by the developments. If she could help arrest the suspect who had kidnapped Dr. Gould, she would be a hero.
    
  Flanked by two other officers, Nurse Marks and the security officer descended the stairs to the first floor. As they reached the landing and turned the corner, Nurse Marks peered eagerly past the hulking officer to spot the burn unit patient she knew so well. But he was nowhere to be seen.
    
  "Nurse, who is that man?" the officer asked, as two others prepared to evacuate the area. Nurse Marks just shook her head. "I don"t... I don"t see him." Her eyes scanned every man in the lobby, but there was no one with burns on their face or chest. "That can"t be," she said. "Wait, I"ll tell you his name." Standing among all the people in the lobby and waiting area, Nurse Marks stopped and called out, "Sam! Could you come with me to see Dr. Fritz, please?"
    
  The receptionist shrugged, looking at Marlene, and said, "What the hell are you doing? He's right here!" She pointed to a handsome, dark-haired man in a smart coat waiting at the counter. He immediately approached her, smiling. The officers drew their pistols, stopping Sam in his tracks. Meanwhile, the onlookers caught their breath; some disappeared around the corners.
    
  "What"s going on?" Sam asked.
    
  "You"re not Sam," Sister Marks frowned.
    
  "Sister, is this a kidnapper or not?" one of the police officers asked impatiently.
    
  "What?" Sam exclaimed, frowning. "I"m Sam Cleave, looking for Dr. Fritz."
    
  "Do you have Dr. Nina Gould?" asked the officer.
    
  Amid their discussion, the nurse gasped. Sam Cleave, right there, in front of her.
    
  "Yes," Sam began, but before he could get another word out, they raised their guns, aiming them straight at him. "But I didn"t kidnap her! Jesus! Put your guns away, you idiots!"
    
  "That's not the right way to talk to a law enforcement officer, son," another officer reminded Sam.
    
  "I"m sorry," Sam said quickly. "Okay? I"m sorry, but you have to hear me out. Nina is my friend, and she"s currently undergoing treatment in Mannheim at the Theresien Hospital. They need her file, or whatever, and she sent me to her attending physician to get this information. That"s it! That"s all I"m here for, understand?"
    
  "ID," the guard demanded. "Slowly."
    
  Sam refrained from making fun of the FBI officer's actions, just in case they were successful. He carefully opened the flap of his coat and pulled out his passport.
    
  "There you go. Sam Cleve. See?" Nurse Marks stepped out from behind the officer, offering Sam her hand apologetically.
    
  "I'm so sorry about the misunderstanding," she told Sam, repeating the same to the officers. "You see, the other patient who went missing with Dr. Gould was also named Sam. Obviously, I immediately assumed it was the Sam who wanted to see the doctor. And when he said Dr. Gould might die..."
    
  "Yes, yes, we get the picture, Sister Marx," the guard sighed, holstering his pistol. The other two were equally disappointed, but they had no choice but to follow suit.
    
    
  Chapter 18 - Exposed
    
    
  "So are you," Sam joked when his credentials were returned. The flushed young nurse raised an open palm in gratitude as they left, feeling terribly shy.
    
  "Mr. Cleve, it's a great honor to meet you." She smiled, shaking Sam's hand.
    
  "Call me Sam," he flirted, deliberately staring into her eyes. Besides, an ally could help his mission; not only in retrieving Nina's file, but also in getting to the bottom of the recent incidents at the hospital and, perhaps, even at the airbase in Buchel.
    
  "I'm so sorry I screwed up like that. The other patient she disappeared with was also named Sam," she explained.
    
  "Yes, my dear, I caught it another time. No need to apologize. It was an honest mistake." They took the elevator to the fifth floor. A mistake that almost cost me my damn life!
    
  In the elevator with two X-ray technicians and an enthusiastic nurse, Marks, Sam pushed the awkwardness out of his mind. They stared at him silently. For a split second, Sam considered startling the German women with a remark about how he'd once seen a Swedish porn film begin much the same way. The doors on the second floor opened, and Sam caught a glimpse of a white sign on the hallway wall with the words "X-ray 1 and 2" written in red letters. The two X-ray technicians only exhaled for the first time after they exited the elevator. Sam heard their giggles fade as the silver doors closed again.
    
  Nurse Marks had a smirk on her face, her eyes fixed on the floor, prompting the reporter to relieve her of her confusion. He exhaled heavily, looking up at the light above them. "So, Nurse Marks, is Dr. Fritz a radiology specialist?"
    
  Her posture instantly straightened, like that of a loyal soldier. Sam's familiarity with body language told him the nurse harbored an undying respect or desire for the doctor in question. "No, but he's a veteran doctor who lectures at global medical conferences on several scientific topics. Let me tell you-he knows a little about every disease, while other doctors specialize in only one and know nothing about the rest. He took excellent care of Dr. Gould. You can be sure of that. In fact, he was the only one who grasped it..."
    
  Sister Marks immediately swallowed her words, almost blurting out the terrible news that had stunned her only that morning.
    
  "What?" he asked good-naturedly.
    
  "All I wanted to say is that whatever's troubling Dr. Gould, Dr. Fritz will take care of it," she said, pursing her lips. "Ah! Let's go!" she smiled, relieved at their timely arrival on the Fifth Floor.
    
  She led Sam to the fifth-floor administrative wing, past the archives office and the staff tea room. As they strolled, Sam periodically admired the views from the identical square windows lining the snow-white hall. Each time the wall gave way to a curtained window, the sun streamed through and warmed Sam's face, giving him a bird's-eye view of the surroundings. He wondered where Purdue was. He'd left Sam's car and, without much explanation, taken a taxi to the airport. The problem was, Sam carried something unresolved deep within himself until he found the time to deal with it.
    
  "Dr. Fritz must have finished his interview by now," Nurse Marks informed Sam as they approached the closed door. She briefly recounted how the Air Force commander had sent an emissary to speak with Dr. Fritz about a patient who shared Nina's room. Well, well. Sam considered. How convenient is this? All the people I need to see, all under one roof. It's like a compact information center for criminal investigations. Welcome to the mall of corruption!
    
  According to the protocol, Nurse Marks knocked three times and opened the door. Lieutenant Werner was just about to leave and seemed unsurprised to see the nurse, but he recognized Sam from the news van. A question flashed across Werner's brow, but Nurse Marks stopped, and all the color drained from her face.
    
  "Marlene?" Werner asked curiously. "What"s the matter, baby?"
    
  She stood motionless, gripped by awe, as a wave of terror slowly overwhelmed her. Her eyes read the name tag on Dr. Fritz's white coat, but she shook her head in disbelief. Werner approached her and cupped her face in his hands as she prepared to scream. Sam knew something was happening, but since he didn't know any of these people, it was vague at best.
    
  "Marlene!" Werner shouted to bring her to her senses. Marlene Marx allowed her voice to return, and she growled at the man in the coat. "You're not Dr. Fritz! You're not Dr. Fritz!"
    
  Before Werner could fully comprehend what was happening, the impostor lunged forward and snatched Werner's pistol from his shoulder holster. But Sam reacted faster and lunged forward to push Werner out of the way, thwarting the hideous attacker's attempt to arm himself. Nurse Marks ran out of the office, frantically calling for security.
    
  Squinting through the plate-glass window in the room's double doors, one of the officers, who had been called earlier by Nurse Marks, tried to make out the figure running toward him and his colleague.
    
  "Chin up, Klaus," he grinned at his colleague, "Paranoid Polly is back."
    
  "Good heavens, but it's actually moving, isn't it?" another officer remarked.
    
  "She's crying wolf again. Look, it's not like we have a lot to do this shift or anything, but being screwed up isn't something I look forward to, you know?" the first officer replied.
    
  "Sister Marx!" the second officer exclaimed. "Who can we threaten for you now?"
    
  Marlene dove headfirst, landing right in his arms, her claws clinging to him.
    
  "Dr. Fritz's office! Come on! Go away, for God's sake!" she screamed as people started staring.
    
  When Nurse Marks began tugging at the man's sleeve, pulling him toward Dr. Fritz's office, the officers realized it wasn't a premonition this time. Once again, they raced toward the far hallway, out of sight, while the nurse shouted at them to catch what she continued to call a monster. Despite their confusion, they followed the sound of the quarrel ahead and soon realized why the distraught young nurse had called the impostor a monster.
    
  Sam Cleve was busy exchanging blows with the old man, getting in his way every time he headed for the door. Werner sat on the floor, stunned and surrounded by shards of glass and several kidney dishes, shattered after the impostor knocked him unconscious with a bedpan and knocked over the small cabinet where Dr. Fritz kept petri dishes and other fragile items.
    
  "Holy shit, look at that thing!" one officer shouted to his partner as they attempted to subdue the seemingly invincible criminal by piling their bodies on top of him. Sam barely managed to get out of the way as two officers subdued the white-coated criminal. Sam's forehead was adorned with scarlet ribbons that elegantly framed his cheekbones. Beside him, Werner clutched the back of his head where the bedpan had painfully grazed his skull.
    
  "I think I'm going to need stitches," Werner told Nurse Marks as she crept cautiously through the doorway into the office. His dark hair was streaked with blood where a deep wound had gaped. Sam watched as the officers restrained the strange-looking man, threatening to use lethal force until he finally gave in. The two other men Sam had seen with Werner near the news van also appeared.
    
  "Hey, what"s a tourist doing here?" Kol asked when he saw Sam.
    
  "He's not a tourist," Sister Marx defended herself, holding Werner's head. "He's a world-famous journalist!"
    
  "Really?" Kol asked sincerely. "Sweetheart." He extended his hand to pull Sam to his feet. Himmelfarb merely shook his head, stepping back to give everyone room to move. The officers handcuffed the man, but were informed that the Air Force had jurisdiction in this case.
    
  "I suppose we should hand him over to you," the officer conceded to Werner and his men. "Let's just get our paperwork done so he can be officially handed over to military custody."
    
  "Thank you, Officer. Just handle this right here in the office. We don't need the public and patients getting alarmed again," Werner advised.
    
  The police and guards pulled the man aside, while Nurse Marks, reluctantly, carried out her duties, bandaging the old man's cuts and abrasions. She was certain that that terrifying face could easily haunt the dreams of even the most hardened of men. It wasn't that he was ugly per se, but his lack of features made him so. Deep down, she felt a strange sense of pity, mingled with disgust, as she dabbed at his barely bleeding scratches with an alcohol swab.
    
  His eyes were perfectly shaped, if not attractive in their exotic nature. However, it seemed as if the rest of his face had been sacrificed for their quality. His skull was uneven, and his nose seemed almost nonexistent. But it was his mouth that struck a chord with Marlene.
    
  "You have microstomia," she remarked to him.
    
  "A mild form of systemic sclerosis, yes, causes the small mouth phenomenon," he replied casually, as if he were there for a blood test. Nevertheless, his words were well-pronounced, and his German accent was by now practically flawless.
    
  "Any pre-treatment?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but if she hadn't engaged him in medical small talk, he would have been much more repulsive. Talking to him was almost like talking to Sam, the patient, back when he was there-an intellectual conversation with a convincing monster.
    
  "No," was all he replied, stripped of his capacity for sarcasm simply because she bothered to ask. His tone was innocent, as if he were fully accepting her medical examination while the men chatted in the background.
    
  "What"s your name, buddy?" one of the officers asked him loudly.
    
  "Marduk. Peter Marduk," he replied.
    
  "You"re not German?" Werner asked. "God, you fooled me."
    
  Marduk would have liked to smile at the inappropriate compliment about his German, but the tight fabric around his mouth denied him that privilege.
    
  "Identification documents," the officer barked, still rubbing his swollen lip from the accidental blow during the arrest. Marduk slowly reached into the jacket pocket beneath Dr. Fritz's white coat. "I need to record his statement for our records, Lieutenant."
    
  Werner nodded approvingly. They were tasked with tracking down and killing LöWenhagen, not apprehending an old man posing as a doctor. However, now that Werner had been told why Schmidt was truly hunting LöWenhagen, they could greatly benefit from additional information from Marduk.
    
  "So Dr. Fritz is dead too?" Nurse Marks asked quietly as she leaned over to cover a particularly deep cut from the steel links of Sam Cleve's watch.
    
  "No".
    
  Her heart leapt. "What do you mean? If you were pretending to be him in his office, you should have killed him first."
    
  "This isn't a fairy tale about a pesky little girl in a red shawl and her grandmother, my dear," the old man sighed. "Unless it's the version where the grandmother is still alive in the wolf's belly."
    
    
  Chapter 19 - The Babylonian Exposition
    
    
  "We found him! He's fine. Just knocked out and gagged!" one of the police officers announced when they found Dr. Fritz. He was exactly where Marduk had told them to look. They couldn't apprehend Marduk without concrete evidence that he had committed the murders in "Precious Nights," so Marduk gave up his location.
    
  The impostor insisted he had only overpowered the doctor and assumed his guise to allow him to leave the hospital unsuspected. But Werner's appointment caught him off guard, forcing him to maintain the role a bit longer, "...until Nurse Marks ruined my plans," he lamented, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.
    
  A few minutes after the police captain in charge of the Karlsruhe police department arrived, Marduk's brief statement was complete. They could only charge him with minor offenses, such as assault.
    
  "Lieutenant, after the police are finished, I must release the detainee for medical reasons before you take him away," Nurse Marx told Werner in the presence of the officers. "That's hospital protocol. Otherwise, the Luftwaffe could face legal consequences."
    
  She'd barely broached the subject before it became a pressing issue. A woman dressed in corporate attire, carrying a luxurious leather briefcase, entered the office. "Good afternoon," she addressed the officers in a firm but cordial tone. "Miriam Inkley, British legal representative for the World Bank office in Germany. I understand this delicate matter has been brought to your attention, Captain?"
    
  The police chief agreed with the lawyer. "Yes, that's true, madam. However, we're still stuck with an open murder case, and the military is naming our only suspect. That creates a problem."
    
  "Don't worry, Captain. Come, let's discuss the joint operations of the Air Force Criminal Investigation Unit and the Karlsruhe Police Department in the other room," the mature British woman suggested. "You can confirm the details if they satisfy your investigation with the WUO. If not, we can arrange a future meeting to better address your concerns."
    
  "No, please, let me see what V.U.O. means. Until we bring the perpetrator to justice. I don't care about media coverage, just justice for the families of these three victims," the police captain could be heard saying as the two walked out into the hallway. The officers said goodbye and followed him, paperwork in hand.
    
  "So, the VVO even knows the pilot was involved in some kind of covert PR stunt?" Nurse Marks was worried. "This is quite serious. I hope it doesn't interfere with the big contract they're about to sign."
    
  "No, WUO knows nothing about this," Sam said. He bandaged his bleeding knuckles with sterile gauze. "In fact, we're the only ones privy to the fugitive pilot and, hopefully, soon the reason for his pursuit." Sam looked at Marduk, who nodded in agreement.
    
  "But..." Marlene Marks tried to protest, pointing to the now empty door behind which the British lawyer had just told them otherwise.
    
  "Her name is Margaret. She just saved you from a whole bunch of legal trouble that could have delayed your little hunt," Sam said. "She's a reporter for a Scottish newspaper."
    
  "So he"s your friend," Werner suggested.
    
  "Yes," Sam confirmed. Kol looked puzzled, as always.
    
  "Unbelievable!" Sister Marx threw up her hands. "Is there anyone they"re pretending to be? Mr. Marduk is playing Dr. Fritz. And Mr. Cleave is playing a tourist. That reporter lady is playing a World Bank lawyer. No one reveals who they really are! It"s just like that story in the Bible where no one could speak each other"s languages, and there was all this confusion."
    
  "Babylon," came the collective response from the men.
    
  "Yes!" she snapped her fingers. "You all speak different languages, and this office is the Tower of Babel."
    
  "Don"t forget that you"re pretending that you don"t have a romantic relationship with the lieutenant here," Sam stopped her, raising his index finger reproachfully.
    
  "How did you know?" she asked.
    
  Sam simply bowed his head, refusing to even draw her attention to the intimacy and caresses between them. Sister Marx blushed when Werner winked at her.
    
  "Then there's a group of you who pretend to be undercover officers when in reality you're outstanding fighter pilots of the German Luftwaffe task force, just like the prey you're hunting for God knows what reason," Sam eviscerated their deception.
    
  "I told you he was a brilliant investigative journalist," Marlene whispered to Werner.
    
  "And you," Sam said, cornering the still stunned Dr. Fritz. "Where do you fit in?"
    
  "I swear I had no idea!" Dr. Fritz admitted. "He just asked me to keep it safe for him. So I told him where I put it, in case I wasn"t on duty when he was discharged! But I swear I never knew that thing could do that! My God, I nearly lost my mind when I saw that... that... unnatural transformation!"
    
  Werner and his men, along with Sam and Nurse Marks, stood there, bewildered by the doctor's incoherent babble. It seemed only Marduk knew what was happening, but he remained calm, watching the madness unfolding in the doctor's office.
    
  "Well, I'm totally confused. What about you guys?" Sam declared, clutching his bandaged arm to his side. They all nodded in a deafening chorus of disapproving murmurs.
    
  "I think it's time for some exposition that will help us all uncover each other's true intentions," Werner suggested. "Eventually, we could even help each other in our various pursuits, instead of trying to fight each other."
    
  "Wise man," Marduk interjected.
    
  "I have to make my final rounds," Marlene sighed. "If I don't show up, Sister Barken will know something's up. Will you fill me in tomorrow, dear?"
    
  "I will," Werner lied. Then he kissed her goodbye before she opened the door. She glanced back at the admittedly charming anomaly that was Peter Marduk and gave the old man a kind smile.
    
  As the door closed, a thick atmosphere of testosterone and mistrust enveloped the occupants of Dr. Fritz's office. There wasn't just one Alpha here, but every single person knew something the others lacked. Finally, Sam began.
    
  "Let's do this quickly, okay? I have something very urgent to attend to after this. Dr. Fritz, I need you to send Dr. Nina Gould's test results to Mannheim before we deal with your sin," Sam ordered the doctor.
    
  "Nina? Is Dr. Nina Gould alive?" he asked reverently, sighing with relief and crossing himself like the good Catholic he was. "That's wonderful news!"
    
  "A small woman? Dark hair and eyes like hellfire?" Marduk asked Sam.
    
  "Yes, it would be her, without a doubt!" Sam smiled.
    
  "I'm afraid she misinterpreted my presence here, too," Marduk said, looking regretful. He decided not to mention slapping the poor girl when she'd caused trouble. But when he told her she'd die, he'd only meant that Löwenhagen was loose and dangerous, something he didn't have time to explain now.
    
  "It's fine. It's like a pinch of hot pepper for almost everyone," Sam replied, while Dr. Fritz pulled out a folder containing Nina's printed copies and scanned the test results into his computer. Once the document with the gruesome material was scanned, he asked Sam for the email address of Nina's doctor in Mannheim. Sam provided him with a card with all the details and proceeded to clumsily apply a cloth bandage to Sam's forehead. Wincing, he glanced at Marduk, the man responsible for the cut, but the old man pretended not to see.
    
  "Well," Dr. Fritz exhaled deeply and heavily, relieved that his patient was still alive. "I'm just thrilled she's alive. How she got out of here with such poor eyesight, I'll never know."
    
  "Your friend saw her all the way out, Doctor," Marduk informed him. "You know the young bastard you gave the mask to so he could wear the faces of the men he killed for greed?"
    
  "I didn"t know!" Dr. Fritz boiled over, still angry at the old man for the throbbing headache he was suffering from.
    
  "Hey, hey!" Werner stopped the ensuing argument. "We're here to resolve this, not make it worse! So, first, I want to know what your," he pointed directly at Marduk, "connection to Löwenhagen is. We were sent to apprehend him, and that's all we know. Then, when I interviewed you, this whole mask thing came out."
    
  "As I told you before, I don"t know who LöWenhagen is," Marduk insisted.
    
  "The pilot who crashed the plane is named Olaf LöWenhagen," Himmelfarb replied. "He was burned in the crash, but somehow survived and made it to the hospital."
    
  A long pause followed. Everyone waited for Marduk to explain why he had pursued Löwenhagen in the first place. The old man knew that if he told them why he had pursued the young man, he would also have to reveal why he had set him on fire. Marduk took a deep breath and began to shed some light on the crow's nest of misunderstandings.
    
  "I had the impression that the man I chased out of the burning fuselage of the Tornado fighter was a pilot named Neumann," he said.
    
  "Neumann? That can't be. Neumann is on vacation, probably gambling away the last of the family's coins in some back alley," Himmelfarb chuckled. Kol and Werner nodded approvingly.
    
  "Well, I chased him from the scene of the accident. I chased him because he had a mask. When I saw the mask, I had to destroy him. He was a thief, a common thief, I tell you! And what he stole was too powerful for some foolish imbecile like that to handle! So I had to stop him the only way a Masked One can be stopped," Marduk said anxiously.
    
  "The Disguiser?" Kol asked. "Dude, that sounds like a villain from a horror movie." He smiled, clapping Himmelfarb on the shoulder.
    
  "Grow up," Himmelfarb grumbled.
    
  "A disguise is someone who takes on the appearance of another using a Babylonian mask. It's the mask your evil friend removed along with Dr. Gould," Marduk explained, but they could all see he was reluctant to elaborate.
    
  "Go on," Sam snorted, hoping his guess about the rest of the description would be wrong. "How do you kill a cloaking machine?"
    
  "Fire," Marduk replied, almost too quickly. Sam could see he just wanted to get it off his chest. "Look, in today's world, this is all an old wives' tale. I don't expect any of you to understand."
    
  "Ignore it," Werner waved off his concern. "I want to know how it's possible to put on a mask and transform your face into someone else's. How much of that is even rational?"
    
  "Believe me, Lieutenant. I've seen things people only read about in mythology, so I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss this as irrational," Sam declared. "Most of the absurdities I once scoffed at, I've since discovered, are somewhat scientifically plausible once you dust off the embellishments added over centuries to make something practical, and they seem laughably fabricated."
    
  Marduk nodded, grateful that someone had even had the chance to listen to him. His sharp gaze darted between the men listening to him, studying their expressions, wondering if he should even bother.
    
  But he had to work hard because his prey had eluded him for the most vile undertaking of recent years - to ignite the Third World War.
    
    
  Chapter 20 - The Incredible Truth
    
    
  Dr. Fritz had remained silent the entire time, but at that moment he felt compelled to add something to the conversation. Looking down at the hand resting in his lap, he remarked on the mask's strangeness. "When that patient came in, all grieving, he asked me to keep the mask for him. At first, I didn't think anything of it, you know? I figured it was precious to him, and that it was probably the only thing he saved from a house fire or something."
    
  He looked at them, puzzled and frightened. Then he focused on Marduk, as if he felt the need to make the old man understand why he had pretended not to see what he himself had seen.
    
  "At some point, after I laid the thing face down, so to speak, so I could work on my patient, some of the dead flesh that had come off his shoulder stuck to my glove; I had to brush it off to continue working." He was now breathing raggedly. "But some of it got inside the mask, and I swear to God..."
    
  Dr. Fritz shook his head, too embarrassed to recount the nightmarish and absurd statement.
    
  "Tell them! Tell them, in the name of God! They must know I'm not crazy!" the old man cried. His words were agitated and slow, as the shape of his mouth made speech difficult, but his voice penetrated the ears of everyone present like a clap of thunder.
    
  "I must finish my work. Just so you know, I still have time," Dr. Fritz tried to change the subject, but no one moved a muscle to support him. Dr. Fritz's eyebrows twitched as he changed his mind.
    
  "When... when the flesh entered the mask," he continued, "did the surface of the mask... take shape?" Dr. Fritz found himself unable to believe his own words, and yet he remembered exactly what had happened! The three pilots' faces remained frozen in disbelief. However, there was no hint of condemnation or surprise on the faces of Sam Cleve and Marduk. "The inside of the mask became... a face, just," he took a deep breath, "simply concave. I told myself it was the long hours of work and the shape of the mask playing a cruel joke on me, but as soon as the bloody napkin was wiped off, the face disappeared."
    
  No one said anything. Some men found it hard to believe, while others tried to formulate possible ways it could have happened. Marduk thought now would be a good time to follow up the doctor's stunner with something incredible, but this time, present it more scientifically. "Here's how it works. The Babylon Mask uses a rather macabre method, using dead human tissue to absorb the genetic material it contains, then molding that person's face into a mask."
    
  "Jesus!" Werner said. He watched Himmelfarb run past him, heading for the bathroom in the room. "Yeah, I don't blame you, Corporal."
    
  "Gentlemen, may I remind you that I have a department to run." Dr. Fritz repeated his previous statement.
    
  "There is... something more," Marduk interjected, slowly raising a bony hand to emphasize his point.
    
  "Oh, great," Sam smiled sarcastically, clearing his throat.
    
  Marduk ignored him and laid out even more unwritten rules. "Once the Masker has acquired the donor's features, the mask can only be removed by fire. Only fire can remove it from the Masker's face." Then he added solemnly, "And that is precisely why I had to do what I did."
    
  Himmelfarb couldn't take it anymore. "For God's sake, I'm a pilot. This mumbo-jumbo crap is definitely not for me. It's all too Hannibal Lecter for me. I'm leaving, friends."
    
  "You've been given a mission, Himmelfarb," Werner said sternly, but the corporal from the Schleswig air base was out of the game, no matter the cost.
    
  "I"m aware of that, Lieutenant!" he shouted. "And I"ll be sure to convey my displeasure to our esteemed commander personally, lest you be reprimanded for my behavior." He sighed, wiping his damp, pale forehead. "Sorry, guys, but I can"t handle this. Good luck, really. Call me when you need a pilot. That"s all I am." He walked out and closed the door behind him.
    
  "Cheers, lad," Sam said goodbye. Then he turned to Marduk with the one nagging question that had been haunting him since the phenomenon was first explained. "Marduk, I'm having a problem here. Tell me, what happens if a person simply puts on the mask without any manipulation of the dead flesh?"
    
  "Nothing".
    
  A chorus of disappointment followed from the others. They'd expected more contrived rules, Marduk realized, but he wasn't about to make something up for fun. He simply shrugged.
    
  "Nothing happens?" Kohl was astonished. "You don't die a painful death or suffocate to death? You put on a mask, and nothing happens." The Babylonian Mask. Babylon
    
  "Nothing's happening, son. It's just a mask. That's why so few people know of its sinister power," Marduk replied.
    
  "What a killer erection," Kol complained.
    
  "Okay, so if you put on a mask and your face became someone else"s-and you didn"t get set on fire by a crazy old bastard like you-would you still have that other person"s face forever?" Werner asked.
    
  "Oh, good one!" Sam exclaimed, enchanted by it all. If he'd been an amateur, he'd have been chewing on his pen and taking notes like crazy right now, but Sam was a veteran journalist, capable of memorizing countless facts while he listened. That, and he secretly recorded the entire conversation from a tape recorder in his pocket.
    
  "You'll go blind," Marduk replied nonchalantly. "Then you'll become like a rabid animal and die."
    
  Again, a hiss of surprise ran through their ranks. Then came a chuckle or two. One came from Dr. Fritz. By this time, he realized that trying to throw the bundle away was futile, and besides, he was now beginning to get curious.
    
  "Wow, Mister Marduk, you seem to have an answer for everything, don"t you?" Dr. Fritz shook his head with an amused grin.
    
  "Yes, that's true, my dear doctor," Marduk agreed. "I'm nearly eighty years old, and I've been responsible for this and other relics since I was a fifteen-year-old boy. By now, I've not only familiarized myself with the rules, but, unfortunately, I've seen them in action too many times."
    
  Dr. Fritz suddenly felt foolish for his arrogance, and it showed on his face. "My apologies."
    
  "I understand, Doctor Fritz. Men are always quick to dismiss what they can't control as madness. But when it comes to their own absurd practices and idiotic behavior, they can offer you almost any explanation to justify it," the old man stammered.
    
  The doctor could see that the restricted muscle tissue around his mouth was indeed preventing the man from continuing to speak.
    
  "Hmm, is there any reason why people who wear masks go blind and lose their minds?" Kol asked his first sincere question.
    
  "That part remains mostly legend and myth, son," Marduk shrugged. "I've seen it happen only a few times over the years. Most people who used the mask for nefarious purposes had no idea what would happen to them after they took their revenge. Like every evil impulse or desire achieved, there's a price. But humanity never learns. Power is for gods. Humility is for men."
    
  Werner calculated all this in his head. "Let me summarize," he said. "If you wear a mask simply as a disguise, it's harmless and useless."
    
  "Yes," Marduk replied, lowering his chin and blinking slowly.
    
  "And if you take some skin from some dead target and put it on the inside of the mask, and then put it on your face... God, I feel sick just saying that... Your face becomes that person"s face, right?"
    
  "Another cake for Werner's team." Sam smiled and pointed when Marduk nodded.
    
  "But then you'd have to burn it with fire or wear it and go blind before you went completely mad," Werner frowned, concentrating on lining up his ducks.
    
  "That"s right," Marduk confirmed.
    
  Dr. Fritz had one more question. "Has anyone ever figured out how to avoid either of these fates, Mister Marduk? Has anyone ever freed the mask without going blind or dying in the fire?"
    
  "How did LöWenhagen do that? He actually put it back on to take Dr. Hilt's face and leave the hospital! How did he do that?" Sam asked.
    
  "Fire took it the first time, Sam. He was just lucky to survive. Skin is the only way to avoid the fate of the Babylon Mask," Marduk said, sounding completely indifferent. It had become such an integral part of his existence that he was tired of repeating the same old facts.
    
  "This... skin?" Sam cringed.
    
  "That's exactly what it is. It's essentially the skin of a Babylonian mask. It must be applied to the Masker's face in time to conceal the fusion of the Masker's face and the mask. But our poor, disappointed victim has no idea. He'll soon realize his mistake, if he hasn't already," Marduk replied. "The blindness usually lasts no more than three or four days, so wherever he is, I hope he's not driving."
    
  "Serves him right. Bastard!" Kol grimaced.
    
  "I couldn't agree more," said Dr. Fritz. "But, gentlemen, I really must implore you to leave before the administrative staff gets wind of our excessive pleasantries here."
    
  To Dr. Fritz's relief, this time they all agreed. They grabbed their coats and slowly prepared to leave the office. With approving nods and final farewells, the Air Force pilots departed, leaving Marduk in protective custody for show. They decided to meet with Sam a little later. With this new turn of events and the much-needed sorting of confusing facts, they wanted to rethink their roles in the grand scheme of things.
    
  Sam and Margaret met in her hotel restaurant as Marduk and two pilots were heading to the airbase to report to Schmidt. Werner now knew that Marduk knew his commander based on their previous interview, but he still didn't know why Schmidt was keeping information about the sinister mask to himself. It was certainly a priceless artifact, but given his position in such a key organization as the German Luftwaffe, Werner believed there must be a more politically motivated reason behind Schmidt's hunt for the Mask of Babylon.
    
  "What will you tell your commander about me?" Marduk asked the two young men he was escorting as they walked to Werner"s jeep.
    
  "I'm not sure we should tell him about you at all. From what I gather, it would be best if you helped us find LöWenhagen and kept your presence a secret, Mr. Marduk. The less Captain Schmidt knows about you and your involvement, the better," Werner said.
    
  "See you at the base!" Kol shouted from four cars away, unlocking his own car.
    
  Werner nodded. "Remember, Marduk doesn"t exist, and we haven"t been able to find Löwenhagen yet, right?"
    
  "Got it!" Kol approved the plan with a light greeting and a boyish grin. He climbed into his car and drove away as the late afternoon light illuminated the cityscape before him. It was almost sunset, and they had reached the second day of their search, still ending the day without success.
    
  "I suppose we'll have to start searching for blind pilots?" Werner asked, completely sincere, no matter how ridiculous his request sounded. "It's been three days since Löwenhagen used the mask to escape from the hospital, so he must be having problems with his eyes by now."
    
  "That's true," Marduk replied. "If his constitution is strong, and it wasn't thanks to the fiery bath I gave him, it may take him longer to lose his sight. That's why the West didn't understand the ancient customs of Mesopotamia and Babylonia and considered us all heretics and bloodthirsty beasts. When ancient kings and chieftains burned the blind during witch trials, it wasn't out of cruelty, false accusation. Most of these cases were directly caused by the use of the Babylonian mask for their own ruse."
    
  "Most of these specimens?" Werner asked, raising an eyebrow as he turned on the ignition of the jeep, looking suspicious of the aforementioned methods.
    
  Marduk shrugged, "Well, everyone makes mistakes, son. Better safe than sorry."
    
    
  Chapter 21 - The Secret of Neumann and LöVenhagen
    
    
  Exhausted and filled with a steadily growing sense of regret, Olaf Lanhagen sat down in a pub near Darmstadt. Two days had passed since he'd abandoned Nina at Frau Bauer's house, but he couldn't afford to drag his partner along on such a secret mission, especially one that required him to lead like a mule. He hoped to use Dr. Hilt's money to buy food. He also considered getting rid of his cell phone, in case it was being tracked. By now, the authorities must have realized he was responsible for the hospital murders, which was why he hadn't commandeered Hilt's car to reach Captain Schmidt, who was at the Schleswig Air Base at the time.
    
  He decided to take a risk, using Hilt's cell phone to make a single call. This would likely put him in an awkward position with Schmidt, as cell phone calls could be monitored, but he had no other choice. With his safety compromised and his mission gone horribly wrong, he was forced to resort to more dangerous means of communication to establish contact with the man who had sent him on his mission in the first place.
    
  "Another Pilsner, sir?" the waiter suddenly asked, causing Löwenhagen's heart to pound. He looked at the dim-witted waiter, his voice deeply bored.
    
  "Yes, thank you." He quickly changed his mind. "Wait, no. I"ll have a schnapps, please. And something to eat."
    
  "You must have something from the menu, sir. Did you like anything there?" the waiter asked indifferently.
    
  "Just bring me a seafood dish," Löwenhagen sighed in frustration.
    
  The waiter chuckled, "Sir, as you can see, we don"t offer seafood. Please order the dish we do offer."
    
  If Löwenhagen hadn't been expecting an important meeting, or if he hadn't been weak from hunger, he might well have taken advantage of the privilege of wearing Hilt's face to smash the sarcastic idiot's skull. "Then just bring me a steak. Oh my God! Just, I don't know, surprise me!" the pilot screamed furiously.
    
  "Yes, sir," the stunned waiter replied, quickly collecting the menu and beer glass.
    
  "And don't forget the schnapps first!" he shouted after the idiot in the apron, who was making his way toward the kitchen through the tables of wide-eyed patrons. Löwenhagen grinned at them and let out something like a low growl that erupted from the depths of his esophagus. Concerned about the dangerous man, some people left the establishment, while others engaged in nervous conversations.
    
  An attractive young waitress dared to bring him a drink as a favor to her terrified colleague. (The waiter was bracing himself in the kitchen, preparing to confront the irate customer as soon as his food was ready.) She smiled warily, set down the glass, and announced, "A schnapps for you, sir."
    
  "Thank you," was all he said, to her surprise.
    
  Löwenhagen, twenty-seven, sat contemplating his future in the cozy light of the pub as the sun faded from the day outside, casting the windows in darkness. The music grew a little louder as the evening crowd trickled in like a reluctantly leaking ceiling. While he waited for his food, he ordered five more strong drinks, and as the soothing hell of alcohol burned through his wounded flesh, he wondered how he had gotten to this point.
    
  Never in his life had he imagined he'd become a cold-blooded killer, a murderer for profit, no less, and at such a tender age. Most men degenerate with age, turning into heartless pigs for the promise of financial gain. Not him. As a fighter pilot, he understood that one day he'd have to kill many people in combat, but it would be for his country.
    
  Defending Germany and the World Bank's utopian goals for a new world were his first and foremost duty and desire. Taking lives for this purpose was commonplace, but now he had embarked on a bloody adventure to satisfy the desires of the Luftwaffe commander, which had nothing to do with Germany's freedom or the well-being of the world. In fact, he was now striving for the opposite. This oppressed him almost as much as his deteriorating eyesight and increasingly defiant temperament.
    
  What bothered him most was the scream Neumann had made the first time LöWenhagen set him on fire. Captain Schmidt had hired LöWenhagen for what the commander described as a highly classified operation. This had occurred following their squadron's recent deployment near Mosul, Iraq.
    
  From what the commander confidentially told LöWenhagen, it appears that Flieger Neumann was sent by Schmidt to retrieve a little-known ancient relic from a private collection while they were in Iraq during the latest round of bombings targeting the World Bank and, in particular, the CIA station there. Neumann, a former teenage delinquent, possessed the skills necessary to infiltrate the home of a wealthy collector and steal the Babylonian Mask.
    
  He was given a photograph of a delicate, skull-like relic, and with its help, he managed to steal the object from the brass box in which he slept. Shortly after his successful heist, Neumann returned to Germany with the loot he had obtained for Schmidt, but Schmidt hadn't counted on the weaknesses of the men he'd chosen to carry out his dirty work. Neumann was an avid gambler. On his first evening back, he took the mask with him to one of his favorite gambling dens-a dive bar in a back alley in Dillenburg.
    
  Not only had he committed the most reckless act by carrying a priceless, stolen artifact around with him, but he had also incurred the wrath of Captain Schmidt by failing to deliver the mask as discreetly and urgently as he had been hired to do. Upon learning the squadron had returned and discovering Neumand was missing, Schmidt immediately contacted the volatile outcast from the barracks at his previous airbase to retrieve the relic from Neumand by any means necessary.
    
  Reflecting on that night, Löwenhagen felt a seething hatred for Captain Schmidt spread throughout his mind. He was the cause of unnecessary sacrifices. He was the cause of injustice born of greed. He was the reason Löwenhagen would never again regain his attractive features, and that was, without a doubt, the most unforgivable crime the commander's greed had inflicted on Löwenhagen's life-on what remained of it.
    
  Ephesus was handsome enough, but for LöWenhagen, the loss of his individuality struck deeper than any physical injury he could ever inflict. To make matters worse, his eyes had begun to fail him to the point that he couldn't even read a menu to order food. The humiliation was almost worse than the discomfort and physical handicaps. He took a sip of schnapps and snapped his fingers above his head, demanding more.
    
  In his head, he could hear a thousand voices blaming everyone else for his poor choices, and his own inner mind, rendered mute by how quickly everything had gone wrong. He remembered the night he'd acquired the mask, and how Neumann had refused to hand over his hard-earned loot. He followed Neumann's trail to a gambling den beneath the stairs of a nightclub. There, he bided his time, posing as another partygoer who frequented the place.
    
  Just after 1 a.m., Neumann had lost everything and was now facing a double-or-nothing challenge.
    
  "I"ll pay you 1,000 euros if you let me keep this mask as security," Löwenhagen offered.
    
  "Are you kidding?" Neumann chuckled in his drunken state. "This fucking thing is worth a million times that!" He kept his mask on full display, but fortunately, his inebriated state made the shady company he was in doubt his sincerity. Löwenhagen couldn't let them think twice about it, so he acted quickly.
    
  "Right now, I'll play you for a stupid mask. At least I can get your ass back to base." He said this especially loudly, hoping to convince the others that he was simply trying to get the mask to force his friend to come home. It was a good thing Löwenhagen's deceitful past had honed his cunning skills. He was incredibly convincing when pulling off a scam, and this character trait usually served him well. Until now, when it ultimately determined his future.
    
  Mask sat in the center of the round table, surrounded by three men. Lö Wenhagen could hardly object when another player wanted to join in the action. The man was a local biker, a simple foot soldier in his order, but it would have been suspicious to deny him access to a poker game in a public dump known throughout the local lowlifes.
    
  Even with his trickery skills, LöWenhagen found he couldn't coax the mask out of the stranger sporting a black and white Gremium emblem on his leather neckline.
    
  "Black seven rules, bastards!" roared the big biker as LöVenhagen folded, and Neumann's hand showed a powerless three jacks. Neumann was too drunk to try to retrieve the mask, though he was clearly devastated by the loss.
    
  "Oh Jesus! Oh, sweet Jesus, he"s going to kill me! He"s going to kill me!" was all Neumann could manage, his head bowed in his hands. He sat there groaning until the next group trying to get a table told him to fuck off or face the bank. Neumann left, muttering under his breath like a madman, but again, it was chalked up to a drunken stupor, and those he shouldered out of the way took it that way. Löwenhagen followed Neumann, unaware of the esoteric nature of the relic the biker was waving somewhere ahead. The biker paused for a moment, bragging to a group of girls that a skull mask would look hideous under his German army-style helmet. He soon realized that Neumann had actually followed the biker into a dark concrete pit where a row of motorcycles glinted in the pale beams of headlights that didn't quite reach the parking lot.
    
  He watched calmly as Neumann drew his pistol, stepped out of the shadows, and shot the biker point-blank in the face. Gunshots weren't uncommon in this part of town, though some people alerted other bikers. Soon after, their silhouettes appeared over the edge of the parking pit, but they were still too far away to see what had happened.
    
  Choking at the sight, Löwenhagen witnessed the horrific ritual of cutting off a piece of a dead man's flesh with his own knife. Neumann placed the bleeding cloth on the underside of the mask and began to undress his victim as quickly as he could with his drunken fingers. Shocked, his eyes wide, Löwenhagen immediately recognized the secret of the Babylon Mask. Now he knew why Schmidt had been so eager to get his hands on it.
    
  In his new, grotesque guise, Neumann rolled the body into some trash bins a few meters from the last car in the dark, then casually climbed onto the man's motorcycle. Four days later, Neumann took the mask and disappeared. Löwenhagen tracked him down outside the Schleswig base, where he was hiding from Schmidt's wrath. Neumann still looked like a biker, in dark glasses and dirty jeans, but he had ditched his club colors and bike. The Mannheim chief at Gremium was looking for an impostor, and it wasn't worth the risk. When Neumann confronted Löwenhagen, he was laughing like a madman, mumbling incoherently in something resembling an ancient Arabic dialect.
    
  Then he picked up the knife and tried to cut off his own face.
    
    
  Chapter 22 - Rise of the Blind God
    
    
  "So, you've finally made contact." A voice broke through Löwenhagen's body from over his left shoulder. He instantly imagined the devil, and he wasn't far off the mark.
    
  "Captain Schmidt," he acknowledged, but for obvious reasons, he didn't stand up or salute. "You must forgive me for not reacting properly. You see, I am, after all, wearing someone else's face."
    
  "Absolutely. Jack Daniel"s, please," Schmidt told the waiter before he even arrived at the table with the Löwenhagen dishes.
    
  "Put the plate down first, buddy!" Löwenhagen shouted, urging the confused man to comply. The restaurant manager stood nearby, waiting for another misbehavior before asking the offender to leave.
    
  "Now I see you"ve figured out what the mask does," Schmidt muttered under his breath, lowering his head to check for eavesdropping.
    
  "I saw what she did that night when your little bitch Neumand used her to kill herself," Löwenhagen said quietly, barely breathing between bites as he swallowed the first half of the meat like an animal.
    
  "So, what do you propose we do now? Blackmail me for money, like Neumann did?" Schmidt asked, trying to buy himself some time. He understood perfectly well what the relic had taken from those who used it.
    
  "Blackmail you?" Löwenhagen yelped, a mouthful of pink flesh clenched between his teeth. "Are you fucking kidding me? I want it off, Captain. You're going to have a surgeon take it off."
    
  "Why? I heard recently that you were quite badly burned. I'd have thought you'd want to keep the dashing doctor's face instead of a molten mess of flesh where yours once was," the commander replied angrily. He watched in amazement as Löwenhagen struggled to cut his steak, straining his weakening eyes to find the edges.
    
  "Fuck you!" Löwenhagen cursed. He couldn't see Schmidt's face very well, but he felt an overwhelming urge to plunge a butcher knife into his eyes and hope for the best. "I want to take her down before I turn into a crazy bat... r-mad... fucking..."
    
  "Is that what happened to Neumann?" Schmidt interrupted, helping the struggling young man with sentence structure. "What exactly happened, Löwenhagen? Thanks to that idiot's gambling fetish, I can understand his motive to keep what's rightfully mine. What puzzles me is why you wanted to hide this from me for so long before contacting me."
    
  "I was going to give it to you the day after I took it from Neumann, but that same night I found myself in a fire, my dear captain." Löwenhagen was now manually stuffing chunks of meat into his mouth. Horrified, the people right around them began to stare and whisper.
    
  "Excuse me, gentlemen," the manager said tactfully in a hushed tone.
    
  But LöWenhagen was too impatient to listen. He threw a black American Express card on the table and said, "Listen, bring us a bottle of tequila, and I'll buy one for all these nosy idiots if they stop looking at me like that!"
    
  Some of his supporters at the pool table applauded. The rest of the crowd returned to their work.
    
  "Don't worry, we're leaving soon. Just get everyone their drinks and let my friend finish his meal, okay?" Schmidt justified their current state with his holier-than-thou, civilized manner. This lost the manager's interest for a few more minutes.
    
  "Now tell me how my mask ended up in your goddamn government agency, where anyone could have taken it," Schmidt whispered. A bottle of tequila was brought, and he poured two shots.
    
  Löwenhagen swallowed hard. The alcohol obviously hadn't effectively dulled the agony of his internal injuries, but he was hungry. He told his commander what had happened, mostly to save face, not to make excuses. The whole scenario that had previously had him seething played itself out as he told Schmidt everything that led up to his discovery of Neumann speaking in tongues in the guise of a biker.
    
  "Arabic? That's mind-boggling," Schmidt admitted. "That thing you heard was actually Akkadian? Amazing!"
    
  "Who cares?" Löwenhagen barked.
    
  "Then? How did you get the mask from him?" Schmidt asked, almost smiling at the interesting facts of the story.
    
  "I had no idea how to get the mask back. I mean, here he was, his face fully developed, with no trace of the mask that was hiding underneath. Oh my God, listen to what I'm saying! This is all nightmarish and surreal!"
    
  "Go on," Schmidt insisted.
    
  "I asked him point blank how I could help him take off his mask, you know? But he... he..." Löwenhagen laughed like a drunken brawler at the absurdity of his own words. "Captain, he bit me! Like a fucking stray dog, the bastard growled as I got closer, and while I was still talking, the bastard bit me on the shoulder. He tore out a whole chunk! Jesus! What was I supposed to think? I just started beating him with the first piece of metal pipe I could find nearby."
    
  "So, what did he do? Was he still speaking Akkadian?" the commander asked, pouring them another drink.
    
  "He took off running, so of course I chased after him. We ended up heading through eastern Schleswig, to a place only we know how to get to?" he said to Schmidt, who nodded, "Yes, I know that place, behind the hangar of the auxiliary building."
    
  "That"s right. We ran through that, Captain, like bats out of hell. I mean, I was ready to kill him. I was in so much pain, I was bleeding, I was fed up with him eluding me for so long. I swear, I was ready to just smash his fucking head to pieces to get that mask back, you know?" Löwenhagen growled quietly, sounding deliciously psychotic.
    
  "Yes, yes. Go on." Schmidt insisted on hearing the rest of the story before his subordinate finally succumbed to the crushing madness.
    
  As his plate grew dirtier and emptier, Löwenhagen spoke faster, his consonants becoming more distinct. "I didn"t know what he was trying to do, but maybe he knew how to remove the mask or something. I followed him all the way to the hangar, and then we were alone. I could hear the guards shouting outside the hangar. I doubt they recognized Neumann now that he had someone else"s face, right?"
    
  "Was that when he hijacked the fighter?" Schmidt asked. "Was that what caused the plane to crash?"
    
  Löwenhagen's eyes were almost completely blind by this time, but he could still discern shadows and solid bodies. A yellow tint tinged his irises, the color of a lion's eyes, but he continued speaking, pinning Schmidt in place with his blind gaze as the latter lowered his voice and bowed his head slightly. "My God, Captain Schmidt, how he hated you."
    
  Narcissism prevented Schmidt from considering the sentiments contained in Löwenhagen's statement, but common sense made him feel a little tainted-right where his soul should have been. "Of course he did it," he told his blind subordinate. "I'm the one who introduced him to the mask. But he should never have known what it did, let alone used it for himself. The fool brought it on himself. Just like you did."
    
  "I..." Löwenhagen angrily lunged forward amidst the clinking dishes and toppling glasses, "only used this to take your precious bloody relic from the hospital and give it to you, ungrateful subspecies!"
    
  Schmidt knew Löwenhagen had accomplished his task, and his insubordination no longer caused much concern. However, his sentence was about to expire, so Schmidt allowed him to throw a tantrum. "He hated you as I hate you! Neumann regretted ever participating in your treacherous plan to send a suicide squad to Baghdad and The Hague."
    
  Schmidt felt his heart leap at the mention of his supposedly secret plan, but his face remained impassive, hiding all worry behind a steely expression.
    
  "After saying your name, Schmidt, he saluted and said he was going to visit you on his own little suicide mission." LöWenhagen"s voice broke through his smile. "He stood there laughing like a mad animal, squealing with relief at who he was. Still dressed as a dead biker, he headed for the plane. Before I could reach him, the guards burst in. I simply ran away to avoid being arrested. Once outside the base, I got in my truck and raced to Büchel to try to warn you. Your cell phone was turned off."
    
  "And that's when he crashed the plane near our base," Schmidt nodded. "How am I supposed to explain the real story to Lieutenant General Meyer? He was under the impression it was a legitimate counterattack after what that Dutch idiot did in Iraq."
    
  "Neumann was a first-class pilot. Why he missed his target-you-is as much a pity as it is a mystery," Löwenhagen growled. Only Schmidt's silhouette still indicated his presence beside him.
    
  "He missed because, like you, my boy, he's blind," Schmidt declared, relishing his victory over those who might expose him. "But you didn't know that, did you? Since Neumann wore sunglasses, you didn't know about his poor eyesight. Otherwise, you never would have used the Babylon Mask yourself, would you?"
    
  "No, I wouldn"t," LöWenhagen rasped, feeling defeated to the point of boiling. "But I should have known you"d send someone to burn me and get the mask back. After I went to the crash site, I found Neumann"s charred remains scattered far from the fuselage. The mask had been removed from his charred skull, so I took it to return to my dear commander, whom I thought I could trust." At that moment, his yellow eyes went blind. "But you already took care of that, didn"t you?"
    
  "What are you talking about?" he heard Schmidt say next to him, but he was done with deceiving the commander.
    
  "You sent someone after me. He found me with my mask at the crash site and chased me all the way to Heidelberg until my truck ran out of gas!" Löwenhagen growled. "But he had enough gas for both of us, Schmidt. Before I could even see him coming, he doused me with gasoline and set me on fire! All I could do was run to the hospital, located a stone"s throw from here, still hoping that the fire wouldn"t catch and maybe even go out as I ran. But no, it only grew stronger and hotter, devouring my skin, lips, and limbs until I felt like I was screaming through my own flesh! Do you know what it"s like to feel your heart burst from the shock of your own flesh burning like a steak on a grill? YOU?" - he shouted at the captain with the angry expression of a dead man.
    
  As the manager hurried up to their table, Schmidt raised his hand dismissively.
    
  "We're leaving. We're leaving. Just transfer it all to this credit card," Schmidt ordered, knowing that Dr. Hilt would soon be found dead again, and his credit card statement would show he had survived several days longer than originally reported.
    
  "Come on, LöWenhagen," Schmidt said urgently. "I know how we can remove that mask from your face. Although I have no idea how to reverse the blindness."
    
  He led his companion to the bar, where he signed the receipt. As they left, Schmidt slipped the credit card back into LöWenhagen's pocket. All the staff and customers breathed a sigh of relief. The unfortunate waiter, who hadn't received a tip, clicked his tongue and said, "Thank God! I hope this is the last time we see him."
    
    
  Chapter 23 - Murder
    
    
  Marduk glanced at his watch, the small rectangle on its face with its fold-out date panels, positioned to indicate October 28th. His fingers tapped the counter as he waited for the receptionist at the Swanwasser Hotel, where Sam Cleve and his mysterious girlfriend were also staying.
    
  "There you go, Mr. Marduk. Welcome to Germany," the receptionist smiled graciously and handed Marduk his passport back. Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment too long, making the old man wonder if it was because of his unusual face or because his identity documents listed Iraq as his country of origin.
    
  "Vielen Dank," he replied. He would have smiled if he could.
    
  After checking into his room, he went downstairs to meet Sam and Margaret in the garden. They were already waiting for him when he stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the pool. A small, elegantly dressed man followed Marduk at a distance, but the old man was too perceptive not to know.
    
  Sam cleared his throat meaningfully, but all Marduk said was, "I see him."
    
  "Of course you know," Sam told himself, nodding toward Margaret. She glanced at the stranger and flinched slightly, but hid it from his gaze. Marduk turned to look at the man following him, just long enough to assess the situation. The man smiled apologetically and disappeared into the corridor.
    
  "They see a passport from Iraq and lose their fucking minds," he snapped irritably, sitting up.
    
  "Mr. Marduk, this is Margaret Crosbie from the Edinburgh Post," Sam introduced them.
    
  "Pleased to meet you, madam," Marduk said, again using his polite nod in place of a smile.
    
  "And you too, Mr. Marduk," Margaret replied cordially. "It's wonderful to finally meet someone as knowledgeable and well-traveled as you." Is she actually flirting with Marduk? Sam wondered in surprise as he watched them shake hands.
    
  "And how do you know this?" Marduk asked with feigned surprise.
    
  Sam picked up his recording device.
    
  "Ah, everything that happened in the doctor's office is now on record." He gave the investigative journalist a stern look.
    
  "Don't worry, Marduk," Sam said, determined to dismiss any concerns. "This is just for me and those who are going to help us find the Babylon Mask. As you know, Miss Crosby here has already contributed to ridding us of the police chief."
    
  "Yes, some journalists have the common sense to be selective about what the world should know and... well, what the world is better off never knowing. The Babylonian Mask and its abilities fall into the latter category. You have confidence in my discretion," Margaret promised Marduk.
    
  His image captivated her. The British spinster had always had a penchant for the unusual and unique. He was nowhere near as monstrous as the staff at Heidelberg Hospital had described him. Yes, he was clearly deformed by ordinary standards, but his face only added to his intriguing individuality.
    
  "It"s a relief to know, madam," he sighed.
    
  "Please call me Margaret," she said quickly. Yes, there was some geriatric flirting going on here, Sam decided.
    
  "So, back to the matter at hand," Sam interrupted, moving on to a more serious conversation. "Where are we going to start looking for this LöWenhagen character?"
    
  "I think we should eliminate him from the game. According to Lieutenant Werner, the man behind the procurement of the Babylon Mask is Captain Schmidt of the German Luftwaffe. I've instructed Lieutenant Werner to go, under the pretext of reporting, and steal the mask from Schmidt by noon tomorrow. If I don't hear from Werner by then, we'll have to assume the worst. In that case, I'll have to infiltrate the base myself and have a word with Schmidt. He's the mastermind behind this whole crazy operation, and he'll want to get his hands on the relic by the time the great peace treaty is signed."
    
  "So you think he's going to pose as a Meso-Arab signatory?" Margaret asked, aptly using the new term for the Middle East after the unification of the adjacent small lands under a single government.
    
  "There are a million possibilities, Mada... Margaret," Marduk explained. "He could do it by choice, but he doesn't speak Arabic, so the Commissar's people will know he's a charlatan. Of all the times, not being able to control the minds of the masses. Imagine how easily I could have prevented all this if I still had this psychic nonsense," Sam lamented to himself.
    
  Marduk's casual tone continued. "He could have assumed the form of an unknown individual and assassinated the Commissar. He could even have sent another suicide pilot into the building. Apparently that's the fashion these days."
    
  "Wasn"t there a Nazi squadron that did this during World War II?" Margaret asked, placing her hand on Sam"s forearm.
    
  "Uh, I don"t know. Why?"
    
  "If we knew how they got these pilots to volunteer for this mission, we might be able to figure out how Schmidt planned to organize something similar. I might be way off base, but shouldn't we at least explore this possibility? Perhaps Dr. Gould can even help us."
    
  "She's currently confined to a hospital in Mannheim," Sam said.
    
  "How is she doing?" Marduk asked, still feeling guilty for hitting her.
    
  "I haven"t seen her since she came to me. That"s why I came to see Dr. Fritz in the first place," Sam replied. "But you"re right. I might as well see if she can help us-if she"s conscious. God, I hope they can help her. She was in bad shape the last time I saw her."
    
  "Then I'd say a visit is necessary for several reasons. What about Lieutenant Werner and his friend Kol?" Marduk asked, taking a sip of coffee.
    
  Margaret's phone rang. "It's my assistant." She smiled proudly.
    
  "You have an assistant?" Sam teased. "Since when?" She whispered to Sam just before answering the phone. "I have an undercover operative with a penchant for police radios and secure communications, my boy." With a wink, she answered the phone and walked away across the immaculately manicured lawn, illuminated by garden lights.
    
  "So, hacker," Sam muttered with a chuckle.
    
  "Once Schmidt has the mask, one of us will have to intercept him, Mister Cleave," Marduk said. "I vote you storm the wall while I wait in ambush. You get rid of him. After all, with this face, I'll never be able to get into the base."
    
  Sam drank his single malt and considered this. "If only we knew what he planned to do with it. He must have known the dangers of wearing it himself. I imagine he'll hire some lackey to sabotage the signing of the contract."
    
  "I agree," Marduk began, but Margaret ran out of the romantic garden with an expression of absolute horror on her face.
    
  "Oh, my God!" She screamed as quietly as she could. "Oh, my God, Sam! You won't believe this!" Margaret's ankles twisted in her haste as she crossed the lawn to the table.
    
  "What? What is this?" Sam frowned, jumping up from his chair to catch her before she fell onto the stone patio.
    
  Margaret stared at her two male companions, her eyes wide with disbelief. She could barely catch her breath. When she finally got her breath back, she exclaimed, "Professor Martha Sloane was just murdered!"
    
  "Jesus Christ!" Sam cried, his head in his hands. "Now we're fucked. You realize this is World War III!"
    
  "I know! What can we do now? This agreement means nothing now," Margaret confirmed.
    
  "Where did you get your information, Margaret? Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?" Marduk asked as tactfully as he could.
    
  "My source is a family friend. Her information is usually accurate. She hides in a private security area and spends every moment of her day checking..."
    
  "...hacking," Sam corrected.
    
  She glared at him. "She checks security websites and secret organizations. That's usually how I get news before the police are called to crime scenes or incidents," she admitted. "She got a report just minutes ago, after crossing the line with Dunbar's private security service. They haven't even called the local police or the coroner yet, but she'll keep us updated on how Sloan was killed."
    
  "So it hasn't aired yet?" Sam exclaimed insistently.
    
  "No, but it's about to happen, no doubt about it. The security company and the police will be filing reports before we've even finished our drinks." Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke. "Here goes our chance at a new world. My God, they were going to ruin everything, weren't they?"
    
  "Of course, my dear Margaret," Marduk said, as calmly as ever. "That's what humanity does best. The destruction of all that is uncontrollable and creative. But we have no time for philosophy now. I have an idea, albeit a very far-fetched one."
    
  "Well, we have nothing," Margaret complained. "So be our guest, Peter."
    
  "What if we could blind the world?" Marduk asked.
    
  "Do you like this mask of yours?" Sam asked.
    
  "Listen!" Marduk commanded, showing the first signs of emotion and forcing Sam to hide his loose tongue behind pursed lips again. "What if we could do what the media does every single day, only in reverse? Is there a way to stop the reports from spreading and keep the world in the dark? That way, we'll have time to work out a solution and ensure the meeting in The Hague takes place. With any luck, we might be able to avert the catastrophe we're undoubtedly facing now."
    
  "I don't know, Marduk," Sam said, feeling dejected. "Every ambitious journalist in the world would love to be the one reporting this for their radio station in their country. This is big news. Our fellow vultures would never turn down such a treat out of respect for peace or any moral standards."
    
  Margaret shook her head, confirming Sam's damning revelation. "If only we could put that mask on someone who looks like Sloane... just to sign the contract."
    
  "Well, if we can't stop the fleet of ships from landing, we'll have to remove the ocean they're sailing on," Marduk said.
    
  Sam smiled, enjoying the old man's unorthodox thinking. He understood, while Margaret was confused, her face confirming her confusion. "You mean if the reports come out anyway, we should shut down the media they're using to report it?"
    
  "Correct," Marduk nodded, as always. "As far as we can."
    
  "How on God"s green earth...?" Margaret asked.
    
  "I like Margaret's idea too," Marduk said. "If we can get the mask, we can fool the world into believing the reports of Professor Sloane's murder are a hoax. And we can send our own impostor to sign the document."
    
  "It's a huge undertaking, but I think I know who would be crazy enough to pull off such a thing," Sam said. He grabbed his phone and hit a letter on speed dial. He waited a moment, and then his face assumed a look of absolute concentration.
    
  "Hello, Perdue!"
    
    
  Chapter 24 - Schmidt's Other Side
    
    
  "You are relieved of your assignment in LöWenhagen, Lieutenant," Schmidt said firmly.
    
  "So, have you found the man we're looking for, sir? Good! How did you find him?" Werner asked.
    
  "I'll tell you, Lieutenant Werner, only because I have such high regard for you and because you agreed to help me find this criminal," Schmidt replied, reminding Werner of his need-to-know clause. "In fact, it was surprisingly surreal. Your colleague called me to let me know he was bringing Löwenhagen just an hour ago."
    
  "My colleague?" Werner frowned, but played his part convincingly.
    
  "Yes. Who would have thought Kohl would have the guts to arrest anyone, hey? But I'm telling you this with great despair," Schmidt feigned sadness, and his actions were obvious to his subordinate. "While Kohl was bringing LöWenhagen, they were in a terrible accident that took both their lives."
    
  "What?" Werner exclaimed. "Please tell me it"s not true!"
    
  His face paled at the news, which he knew was filled with insidious lies. The fact that Kohl had left the hospital parking lot just minutes before him was evidence of a cover-up. Kohl could never have accomplished all this in the short time it took Werner to reach the base. But Werner kept everything to himself. Werner's only weapon was to blind Schmidt to the fact that he knew everything about Löwenhagen's motives for capturing him, the mask, and the dirty lies surrounding Kohl's death. Military intelligence, indeed.
    
  At the same time, Werner was genuinely shaken by Kohl's death. His distraught demeanor and distress were genuine as he slumped back into his chair in Schmidt's office. To rub salt into his wounds, Schmidt played the penitent commander and offered him some fresh tea to soften the shock of the bad news.
    
  "You know, I shudder to think what Löwenhagen must have done to cause that disaster," he said to Werner, pacing around his desk. "Poor Kohl. Do you know how much it pains me to think that such a good pilot with such a bright future lost his life because of my order to detain a heartless and treacherous subordinate like Löwenhagen?"
    
  Werner's jaw clenched, but he had to maintain his own mask until the time was right to reveal what he knew. His voice trembling, he decided to play the victim, to pry a little further. "Sir, please don't tell me Himmelfarb shared this fate?"
    
  "No, no. Don't worry about Himmelfarb. He asked me to remove him from the mission because he couldn't stand it. I guess I'm grateful to have a man like you under my command, Lieutenant," Schmidt grimaced discreetly from Werner's seat. "You're the only one who hasn't let me down."
    
  Werner wondered if Schmidt had managed to obtain the mask, and if so, where he kept it. This, however, was one answer he couldn't simply ask for. It was something he'd have to spy on.
    
  "Thank you, sir," Werner replied. "If you need me for anything else, just ask."
    
  "It's this attitude that makes heroes, Lieutenant!" Schmidt sang through his thick lips as sweat beaded on his chubby cheeks. "For the well-being of your country and the right to bear arms, sometimes you have to sacrifice great things. Sometimes giving your life to save the thousands you protect is part of being a hero, a hero Germany can remember as a messiah of the old ways and a man who sacrificed himself to preserve the supremacy and freedom of his country."
    
  Werner didn't like where this was going, but he couldn't act impulsively without risking discovery. "I can't help but agree, Captain Schmidt. You should know. I'm sure no man ever achieves the rank you did as a spineless runt. I hope to follow in your footsteps one day."
    
  "I"m sure you can handle it, Lieutenant. And you"re right. I"ve sacrificed a lot. My grandfather was killed fighting against the British in Palestine. My father died defending the German Chancellor during an assassination attempt during the Cold War," he defended himself. "But I"ll tell you one thing, Lieutenant. When I leave my legacy, my sons and grandchildren will remember me not just as a pleasant story to tell strangers. No, I will be remembered for changing the course of our world, I will be remembered by all Germans and, therefore, by cultures and generations worldwide." Hitler much? Werner thought about it, but acknowledged Schmidt"s false support. "Absolutely correct, sir! I couldn"t agree more."
    
  Then he noticed the emblem on Schmidt's ring, the same ring Werner had mistaken for a wedding ring. Engraved on the flat gold base that crowned the tip of his finger was the symbol of a supposedly extinct organization, the Order of the Black Sun. He'd seen it before at his great-uncle's house, the day he'd helped his great-aunt sell all of her late husband's books at a yard sale in the late 1980s. The symbol intrigued him, but his great-aunt had thrown a fit when he asked if he could borrow a book.
    
  He never thought about it again until he recognized the symbol on Schmidt's ring. The question of remaining ignorant became difficult for Werner, because he desperately wanted to know what Schmidt was doing wearing a symbol that his own patriotic great-aunt didn't want him to know.
    
  "That"s intriguing, sir," Werner remarked without even thinking about the consequences of his request.
    
  "What?" Schmidt asked, interrupting his grand speech.
    
  "Your ring, Captain. It looks like an ancient treasure or some kind of secret talisman with superpowers, like in comic books!" Werner said excitedly, cooing over the ring as if it were simply a beautiful piece of work. In fact, Werner was so curious that he wasn't even nervous about asking about the emblem or the ring. Perhaps Schmidt believed his lieutenant was genuinely fascinated by his proud affiliation, but he preferred to keep his involvement with the Order to himself.
    
  "Oh, my dad gave me this when I was thirteen," Schmidt explained nostalgically, looking at the fine, perfect lines on the ring he never took off.
    
  "A family crest? It looks very elegant," Werner coaxed his commander, but he couldn't get the man to open up about it. Suddenly, Werner's cell phone rang, breaking the spell between the two men and the truth. "My apologies, Captain."
    
  "Nonsense," Schmidt replied, dismissing it heartily. "You're off duty right now."
    
  Werner watched as the captain stepped outside to give him some privacy.
    
  "Hello?"
    
  It was Marlene. "Dieter! Dieter, they killed Dr. Fritz!" she shouted from what sounded like an empty swimming pool or a shower stall.
    
  "Wait, slow down, darling! Who? And when?" Werner asked his girlfriend.
    
  "Two minutes ago! Y-y-just like th-that...in cold blood, for heaven's sake! Right in front of me!" she screamed hysterically.
    
  Lieutenant Dieter Werner felt his stomach clench at the sound of his beloved's frantic sobs. Somehow, that evil emblem on Schmidt's ring was a foreshadowing of what was to come. Werner felt as if his admiration for the ring had somehow brought misfortune upon him. He was surprisingly close to the truth.
    
  "What are you...Marlene! Listen!" he tried to get her to give him more information.
    
  Schmidt heard Werner's voice rise. Concerned, he slowly re-entered the office from the outside, casting a questioning glance at the lieutenant.
    
  "Where are you? Where did this happen? In the hospital?" he tried to convince her, but she was completely incoherent.
    
  "No! N-no, Dieter! Himmelfarb just shot Dr. Fritz in the head. Oh, Jesus! I'm going to die here!" she sobbed in despair over the eerie, echoing location he couldn't get her to reveal.
    
  "Marlene, where are you?" he shouted.
    
  The phone call ended with a click. Schmidt still stood stunned in front of Werner, waiting for an answer. Werner's face turned pale as he shoved the phone back into his pocket.
    
  "Excuse me, sir. I have to go. Something terrible happened at the hospital," he told his commander, turning to leave.
    
  "She's not in the hospital, Lieutenant," Schmidt said dryly. Werner stopped dead in his tracks, but didn't turn around yet. Judging by the commander's voice, he expected the officer's pistol to be pointed at the back of his head, and he did Schmidt the honor of being face-to-face with him as he pulled the trigger.
    
  "Himmelfarb just killed Dr. Fritz," Werner said without turning to face the officer.
    
  "I know, Dieter," Schmidt admitted. "I told him. Do you know why he does everything I tell him?"
    
  "Romantic attachment?" Werner chuckled, finally shedding his false admiration.
    
  "Ha! No, romance is for the meek in spirit. The only conquest I'm interested in is the dominion of the meek intellect," said Schmidt.
    
  "Himmelfarb is a fucking coward. We all knew it from the start. He'll sneak up on anyone who might protect him or help him because he's nothing but an incompetent, groveling brat," Werner said, insulting the corporal with the genuine contempt he always hid out of politeness.
    
  "That's absolutely true, Lieutenant," the captain agreed. His hot breath brushed the back of Werner's neck as he leaned uncomfortably close. "That's why, unlike people like you and the other dead people you'll soon join, he does what he does," Babylon
    
  Werner's flesh filled with rage and hatred, his entire being filled with disappointment and deep concern for his Marlene. "So what? Shoot already!" he said defiantly.
    
  Schmidt chuckled behind him. "Sit down, Lieutenant."
    
  Reluctantly, Werner complied. He had no choice, which infuriated a freethinker like himself. He watched as the arrogant officer sat down, deliberately flashing his ring for Werner's eyes to see. "Himmelfarb, as you say, follows my orders because he's incapable of mustering the courage to stand up for what he believes in. Yet he does the job I send him to, and I don't need to beg, spy on him, or threaten his loved ones for it. As for you, on the other hand, your scrotum is too massive for your own good. Don't get me wrong, I admire a man who thinks for himself, but when you throw your lot in with the opposition-the enemy-you become a traitor. Himmelfarb told me everything, Lieutenant," Schmidt admitted with a deep sigh.
    
  "Perhaps you are too blind to see what a traitor he is," Werner snapped.
    
  "A traitor to the right is, in essence, a hero. But let's put my preferences aside for now. I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself, Lieutenant Werner. As commander of a fighter squadron, you'll have the honor of flying your Tornado straight into a CIA boardroom in Iraq to make sure they know how the world feels about their existence."
    
  "This is absurd!" Werner protested. "They kept their end of the ceasefire and agreed to enter into trade negotiations...!"
    
  "Blah, blah, blah!" Schmidt laughed and shook his head. "We all know political eggshells, my friend. It"s a trick. Even if it weren"t-what kind of world would the world be as long as Germany is just another bull in the pen?" His ring glinted in the light of the lamp on his desk as he came around the corner. "We are the leaders, the pioneers, powerful and proud, Lieutenant! The WUO and CITE are a bunch of bitches who want to emasculate Germany! They want to throw us in a cage with other slaughter animals. I say "no fucking way!""
    
  "It"s the union, sir," Werner tried, but he only angered the captain.
    
  "Union? Oh, oh, does "union" mean the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics back in the day?" He sat down on his desk directly in front of Werner, lowering his head to the lieutenant"s level. "There"s no room for growth in a fishbowl, my friend. And Germany can"t thrive in a quaint little knitting club where everyone chats and gives gifts over tea. Wake up! They"re restricting us to uniformity and cutting off our balls, my friend! You"re going to help us abolish this atrocity... oppression."
    
  "What if I refuse?" Werner asked stupidly.
    
  "Himmelfarb will get a chance to spend some time alone with sweet Marlene," Schmidt smiled. "Besides, I've already set the stage for a good spanking, as they say. Most of the work is already done. Thanks to one of my trusty drones doing their duty as ordered," Schmidt shouted to Werner, "that bitch Sloan is out of the picture for good. That alone should get the world fired up for a showdown, huh?"
    
  "What? Professor Sloane?" Werner gasped.
    
  Schmidt confirmed the news, running his thumb across his own throat. He laughed proudly and sat down at his desk. "So, Lieutenant Werner, can we-maybe Marlene-count on you?"
    
    
  Chapter 25 - Nina's Journey to Babylon
    
    
  When Nina awoke from a feverish and painful sleep, she found herself in a very different kind of hospital. Her bed, though adjustable like a hospital bed, was cozy and covered in winter linens. It featured some of her favorite design motifs: chocolate, brown, and tan. The walls were adorned with antique Da Vinci-style paintings, and the hospital room was devoid of any reminders of IVs, syringes, basins, or any of the other humiliating devices Nina loathed.
    
  There was a doorbell, which she was forced to press because she was so parched she couldn't reach the water next to her bed. She probably could have, but her skin ached, as if from brain freeze and lightning, dissuading her from the task. Literally a moment after she rang the bell, an exotic-looking nurse in casual clothes walked through the door.
    
  "Hello, Dr. Gould," she greeted cheerfully in a hushed voice. "How are you feeling?"
    
  "I feel terrible. I-I want to go so badly," Nina managed to choke out. She hadn't even realized she could see well enough again until she'd gulped down half a tall glass of fortified water. Having drunk her fill, Nina leaned back on the soft, warm bed and looked around the room, finally settling on the smiling nurse.
    
  "I can see almost completely correctly again," Nina muttered. She would have smiled if she hadn't been so embarrassed. "Um, where am I? You don't speak-or look-any German at all."
    
  The nurse laughed. "No, Dr. Gould. I"m Jamaican, but I live here in Kirkwall as a full-time nurse. I"ve been hired to look after you for the foreseeable future, but there"s a doctor working very hard with his colleagues to get you better."
    
  "They can't. Tell them to give up," Nina said in a frustrated tone. "I have cancer. They told me in Mannheim when the Heidelberg hospital sent my results."
    
  "Well, I'm not a doctor, so I can't tell you anything you don't already know. But what I can tell you is that some scientists don't announce their discoveries or patent their drugs for fear of being boycotted by pharmaceutical companies. That's all I'll say until you talk to Dr. Kate," the nurse advised.
    
  "Dr. Kate? Is this his hospital?" Nina asked.
    
  "No, madam. Dr. Kate is a medical scientist hired to focus exclusively on your illness. And this is a small clinic on the coast of Kirkwall. It"s owned by Scorpio Majorus Holdings, based in Edinburgh. Only a few people know about it." She smiled at Nina. "Now, let me just take your vital signs and see if we can get you comfortable, and then... would you like anything to eat? Or is the nausea still lingering?"
    
  "No," Nina quickly replied, but then exhaled and smiled at the long-awaited discovery. "No, I'm not nauseous at all. In fact, I'm starving." Nina smiled wryly, so as not to aggravate the pain behind her diaphragm and between her lungs. "Tell me, how did I get here?"
    
  "Mr. David Perdue flew you here from Germany so you could receive specialized treatment in a safe environment," the nurse informed Nina, examining her eyes with a flashlight. Nina gently grabbed the nurse's wrist.
    
  "Wait, is Purdue here?" she asked, slightly alarmed.
    
  "No, madam. He asked me to tell you his apologies. Probably for not being here for you," the nurse said to Nina. Yeah, probably for trying to cut my fucking head off in the dark, Nina thought to herself.
    
  "But he was supposed to join Mr. Cleve in Germany for some consortium meeting, so I'm afraid for now you'll be stuck with just us, your little team of medical professionals," a slim, dark-skinned nurse interjected. Nina was captivated by her beautiful complexion and surprisingly unique accent, halfway between London aristocrat and Rasta. "Mr. Cleve is apparently coming to visit you in the next three days, so that's at least one familiar face to look forward to, right?"
    
  "Yes, that"s for sure," Nina nodded, satisfied at least with this news.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  The next day, Nina felt significantly better, though her eyes hadn't yet regained their owl-like power. Her skin felt virtually free of burns or pain, and she was breathing easier. She'd only had a fever once the day before, but it quickly subsided after she was given a light green liquid, which Dr. Kate joked they used on the Hulk before he became famous. Nina thoroughly enjoyed the team's humor and professionalism, perfectly combining positivity and medical science to maximize her well-being.
    
  "So, is it true what they say about steroids?" Sam smiled from the doorway.
    
  "Yes, it's true. All of it. You should have seen how my balls turned into raisins!" she joked, her expression so full of amazement that Sam laughed heartily.
    
  Not wanting to touch her or hurt her, he simply kissed the top of her head gently, smelling the fresh shampoo in her hair. "It's so good to see you, my love," he whispered. "And those cheeks are flushed too. Now we just need to wait until your nose is wet, and you'll be ready to go."
    
  Nina laughed with difficulty, but her smile remained. Sam took her hand and looked around the room. There was a large bouquet of her favorite flowers, tied with a large emerald green ribbon. Sam found it quite striking.
    
  "They tell me it"s just part of the décor, changing the flowers every week and so on," Nina noted, "but I know they"re from Purdue."
    
  Sam didn't want to rock the boat between Nina and Purdue, especially not when she still needed the treatment only Purdue could provide. On the other hand, he knew Purdue had no control over what he'd tried to do to Nina in those pitch-black tunnels beneath Chernobyl. "Well, I tried to get you some moonshine, but your staff confiscated it," he shrugged. "Damn drunks, most of them. Watch out for the sexy nurse. She shivers when she drinks."
    
  Nina giggled along with Sam, but assumed he'd heard about her cancer and was desperately trying to cheer her up with an overdose of pointless nonsense. Since she didn't want to be involved in these painful circumstances, she changed the subject.
    
  "What"s happening in Germany?" she asked.
    
  "Funny you should ask that, Nina," he cleared his throat and pulled his recorder out of his pocket.
    
  "Ooh, audio porn?" she joked.
    
  Sam felt guilty about his motives, but he put a pitying expression on his face and explained, "We actually need help with a little information about a Nazi suicide squadron that apparently destroyed a few bridges..."
    
  "Yes, 200 kg," she interjected before he could continue. "Rumor has it they destroyed seventeen bridges to prevent Soviet troops from crossing. But according to my sources, that's mostly speculation. I only know about KG 200 because I wrote a dissertation on the influence of psychological patriotism on suicide missions in my second year of graduate school."
    
  "What is 200 kg, really?" Sam asked.
    
  "Kampfgeschwader 200," she said a little hesitantly, pointing to the fruit juice on the table behind Sam. He handed her the glass, and she took a few small sips through a straw. "They were tasked with handling a bomb..." she tried to recall the name, looking up at the ceiling, "...called, um, I think...Reichenberg, as I recall. But later they were known as the Leonidas Squadron. Why? They"re all dead and gone."
    
  "Yes, that's true, but you know how we seem to constantly encounter things that are supposed to be dead and gone," he reminded Nina. She couldn't argue with that. At least, she knew as well as Sam and Purdue that the old world and its wizards were alive and well within the modern establishment.
    
  "Please, Sam, don't tell me we're facing a World War II suicide squad still flying their Focke-Wulfs over Berlin," she exclaimed, taking a breath and closing her eyes in mock fear.
    
  "Um, no," he began to fill her in on the crazy facts of the last few days, "but do you remember that pilot who escaped from the hospital?"
    
  "Yes," she answered in a strange tone.
    
  "Do you know what he looked like when you two were on your journey?" Sam asked, so he could figure out exactly how far back to go before he started filling her in on everything that had happened.
    
  "I couldn't see him. At first, when the cops called him Dr. Hilt, I thought he was that monster, you know, the one who was stalking my neighbor. But I realized it was just a poor guy who got burned, probably disguised as a dead doctor," she explained to Sam.
    
  He took a deep breath and wished he could take a drag on his cigarette before telling Nina that she had actually been traveling with a werewolf killer who had only spared her because she was blind as a bat and couldn't point him out.
    
  "Did he say anything about the mask?" Sam wanted to gently skirt the subject, hoping she at least knew about the Babylon Mask. But he was fairly certain LöWenhagen wouldn't accidentally share such a secret.
    
  "What? A mask? Like the mask they put on him to prevent tissue contamination?" she asked.
    
  "No, my love," Sam replied, ready to spill everything they'd been involved in. "An ancient relic. A Babylonian mask. Did he even mention that?"
    
  "No, he never mentioned anything about any other mask than the one they put on his face after applying the antibiotic ointment," Nina clarified, but her frown deepened. "For Christ's sake! Are you going to tell me what that was about or not? Stop asking questions and stop playing with that thing you're holding so I can hear that we're in deep shit again."
    
  "I love you, Nina," Sam chuckled. She must be healing. That kind of wit belonged to the healthy, sexy, angry historian he adored so much. "Okay, first, let me just tell you the names of the people these voices belong to and what their role is in this."
    
  "Okay, go ahead," she said, looking focused. "Oh, God, this is going to be a brain-buster, so just ask if there"s anything you don"t understand..."
    
  "Sam!" she growled.
    
  "Okay. Get ready. Welcome to Babylon."
    
    
  Chapter 26 - Gallery of Faces
    
    
  In dim light, with dead moths clinging to the thick glass lampshades, Lieutenant Dieter Werner accompanied Captain Schmidt to where he would hear a report on the events of the next two days. The day of the treaty signing, October 31st, was approaching, and Schmidt's plan was about to be realized.
    
  He informed his unit of the rendezvous point for the attack he had masterminded-an underground bunker once used by SS men in the area to house their families during Allied bombing raids. He intended to show his chosen commander the hotspot from which he could facilitate the attack.
    
  Werner hadn't heard a word from his beloved Marlene since her hysterical call that exposed the factions and their members. His cell phone was confiscated to prevent him from alerting anyone, and he was kept under Schmidt's strict surveillance around the clock.
    
  "Not far," Schmidt told him impatiently as they turned for the hundredth time into a small corridor that looked like all the others. Still, Werner tried to spot distinguishing features where he could. Finally, they reached a secure door with a digital keypad. Schmidt's fingers were too fast for Werner to remember the code. A few moments later, the thick steel door unlocked and swung open with a deafening clang.
    
  "Come in, Lieutenant," Schmidt invited.
    
  As the door closed behind them, Schmidt turned on a bright white overhead light using a lever on the wall. The lights flickered quickly several times before staying on, illuminating the interior of the bunker. Werner was stunned.
    
  Communication devices were positioned at the corners of the chamber. Red and green digital digits blinked monotonously on panels positioned between two flat computer screens with a single keyboard in between. On the right screen, Werner saw a topographic image of the strike zone, the CIA headquarters in Mosul, Iraq. To the left of this screen was an identical monitor displaying satellite surveillance.
    
  But it was the others in the room who told Werner that Schmidt was deadly serious.
    
  "I knew you knew about the Babylonian mask and its construction before you came to me with your report, so that saves me the time it would take to explain and describe all the 'magical powers' it possesses," Schmidt boasted. "Thanks to some advances in cell science, I know the mask's effects aren't actually magical, but I'm not interested in how it works-only what it does."
    
  "Where is it?" Werner asked, feigning excitement over the relic. "I"ve never seen this before? Am I going to wear it?"
    
  "No, my friend," Schmidt smiled. "I will."
    
  "As who? With Prof. Sloane dead, you'll have no reason to assume the guise of anyone connected to the treaty."
    
  "It"s none of your business who I portray," Schmidt replied.
    
  "But you know what will happen," Werner said, hoping to dissuade Schmidt so he could retrieve the mask himself and give it to Marduk. But Schmidt had other plans.
    
  "I believe it, but there's something that can remove the mask without incident. It's called the Skin. Unfortunately, Neumann didn't bother to pick up this all-important accessory when he stole the mask, the idiot! So, I sent Himmelfarb to violate airspace and land on a secret airstrip eleven klicks north of Nineveh. He must obtain the Skin within the next two days so I can remove the mask before..." he shrugged, "the inevitable."
    
  "What if he fails?" Werner asked, amazed at the risk Schmidt was taking.
    
  "He won't let you down. He has the coordinates of the location and..."
    
  "Excuse me, Captain, but has it ever occurred to you that Himmelfarb might turn against you? He knows the value of the Babylonian mask. Aren't you afraid he'll kill you for it?" Werner asked.
    
  Schmidt turned on the light on the opposite side of the room from where they stood. In its glow, Werner was greeted by a wall full of identical masks. The masks, fashioned in the shape of skulls, hung on the wall, transforming the bunker into something resembling a catacomb.
    
  "Himmelfarb has no idea which one is real, but I do. He knows he can't claim the mask unless he takes the opportunity to remove it while applying the skin to my face, and to make sure it works, I'll hold a gun to his son's head the entire way to Berlin." Schmidt grinned, admiring the images on the wall.
    
  "You did all this to confuse anyone who tried to steal your mask? Brilliant!" Werner remarked sincerely. Crossing his arms over his chest, he walked slowly along the wall, trying to find any discrepancy between them, but it was practically impossible.
    
  "Oh, I didn't make them, Dieter." Schmidt momentarily abandoned his narcissism. "They were attempted replicas, made by scientists and designers of the Order of the Black Sun sometime around 1943. The Babylonian mask was acquired by Renatus of the Order when he was deployed to the Middle East on campaign."
    
  "Renatus?" Werner asked, unfamiliar with the secret organization"s rank system, as very few people were.
    
  "The leader," Schmidt said. "In any case, upon discovering what it was capable of, Himmler immediately ordered a dozen similar masks to be manufactured in a similar manner and experimented with them on Leonidas's unit from KG 200. The plan was for them to attack two specific Red Army units and infiltrate their ranks, posing as Soviet soldiers."
    
  "These very masks?" Werner was amazed.
    
  Schmidt nodded. "Yes, all twelve of them. But it was a failure. The scientists who reproduced the Babylonian mask miscalculated, or, well, I don't know the details," he shrugged. "Instead, the pilots became psychopaths, prone to suicide, and crashed their machines in the camps of various Soviet units instead of completing the mission. Himmler and Hitler didn't care, since it was a failed operation. So, Leonidas's unit went down in history as the only Nazi kamikaze squadron in history."
    
  Werner absorbed all this, trying to formulate a way to avoid the same fate while simultaneously deceiving Schmidt into momentarily lowering his guard. But frankly, there were two days left before the plan was to be implemented, and preventing a catastrophe now would be virtually impossible. He knew a Palestinian pilot from the VVO flying core. If he could contact her, she could prevent Himmelfarb from leaving Iraqi airspace. This would allow him to concentrate on sabotaging Schmidt on the day of the signing.
    
  The radios crackled and a large red spot appeared on the topographic map.
    
  "Ah! Here we are!" Schmidt exclaimed joyfully.
    
  "Who?" Werner asked curiously. Schmidt patted him on the back and led him to the screens.
    
  "We are, my friend. Operation Lion 2. See that blip? That's satellite tracking of the CIA offices in Baghdad. Confirmation for those I'm waiting for will indicate a lockdown for The Hague and Berlin, respectively. Once we have all three in place, your unit will fly to Baghdad, while the other two units of your squadron simultaneously attack the other two cities."
    
  "Oh my God," Werner muttered, staring at the pulsing red button. "Why these three cities? I get The Hague-the summit is supposed to take place there. And Baghdad speaks for itself, but why Berlin? Are you preparing two countries for mutual counterattacks?"
    
  "That's why I chose you as my commander, Lieutenant. You're a natural strategist," Schmidt said triumphantly.
    
  The commander's wall-mounted intercom speaker clicked, and a harsh, agonizing feedback sound echoed throughout the sealed bunker. Both men instinctively covered their ears, wincing until the noise died down.
    
  "Captain Schmidt, this is the Kilo base security guard. There's a woman here who wants to see you, along with her assistant. The paperwork identifies her as Miriam Inkley, the British legal representative for the World Bank office in Germany," said the guard at the gate.
    
  "Now? Without an appointment?" Schmidt shouted. "Tell her to get lost. I"m busy!"
    
  "Oh, I wouldn't do that, sir," Werner argued, convincingly enough for Schmidt to believe he was being completely serious. He whispered to the captain, "I heard she's working for Lieutenant General Meyer. It's probably about the murders committed by Löwenhagen and the press trying to paint us in a bad light."
    
  "God knows I don"t have time for this!" he replied. "Bring them to my office!"
    
  "Should I accompany you, sir? Or do you want me to become invisible?" Werner asked slyly.
    
  "No, of course you have to come with me," Schmidt snapped. He was annoyed at the interruption, but Werner remembered the name of the woman who had helped them create a distraction when they needed to get rid of the police. "Then Sam Cleve and Marduk should be here. I have to find Marlene, but how?" As Werner trudged with his commander to the office, he racked his brain, trying to figure out where he could keep Marlene and how he could escape from Schmidt unnoticed.
    
  "Hurry, Lieutenant," Schmidt ordered. All traces of his former pride and joyful anticipation had vanished, and he had reverted to full tyrant mode. "We don't have time to waste." Werner wondered if he should simply overpower the captain and raid the room. It would be so easy right now. They were between the bunker and the base, underground, where no one would hear the captain's cry for help. On the other hand, by the time they arrived at the base, he knew that Sam's friend Cleve was above ground, and that Marduk probably already knew Werner was in trouble.
    
  However, if he defeated the leader, they could all be exposed. It was a difficult decision. In the past, Werner had often found himself indecisive because the options were too few, but this time there were too many, and each one led to equally difficult results. Not knowing which piece was the real Babylonian Mask also posed a real problem, and time was running out-for the whole world.
    
  Too quickly, before Werner could decide between the pros and cons of the situation, the two of them reached the stairs of a modest office building. Werner climbed the stairs next to Schmidt, with the occasional pilot or administrative employee greeting or saluting him. It would be foolish to stage a coup now. Bid your time. See what opportunities present themselves first, Werner told himself. But Marlene! How will we find her? His emotions warred with his reasoning, while he maintained an inscrutable expression in front of Schmidt.
    
  "Just play along with everything I say, Werner," Schmidt said through clenched teeth as they approached the office, where Werner saw the female reporter and Marduk waiting in their masks. For a split second, he felt free again, as if he had the hope of screaming and subduing his guardian, but Werner knew he had to wait.
    
  The exchange of glances between Marduk, Margaret, and Werner was a quick, veiled confession, far from Captain Schmidt's acute feelings. Margaret introduced herself and Marduk as two aviation lawyers with extensive experience in political science.
    
  "Please, sit down," Schmidt offered, feigning politeness. He tried not to stare at the strange old man who was accompanying the stern, extroverted woman.
    
  "Thank you," Margaret said. "We actually wanted to speak to the real commander of the Luftwaffe, but your security told us that Lieutenant General Meyer is out of the country."
    
  She delivered this offensive blow to the nerves elegantly and with the deliberate intention of slightly irritating the captain. Werner stood stoically at the side of the table, trying not to laugh.
    
    
  Chapter 27 - Susa or War
    
    
  Nina's eyes locked on Sam's as she listened to the last part of the recording. At one point, he feared she stopped breathing as she listened, frowning, concentrating, gasping, and tilting her head to the side throughout the entire soundtrack. When it was over, she simply continued to stare at him. In the background, Nina's television played a news channel, but without sound.
    
  "Damn it!" she suddenly exclaimed. Her hands were covered in needles and tubes from the day's procedure, otherwise she would have buried them in her hair in amazement. "You're telling me that the guy I thought was Jack the Ripper was actually Gandalf the Grey, and that my friend, who slept in the same room with me and walked many miles with me, was a cold-blooded killer?"
    
  "Yes".
    
  "Then why didn"t he kill me too?" Nina thought out loud.
    
  "Your blindness saved your life," Sam told her. "The fact that you were the only person who couldn't see that their face belonged to someone else must have been your saving grace. You weren't a threat to them."
    
  "I never thought I"d be happy being blind. Jesus! Can you imagine what could have happened to me? So where are they all now?"
    
  Sam cleared his throat, a trait Nina had learned by now meant he was uncomfortable with something he was trying to articulate, something that would otherwise sound insane.
    
  "Oh, my gosh," she exclaimed again.
    
  "Look, this is all risky. Purdue is busy assembling teams of hackers in every major city to interfere with satellite broadcasts and radio signals. He wants to prevent news of Sloane's death from spreading too quickly," Sam explained, not holding much hope for Purdue's plan to delay the world's media. However, he hoped that this would be significantly hampered, at least by the vast network of cyberspies and technicians Purdue had at his disposal. "Margaret, the female voice you heard is still in Germany right now. Werner was supposed to notify Marduk when he managed to return Schmidt's mask without Schmidt's knowledge, but he hasn't been heard from by that deadline."
    
  "So he"s dead," Nina shrugged.
    
  "Not necessarily. It just means he failed to get the mask," Sam said. "I don't know if Kol can help him get it, but he seems a little out of it, in my opinion. But since Marduk hadn't heard anything from Werner, he went with Margaret to the Büchel base to see what was going on."
    
  "Tell Perdue to speed up his work on the broadcast systems," Nina told Sam.
    
  "I'm sure they're moving as fast as they can."
    
  "Not fast enough," she countered, nodding toward the television. Sam turned and discovered that the first major network had picked up the report Purdue's people were trying to stop.
    
  "Oh, my God!" Sam exclaimed.
    
  "It won't work, Sam," Nina admitted. "No information agent would care if they started another world war by spreading the news of Professor Sloane's death. You know what they're like! Careless, greedy people. Typical. They'd rather try to steal a reputation for gossip than consider the consequences."
    
  "I wish some of the major newspapers and social media posters would call this a hoax," Sam said disappointedly. "It would be 'he said, she said' long enough to curb the real calls for war."
    
  The TV suddenly faded to black, and a few '80s music videos appeared. Sam and Nina wondered if it was the work of hackers, who were using everything they could get their hands on to delay more reports.
    
  "Sam," she said immediately, her tone softer and more sincere. "What Marduk told you about the skin thing that can remove the mask-does he have that?"
    
  He had no answer. At the time, it didn't even occur to him to ask Marduk more about it.
    
  "I have no idea," Sam replied. "But I can't risk calling him on Margaret's phone right now. Who knows where they are behind enemy lines, you know? It would be a crazy move that could cost us everything."
    
  "I know. I"m just curious," she said.
    
  "Why?" he should have asked.
    
  "Well, you said Margaret had the idea of someone using the mask to take on the appearance of Professor Sloane, even just to sign a peace treaty, right?" Nina recounted.
    
  "Yes, she did," he confirmed.
    
  Nina sighed heavily, contemplating what she was about to serve. Ultimately, it would serve a greater good than just her own well-being.
    
  "Can Margaret connect us to Sloane's office?" Nina asked, as if she were ordering a pizza.
    
  "Purdue can. Why?"
    
  "Let's set up a meeting. The day after tomorrow is Halloween, Sam. One of the greatest days in modern history, and we can't let it get pushed into a corner. If Mr. Marduk can get us the mask," she explained, but Sam began shaking his head vigorously.
    
  "No way! I will never let you do this, Nina," he protested furiously.
    
  "Let me finish!" she screamed as loudly as her battered body could bear. "I'll do it, Sam! This is my decision, and my body is my destiny!"
    
  "Really?" he cried. "And what about the people you"ll leave behind if we can"t get the mask off before it takes you from us?"
    
  "What if I don't do this, Sam? Does the entire globe descend into fucking World War III? One man's life... or the entire planet's children being bombed again? Fathers and brothers are back on the front lines, and God knows what else they'll use technology for this time!" Nina's lungs worked overtime to force the words out.
    
  Sam simply shook his bowed head. He didn't want to admit that it was the best thing he could have done. If it had been any other woman, but not Nina.
    
  "Come on, Clive, you know this is the only way," she said as a nurse ran in.
    
  "Dr. Gould, you can't be so tense. Please leave, Mr. Cleve," she demanded. Nina didn't want to be rude to the medical staff, but she absolutely couldn't leave this matter unresolved.
    
  "Hannah, please let us finish this discussion," Nina pleaded.
    
  "You can barely breathe, Dr. Gould. You can't be getting on your nerves like this and causing your heart rate to skyrocket," Hannah scolded.
    
  "I understand," Nina replied quickly, maintaining a cordial tone. "But please, just give Sam and me a few more minutes."
    
  "What's wrong with the TV?" Hannah asked, puzzled by the constant interruptions and distorted images. "I'll have the repairmen take a look at our antenna." With that, she left the room, casting one last glance at Nina to impress upon her what she had just said. Nina nodded in response.
    
  "Good luck fixing the antenna," Sam smiled.
    
  "Where is Perdue?" Nina asked.
    
  "I told you so. He's busy connecting satellites operated by his umbrella companies to remote access for his secret accomplices."
    
  "I mean, where is he? Is he in Edinburgh? Is he in Germany?"
    
  "Why?" Sam asked.
    
  "Answer me!" she demanded, frowning.
    
  "You didn't want him anywhere near you, so now he's staying away." Now it's out. He said it, incredibly defensive of Perdue to Nina. "He's deeply remorseful for what happened in Chernobyl, and you treated him like shit in Mannheim. What did you expect?"
    
  "Wait, what?" she snapped at Sam. "He tried to kill me! Do you realize the level of mistrust that cultivates?"
    
  "Yes, I believe! I believe. And keep your voice down before Sister Betty comes back in. I know what it's like to be plunged into despair when my life is threatened by those I trusted. You can't believe he would ever intentionally harm you, Nina. For Christ's sake, he loves you!"
    
  He stopped, but it was too late. Nina was disarmed, no matter the cost, but Sam was already regretting his words. The last thing he needed to remind her of was Perdue's relentless pursuit of her affections. In his own opinion, Sam was already inferior to Perdue in many ways. Perdue was a genius with a charm to match, independently wealthy, having inherited estates, mansions, and technologically advanced patents. He had a stellar reputation as a researcher, philanthropist, and inventor.
    
  All Sam had was a Pulitzer Prize and a few other awards and accolades. Besides three books and a small sum of money from his participation in the Purdue treasure hunt, Sam had a penthouse apartment and a cat.
    
  "Answer my question," she said simply, noticing the sting in Sam's eyes at the prospect of losing her. "I promise to behave myself if Purdue helps me contact WUO headquarters."
    
  "We don't even know if Marduk has a mask," Sam was grasping at straws to stop Nina's progress.
    
  "That's wonderful. While we don't know for sure, we can also arrange for me to represent the WUO at the signing so that Professor Sloan's people can arrange logistics and security accordingly." "After all," she sighed, "when a petite brunette shows up, with or without Sloan's face, it would be easier to dismiss the reports as a hoax, right?"
    
  "Purdue is in Reichtisusis as we speak," Sam conceded. "I'll contact him and tell him about your offer."
    
  "Thank you," she replied softly, as the TV screen switched channels on its own, briefly pausing on test signals. Suddenly, it stopped on the global news station, which hadn't yet lost power. Nina's eyes remained glued to the screen, ignoring Sam's sullen silence for the moment.
    
  "Sam, look!" she exclaimed, raising her hand with difficulty to point at the television. Sam turned around. A reporter appeared with her microphone in the CIA office in The Hague behind her.
    
  "Turn it up!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing the remote control and pressing a multitude of wrong buttons before finally increasing the volume in the form of growing green bars on the high-definition screen. By the time they could hear what she was saying, she'd only uttered three sentences.
    
  "...here in The Hague, following reports of the alleged murder of Professor Martha Sloane yesterday at her holiday home in Cardiff. Media outlets were unable to confirm these reports as the professor's representative was unavailable for comment."
    
  "Well, at least they're still unsure of the facts," Nina remarked. The studio report continued, with the news anchor adding more information about another development.
    
  However, in light of the upcoming summit to sign a peace treaty between the Mesoaravian states and the World Bank, the office of the leader of Mesoarabia, Sultan Yunus ibn Meccan, announced a change in plan.
    
  "Yeah, it's starting now. The fucking war," Sam growled, sitting and listening in anticipation.
    
  "The Meso-Arab House of Representatives changed the agreement to be signed in the city of Susa, Mesoarabia, following threats to the Sultan's life from the association."
    
  Nina took a deep breath. "So, it's either Susa or war. Do you still think my wearing the Babylonian Mask isn't crucial to the future of the world as a whole?"
    
    
  Chapter 28 - Marduk's Betrayal
    
    
  Werner knew he wasn't allowed to leave the office while Schmidt was talking to visitors, but he had to find out where Marlene was being held. If he could contact Sam, the journalist could use his contacts to trace the call she made to Werner's cell phone. He was particularly impressed by the British journalist's skillful use of legal jargon, while she deceived Schmidt by posing as a lawyer from WUO headquarters.
    
  Marduk suddenly interrupted the conversation. "My apologies, Captain Schmidt, but may I please use your men's quarters? We were in such a rush to get to your base due to all these rapidly unfolding events that I confess I neglected my bladder."
    
  Schmidt was too useful. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of the VO, since they currently controlled his base and his superiors. Until he staged his fiery coup against their power, he had to obey and kiss ass as necessary to maintain appearances.
    
  "Of course! Of course," Schmidt replied. "Lieutenant Werner, could you please escort our guest to the men's room? And don't forget to ask... Marlene... about access to Block B, okay?"
    
  "Yes, sir," Werner replied. "Please come with me, sir."
    
  "Thank you, Lieutenant. You know, when you reach my age, constant visits to the toilet will become mandatory and protracted. Cherish your youth."
    
  Schmidt and Margaret chuckled at Marduk's remark as Werner followed in Marduk's footsteps. He heeded Schmidt's subtle, coded warning that Marlene's life would be at stake if Werner attempted anything out of his sight. They left the office at a slow pace, emphasizing the ruse and buying more time. Once they were out of earshot, Werner pulled Marduk aside.
    
  "Mr. Marduk, please, you must help me," he whispered.
    
  "That's why I'm here. Your inability to contact me and that less-than-effectively hidden warning from your superior gave it away," Marduk replied. Werner stared at the old man in admiration. It was incredible how perceptive Marduk was, especially for a man his age.
    
  "My God, I love insightful people," Werner finally said.
    
  "Me too, son. Me too. And on that note, did you at least find out where he keeps the Babylon Mask?" he asked. Werner nodded.
    
  "But first we must ensure our absence," Marduk said. "Where is your infirmary?"
    
  Werner had no idea what the old man was up to, but by now he had learned to keep his questions to himself and watch events unfold. "This way."
    
  Ten minutes later, the two men stood in front of the keypad in the cell where Schmidt kept his twisted Nazi dreams and relics. Marduk eyed the door and the keypad. Upon closer inspection, he realized that getting inside would be more difficult than he had initially thought.
    
  "It has a backup circuit that alerts it if anyone tampers with its electronics," Marduk told the lieutenant. "You'll have to go and distract it."
    
  "What? I can"t do this!" Werner whispered and screamed at the same time.
    
  Marduk deceived him with his unceasing calm. "And why not?"
    
  Werner said nothing. He could easily distract Schmidt, especially in the presence of a woman. Schmidt was unlikely to make a fuss about her in their company. Werner had to admit that this was the only way to get the mask.
    
  "How do you know what kind of mask it is?" he finally asked Marduk.
    
  The old man didn't even bother answering. It was so obvious that, as the keeper of the mask, he would have recognized it anywhere. All he had to do was turn his head and look at the young lieutenant. "Tsk-tsk-tsk."
    
  "Okay, okay," Werner admitted it was a stupid question. "Can I use your phone? I need to ask Sam Cleave to track my number."
    
  "Oh! I"m sorry, son. I don"t have one. When you get upstairs, use Margaret"s phone to contact Sam. Then create a real emergency. Say "fire.""
    
  "Of course. Fire. Your thing," Werner remarked.
    
  Ignoring the young man's comment, Marduk explained the rest of the plan. "As soon as I hear the alarm, I'll unlock the keypad. Your captain will have no choice but to evacuate the building. He won't have time to come down here. I'll meet you and Margaret outside the base, so make sure you stay with her at all times."
    
  "Got it," Werner said. "Does Margaret have Sam"s number?"
    
  "They're what they call 'trauchle twins' or something like that," Marduk frowned, "but anyway, yes, she has his number. Now go do your thing. I'll wait for the chaos signal." There was a hint of humor in his tone, but Werner's face was filled with utter concentration on what he was about to do.
    
  Although Marduk and Werner had secured an alibi in the infirmary for their absence for so long, the discovery of the backup circuit necessitated a new plan. However, Werner used it to concoct a plausible story in case he arrived at the office and found Schmidt had already alerted security.
    
  In the opposite direction from the corner where the entrance to the base's infirmary was marked, Werner slipped into the administration archive room. Successful sabotage was necessary not only to save Marlene, but practically to save the world from another war.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  In the small corridor just outside the bunker, Marduk waited for the alarm to sound. Nervously, he was tempted to try fiddling with the keypad, but he refrained from doing so to avoid prematurely capturing Werner. Marduk never imagined that the theft of the Babylonian Mask would provoke such open hostility. Usually, he was able to quickly and discreetly eliminate the mask's thieves, returning to Mosul with the relic unmolested.
    
  With the political scene so fragile and the latest theft motivated by world domination, Marduk believed the situation would inevitably spiral out of control. Never before had he broken into people's homes, deceived them, or even shown his face! Now he felt like a government agent-with a team, no less. He had to admit, for the first time in his life, he was pleased to be accepted into a team, but he simply wasn't the type-or age-for such things. The signal he'd been waiting for arrived without warning. The red lights above the bunker began to flash, a visual, silent alarm. Marduk used his technological knowledge to override the patch he recognized, but he knew this would send a warning to Schmidt without an alternative password. The door opened, revealing a bunker filled with old Nazi artifacts and communication devices. But Marduk wasn't there for anything other than the mask, the most destructive relic of them all.
    
  As Werner had told him, he found the wall hung with thirteen masks, each one a striking resemblance to a Babylonian mask. Marduk ignored subsequent calls from the intercom for evacuation as he inspected each relic. One by one, he examined them with his impressive gaze, prone to meticulously studying details with the intensity of a predator. Each mask was similar to the next: a thin, skull-shaped covering with a dark red interior, replete with a composite material developed by the wizards of science from a cold, cruel era that could not be allowed to be repeated.
    
  Marduk recognized the cursed mark of these scientists, which adorned the wall behind the electronic technology and communications satellite controls.
    
  He chuckled mockingly: "Order of the Black Sun. It"s time for you to step beyond our horizons."
    
  Marduk took the real mask and tucked it under his coat, buttoning the large inner pocket. He needed to hurry to join Margaret and, hopefully, Werner, if the boy hadn't been shot yet. Before stepping out into the reddish glow of the gray cement of the underground corridor, Marduk paused to survey the disgusting room once more.
    
  "Well, now I'm here," he sighed heavily, clutching a steel pipe from the cabinet between his palms. In just six strikes, Peter Marduk destroyed the bunker's electrical grid, along with the computers Schmidt had used to map out attack zones. The power outage, however, wasn't limited to the bunker; it was actually connected to the airbase's administrative building. A complete blackout followed throughout Büchel Air Base, sending the staff into a frenzy.
    
  After the world saw the television report of Sultan Yunus ibn Meccan's decision to change the location of the peace treaty signing, the general consensus was that a world war was looming. While the alleged murder of Professor Martha Sloan remained unclear, it was still a cause for concern for citizens and military personnel worldwide. For the first time, two eternally warring factions were about to make peace, and the event itself was, at best, apprehensive for most viewers worldwide.
    
  Such anxiety and paranoia were commonplace everywhere, so the power outage at the very airbase where an unknown pilot had crashed a fighter jet just a few days earlier sparked panic. Marduk always enjoyed the chaos caused by panicked flight. Confusion always lent a certain air of lawlessness and disregard for protocol to the situation, which served him well in his desire to move undetected.
    
  He slipped down the stairs to the exit, which led to the courtyard where the barracks and administrative buildings converged. Flashlights and soldiers working on generators illuminated the surroundings with a yellow light that permeated every accessible corner of the airbase. Only the mess hall sections were dark, creating an ideal path for Marduk to pass through the secondary gate.
    
  Returning to a convincingly slow limp, Marduk finally made his way through the scurrying military personnel, where Schmidt was shouting orders for the pilots to stand by and for security personnel to lock down the base. Marduk soon reached the gate guard who had first announced his and Margaret's arrival. Looking decidedly miserable, the old man asked the distraught guard, "What's going on? I've lost my way! Can you help? My colleague stepped away from me and..."
    
  "Yes, yes, yes, I remember you. Please just wait by your car, sir," the guard said.
    
  Marduk nodded in agreement. He glanced back again. "So you saw her pass by?"
    
  "No, sir! Please just wait in your car!" the guard shouted, listening to the orders over the wail of alarms and floodlights.
    
  "Okay. See you then," Marduk replied, heading toward Margaret's car, hoping to find her there. His mask pressed against his protruding chest as he quickened his pace toward the car. Marduk felt accomplished, even at peace, as he climbed into Margaret's rental car with the keys he'd taken from her.
    
  Driving away, the sight of the pandemonium in his rearview mirror eluded Marduk, who felt a weight lift from his soul, a profound relief that he could now return to his homeland with the mask he'd found. What the world was doing, with its ever-eroding control and power games, no longer mattered to him. As far as he was concerned, if the human race had become so arrogant and power-hungry that even the prospect of harmony had turned to heartlessness, perhaps extinction was long overdue.
    
    
  Chapter 29 - The Purdue Tab Launched
    
    
  Perdue was reluctant to speak with Nina in person, so he remained at his mansion, Raichtisusis. From there, he continued to organize the media blackout Sam had requested. But the researcher had no intention of becoming a reclusive, self-pitying individual just because his former lover and friend, Nina, was avoiding him. In fact, Perdue had some plans of his own for the inevitable troubles that began to loom on Halloween.
    
  Once his network of hackers, broadcast experts, and semi-criminal activists was connected to the media block, he was free to initiate his own plans. His work was hampered by personal issues, but he learned not to let emotions interfere with more tangible tasks. While researching the second story, surrounded by checklists and travel documents, he received a notification via Skype. It was Sam.
    
  "How are things at Casa Purdue this morning?" Sam asked. His voice was cheerful, but his face was deadly serious. If it had been a simple phone call, Purdue would have thought Sam the embodiment of cheerfulness.
    
  "Great Scott, Sam," Perdue was forced to exclaim when he saw the journalist's bloodshot eyes and luggage. "I thought I was the one who didn't sleep anymore. You look worn out in a very alarming way. Is that Nina?"
    
  "Oh, it's always Nina, my friend," Sam replied with a sigh, "but not just in the way that she usually drives me crazy. This time, she took it to a whole new level."
    
  "Oh my God," Perdue muttered, bracing himself for the news, sucking down a sip of black coffee that had gone horribly bad from the lack of heat. He winced at the gritty taste, but he was more worried about Sam's call.
    
  "I know you don"t want to deal with anything involving her right now, but I have to beg you to at least help me brainstorm around her proposal," Sam said.
    
  "Are you in Kirkwall now?" asked Purdue.
    
  "Yes, but not for long. Did you listen to the recording I sent you?" Sam asked wearily.
    
  "I did. It"s absolutely mesmerizing. Are you going to publish this for the Edinburgh Post? I believe Margaret Crosby was harassing you after I left Germany." Purdue chuckled, inadvertently torturing himself with another sip of rancid caffeine. "Bluff!"
    
  "I've thought about that," Sam replied. "If it were simply about the murders at the Heidelberg hospital or corruption in the Luftwaffe high command, yes. It would be a good step toward maintaining my reputation. But right now, that's of secondary importance. The reason I'm asking if you've learned the secrets of the mask is because Nina wants to wear it."
    
  Purdue's eyes flickered in the bright light of the screen, turning a damp gray as he stared at Sam's image. "Excuse me?" he said, not flinching.
    
  "I know. She asked you to contact WUO and have Sloan's people adapt... some kind of agreement," Sam explained, his tone devastated. "Now I know you're mad at her and all..."
    
  "I"m not mad at her, Sam. I just need to distance myself from her for both of our sakes-hers and mine. But I"m not resorting to the childish silence just because I want a break from someone. I still consider Nina my friend. And you, for that matter. So, whatever you two need me for, the least I can do is listen," Perdue told his friend. "I can always back out if I think it"s a bad idea."
    
  "Thank you, Purdue," Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God you have more reasons than she does."
    
  "So she wants me to use my connection with the professor. Sloan's financial administration is pulling some strings, right?" the billionaire asked.
    
  "Right," Sam nodded.
    
  "And then? Does she know the Sultan has requested a change of location?" Perdue asked, taking his cup but realizing in time that he didn't want what was in it.
    
  "She knows. But she's adamant about accepting Sloane's face to sign the treaty, even in the middle of ancient Babylonia. The problem is getting the skin to peel off," Sam said.
    
  "Just ask that Marduk guy on the recording, Sam. I was under the impression you two were in touch?"
    
  Sam looked upset. "He's gone, Purdue. He was planning to infiltrate Buchel Air Force Base with Margaret Crosby to retrieve the mask from Captain Schmidt. Lieutenant Werner was supposed to do the same, but he couldn't..." Sam paused for a long moment, as if he had to force the next words out. "So, we have no idea how to find Marduk to borrow the mask for the treaty signing."
    
  "Oh my God," Perdue exclaimed. After a brief pause, he asked, "How did Marduk leave the base?"
    
  "He rented Margaret's car. Lieutenant Werner was supposed to escape the base with Marduk and Margaret after they got the mask, but he just abandoned them there and took her with...ah!" Sam understood immediately. "You're a genius! I'll send you her data so we can find traces of her on the car."
    
  "Always on top of technology, old coot," Perdue boasted. "Technology is God's nervous system."
    
  "Quite possibly," Sam agreed. "These are pages of knowledge... And now I know all this because Werner called me less than 20 minutes ago, also asking for your help." Even as he said all this, Sam couldn't shake the guilt he felt for placing so much faith in Purdue after his efforts had been so unceremoniously condemned by Nina Gould.
    
  Purdue was surprised, if anything. "Wait a second, Sam. Let me get my notes and pen."
    
  "Are you keeping score?" Sam asked. "If you"re not, I think you should. I"m not feeling well, man."
    
  "I know. And you look just like you sound. No offense," Perdue said.
    
  "Dave, you can call me a piece of shit right now and I wouldn't care. Just please tell me you can help us with this," Sam pleaded, his large, dark eyes downcast and his hair disheveled.
    
  "So what do I do for the lieutenant?" Perdue asked.
    
  "When he returned to base, he learned that Schmidt had sent Himmelfarb, one of the men in the film 'The Defector,' to capture and hold his girlfriend. "And we were supposed to take care of her because she was Nina's nurse in Heidelberg," Sam explained.
    
  "Okay, points for the lieutenant's girlfriend, what's her name?" Perdue asked, pen in hand.
    
  "Marlene. Marlene Marx. They forced her to call Werner after they killed the doctor she was assisting. The only way we can find her is to trace her call to his cell phone."
    
  "Got it. I'll forward the information to him. Text me his number."
    
  On the screen, Sam was already shaking his head. "No, Schmidt has his phone. I'm sending you his number for tracking, but you can't contact him there, Purdue."
    
  "Oh, hell, sure. Then I'll forward it to you. When he calls, you can give it to him. Okay, then let me handle these tasks, and I'll get back to you with the results soon."
    
  "Thank you so much, Perdue," Sam said, looking exhausted but grateful.
    
  "No problem, Sam. Kiss Fury for me and try not to get your eyes scratched out." Perdue smiled as Sam giggled mockingly back before disappearing into the darkness in a flash. Perdue was still smiling after the screen went black.
    
    
  Chapter 30 - Desperate Measures
    
    
  Although media broadcast satellites were largely inoperative across the board, some radio signals and websites remained, infecting the world with a plague of uncertainty and exaggeration. On the remaining social media profiles that hadn't yet been blocked, people reported panic caused by the current political climate, along with reports of assassinations and threats of World War III.
    
  With servers in the planet's major hubs damaged, people everywhere naturally jumped to the worst possible conclusions. Some reports claimed the internet was under attack by a powerful group of everything from aliens planning to invade Earth to the Second Coming. Some of the more foolish ones believed the FBI was responsible, somehow believing that it was more useful for national intelligence to "crash the internet." And so, citizens of every country took to the streets to express their discontent in whatever way they could.
    
  Major cities were engulfed in unrest, and city halls were forced to account for communications embargoes they couldn't. Atop the World Bank Tower in London, a distraught Lisa looked down on a bustling city rife with discord. Lisa Gordon was second in command of an organization that had recently lost its leader.
    
  "My God, just look at this," she said to her personal assistant, leaning against the glass window of her 22nd-floor office. "Human beings are worse than wild animals when they have no leaders, no teachers, no authorized representative of any kind. Have you noticed?"
    
  She watched the plunder from a safe distance, but still wished she could talk some sense into them all. "As soon as order and leadership in countries falter even slightly, citizens will think destruction is the only alternative. I"ve never been able to understand this. There are too many different ideologies, spawned by fools and tyrants." She shook her head. "We all speak different languages and yet try to live together. God help us. This is a real Babylon."
    
  "Dr. Gordon, the Mesoarabian consulate is on Line 4. They need confirmation for Professor Sloane's appointment at the Sultan's palace in Susa tomorrow," the personal assistant said. "Should I still use the excuse that she's ill?"
    
  Lisa turned to face her assistant. "Now I know why Marta complained earlier about having to make all the decisions. Tell them she'll be there. I'm not about to shoot this hard-earned initiative in the foot just yet. Even if I have to go there myself and beg for peace, I won't let it go because of terrorism."
    
  "Dr. Gordon, there's a gentleman on your main line. He has a very important proposal for us regarding the peace treaty," the secretary said, peeking around the door.
    
  "Hayley, you know we don't take calls from the public here," Lisa reprimanded.
    
  "He says his name is David Perdue," the secretary added reluctantly.
    
  Lisa turned around abruptly. "Connect him to my desk immediately, please."
    
  Lisa was more than a little perplexed when she heard Perdue's suggestion that they use an impostor to take Professor Sloan's place. Of course, he didn't include the ridiculous use of a mask to assume a woman's identity. That would have been a bit too creepy. Nevertheless, the suggestion of a substitution shocked Lisa Gordon's feelings.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, as much as we at WUO Britain appreciate your continued generosity to our organization, you must understand that such an act would be fraudulent and unethical. And, as I'm sure you understand, these are the very practices we oppose. It would make us look like hypocrites."
    
  "Of course I know," Perdue replied. "But think about it, Dr. Gordon. How far are you willing to bend the rules to achieve peace? Here's a sick woman-and didn't you use her illness as a scapegoat to prevent confirmation of Martha's death? And this lady, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Martha, proposes to mislead the right people for just a moment in history to establish your organization within her branches."
    
  "I-I w-should... think about it, Mr. Purdue," she stammered, still unable to make a decision.
    
  "You better hurry, Dr. Gordon," Perdue reminded her. "The signing is tomorrow, in another country, and time is running out."
    
  "I'll contact you as soon as I speak with our advisers," she told Perdue. Deep down, Lisa knew this was the best solution; no, the only one. The alternative would be too costly, and she would have to decisively weigh her morals against the common good. It wasn't really a competition. At the same time, Lisa knew that if she were discovered plotting such a deception, she would be held accountable and likely charged with treason. Forgery was one thing, but being a knowing accomplice to such a political travesty-she would be tried for nothing less than public execution.
    
  "Are you still here, Mr. Purdue?" she suddenly exclaimed, looking at the phone system on her desk as if his face were reflected there.
    
  "I am. Should I make arrangements?" he asked cordially.
    
  "Yes," she confirmed firmly. "And this must never come to the surface, you understand?"
    
  "My dear Dr. Gordon, I thought you knew me better than that," Perdue replied. "I will send Dr. Nina Gould and a bodyguard to Susa on my private jet. My pilots will use WUO clearance, provided the passenger is indeed Professor Sloan."
    
  After they finished talking, Lisa found herself oscillating between relief and horror. She paced her office, hunched over and her arms folded tightly across her chest, pondering what she'd just agreed to. She mentally checked every reason, ensuring each was covered by a plausible excuse in case the charade was exposed. For the first time, she welcomed the media delays and constant power outages, unaware that she'd been in cahoots with those responsible.
    
    
  Chapter 31 - Whose Face Would You Wear?
    
    
  Lieutenant Dieter Werner was relieved, apprehensive, but nevertheless elated. He contacted Sam Cleave from the prepaid phone he'd purchased while fleeing the airbase, marked by Schmidt as a deserter. Sam gave him the coordinates of Marlene's last call, and he hoped she was still there.
    
  "Berlin? Thank you very much, Sam!" Werner said, standing alone on a cold Mannheim night at a gas station where he was filling up his brother's car. He'd asked his brother to lend him his car, as the military police would be looking for his jeep ever since it escaped Schmidt's clutches.
    
  "Call me as soon as you find her, Dieter," Sam said. "I hope she's alive and well."
    
  "I will, I promise. And tell Purdue a million thanks for finding her," he told Sam before hanging up.
    
  Yet Werner couldn't believe Marduk's deception. He was dissatisfied with himself for even thinking he could trust the very man who had deceived him during his interview at the hospital.
    
  But now he had to drive as fast as he could to reach the factory called Kleinschaft Inc. on the outskirts of Berlin, where his Marlene was being held. With every mile he traveled, he prayed she was unharmed, or at least alive. In a holster on his hip was his personal firearm, a Makarov, which he had received as a gift from his brother for his twenty-fifth birthday. He was ready for Himmelfarb, if the coward still had the nerve to stand up and fight when confronted by a true soldier.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Meanwhile, Sam helped Nina prepare for her trip to Susa, Iraq. They were scheduled to arrive there the next day, and Purdue had already arranged the flight after receiving a very cautious green light from the deputy commander of the EMD, Dr. Lisa Gordon.
    
  "Are you nervous?" Sam asked as Nina emerged from the room, beautifully dressed and groomed, just like the late Professor Sloan. "Oh my God, you look so much like her... If only I didn't know you."
    
  "I'm really nervous, but I just keep telling myself two things. This is for the good of the world, and it'll only take fifteen minutes before I'm done," she admitted. "I heard they were playing the pain card in her absence. Well, they have one point of view."
    
  "You know you don"t have to do this, darling," he told her one last time.
    
  "Oh, Sam," she sighed. "You're relentless, even when you lose."
    
  "I see you're not the least bit bothered by your competitive streak, even from a common-sense perspective," he remarked, taking her bag. "Come on, a car is waiting to take us to the airport. In a few hours, you'll make history."
    
  "Are we meeting her people in London or in Iraq?" she asked.
    
  "Purdue said they'll meet us at the CIA rendezvous in Susa. There, you'll spend some time with the de facto successor to the WUO reins, Dr. Lisa Gordon. Now remember, Nina, Lisa Gordon is the only one who knows who you are and what we're doing, okay? Don't slip up," he said as they slowly walked out into the white fog that drifted in the cold air.
    
  "Got it. You worry too much," she snorted, adjusting her scarf. "By the way, where is the great architect?"
    
  Sam frowned.
    
  "Perdue, Sam, where is Perdue?" she repeated as they set off.
    
  "The last time I talked to him, he was home, but he's Purdue, always up to something." He smiled and shrugged. "How are you feeling?"
    
  "My eyes are almost completely healed. You know, when I listened to the recording and Mr. Marduk said that people who wear masks go blind, I wondered if that's what he must have been thinking that night when he visited me at my hospital bedside. Maybe he thought I was Sa... Löwenhagen... pretending to be a chick."
    
  It wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded, Sam thought. In fact, it might actually be true. Nina had told him that Marduk had asked her if she'd been hiding her roommate, so it could very well have been a genuine guess on Peter Marduk's part. Nina rested her head on Sam's shoulder, and he leaned awkwardly to the side so she could reach him low enough.
    
  "What would you do?" she asked suddenly, over the muffled hum of the car. "What would you do if you could wear anyone"s face?"
    
  "I hadn"t even thought about it," he admitted. "I suppose it depends."
    
  "Is it on?"
    
  "It depends on how long I can keep this man's face," Sam teased.
    
  "Just for a day, but you don't have to kill them or die at the end of the week. You just get their face for a day, and after twenty-four hours, it comes off and you have your own again," she whispered softly.
    
  "I suppose I should say I'd disguise myself as some important person and do good," Sam began, wondering how honest he should be. "I should be Purdue, I guess."
    
  "Why the hell do you want to be Purdue?" Nina asked, sitting down. Oh, great. Now you've done it, Sam thought. He thought about the real reasons he'd chosen Purdue, but they were all reasons he didn't want to reveal to Nina.
    
  "Sam! Why Purdue?" she insisted.
    
  "He has everything," he replied at first, but she remained silent and noticed, so Sam elaborated. "Purdue can do anything. He"s too infamous to be a benevolent saint, but too ambitious to be nothing. He"s smart enough to invent wondrous machines and gadgets that could transform medical science and technology, but he"s too humble to patent them and profit from them. Using his wits, his reputation, his connections, and his money, he can literally achieve anything. I would use his face to propel me to higher goals than my simpler mind, meager finances, and insignificance could achieve."
    
  He expected a sharp reassessment of his warped priorities and misplaced goals, but instead Nina leaned in and kissed him hard. Sam's heart fluttered at the unexpected gesture, but it literally went wild at her words.
    
  "Save face, Sam. You have the one thing Purdue wants, the one thing for which all his genius, money, and influence will gain him nothing."
    
    
  Chapter 32 - The Shadow's Proposal
    
    
  Peter Marduk wasn't bothered by the events unfolding around him. He was used to people behaving like maniacs, thrashing around like derailed locomotives whenever something beyond their control reminded them how little power they had. With his hands shoved into his coat pockets and a wary look from beneath his fedora, he walked through panicked strangers at the airport. Many of them were heading home in case of a nationwide shutdown of all services and transportation. Having lived through many eras, Marduk had seen it all before. He'd lived through three wars. In the end, everything always straightened out and flowed to another part of the world. He knew war would never end. It would only lead to displacement. In his view, peace was a delusion, invented by those tired of fighting for what they had or organizing tournaments to win arguments. Harmony was nothing more than a myth, invented by cowards and religious fanatics who hoped that by spreading faith they would earn the title of heroes.
    
  "Your flight has been delayed, Mr. Marduk," the check-in clerk told him. "We expect all flights to be delayed due to this latest situation. Flights will only be available tomorrow morning."
    
  "No problem. I can wait," he said, ignoring her scrutiny of his strange facial features, or rather, lack thereof. Peter Marduk, meanwhile, decided to rest in his hotel room. He was too old, and his body too bony, for prolonged sitting. This would be enough for the flight home. He checked into the Hotel Cologne Bonn and ordered dinner through room service. The anticipation of a well-deserved night's sleep without worrying about a mask or having to curl up on the basement floor awaiting a murderous thief was a delightful change of scenery for his tired old bones.
    
  As the electronic door closed behind him, Marduk's powerful eyes saw a silhouette sitting in a chair. He didn't require much light, but his right hand slowly cupped the skull-like face beneath his coat. It was easy to guess that the intruder had come for the relic.
    
  "You will have to kill me first," Marduk said calmly, and he meant every word.
    
  "That wish is within my reach, Mister Marduk. I am inclined to grant it immediately if you do not agree to my demands," the figure said.
    
  "For God's sake, let me hear your demands so I can get some sleep. I haven't had any peace since another treacherous race of humans stole her from my home," Marduk complained.
    
  "Please sit down. Rest. I can leave here without incident and let you sleep, or I can relieve your burden forever and still leave with what I came for," said the uninvited guest.
    
  "Oh, you think so?" The old man chuckled.
    
  "I assure you of it," the other told him categorically.
    
  "My friend, you know as much as anyone who comes for the Babylon Mask. And that's nothing. You're so blinded by your greed, your desires, your revenge...whatever else you could possibly want, using someone else's face. Blind! All of you!" He sighed, plopping down comfortably on the bed in the darkness.
    
  "So that"s why the mask blinds the Masked One?" the stranger asked.
    
  "Yes, I believe its creator intended some form of metaphorical message," Marduk replied, kicking off his shoes.
    
  "And madness?" the uninvited guest asked again.
    
  "Son, you can demand as much information about this relic as you want before you kill me and take it, but you'll achieve nothing. It will kill you or whoever you trick into wearing it, but the fate of the Masker cannot be changed," Marduk advised.
    
  "That is, not without skin," the attacker explained.
    
  "Not without skin," Marduk agreed, his words slow and morose. "That's true. And if I die, you'll never know where to find the Skin. Besides, it doesn't work on its own, so just give it up, son. Go your way and leave the mask to cowards and charlatans."
    
  "Would you sell this?"
    
  Marduk couldn't believe what he was hearing. He burst into a delightful roar of laughter that filled the room like the agonized screams of a torture victim. The silhouette didn't move, nor did it take any action or admit defeat. It simply waited.
    
  The old Iraqi sat up and turned on the bedside lamps. A tall, thin man with white hair and light blue eyes sat in the chair. In his left hand, he held a .44 Magnum pistol firmly, aimed straight at the old man's heart.
    
  "Now we all know that using skin from a donor's face alters the masker's face," Perdue said. "But I happen to know..." He leaned forward to speak in a softer, more intimidating tone, "that the real prize is the other half of the coin. I can shoot you in the heart and take your mask, but what I need most is your skin."
    
  Gasping in amazement, Peter Marduk stared at the only man who had ever uncovered the secret of the Babylonian Mask. Frozen in place, he stared at the European with the large pistol, sitting in quiet patience.
    
  "How much does it cost?" Perdue asked.
    
  "You can"t buy a mask, and you certainly can"t buy my skin!" Marduk exclaimed in horror.
    
  "Not buy. Rent," Perdue corrected, duly confusing the old man.
    
  "Are you in your right mind?" Marduk frowned. It was an honest question to a man whose motives he genuinely couldn't understand.
    
  "For using your mask for one week and then removing the skin from your face to remove it within the first day, I will pay for a full skin graft and facial reconstruction," Perdue offered.
    
  Marduk was perplexed. He was speechless. He wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity of the proposal and ridicule the man's idiotic principles, but the more he turned the sentence over in his mind, the more sense it made.
    
  "Why a week?" he asked.
    
  "I want to study its scientific properties," Perdue replied.
    
  "The Nazis tried that too. They failed miserably!" the old man scoffed.
    
  Purdue shook his head. "My motive is pure curiosity. As a relic collector and scholar, I just want to know... how. I like my face the way it is, and I have a strange desire not to die of dementia."
    
  "And on the first day?" asked the old man, even more surprised.
    
  "Tomorrow, a very dear friend needs to make an important appearance. That she's willing to risk it is of historic significance in bringing about a temporary peace between two long-time enemies," Perdue explained, lowering the barrel of his pistol.
    
  "Dr. Nina Gould," Marduk realized, speaking her name with soft reverence.
    
  Perdue, relieved that Marduk knew, continued, "If the world learns that Professor Sloane was truly murdered, they will never believe the truth: that she was killed on the orders of a senior German officer to frame Meso-Arabia. You know that. They will remain blind to the truth. They see only what their masks allow-tiny binocular images of the bigger picture. Mr. Marduk, I am absolutely serious about my proposal."
    
  After some thought, the old man sighed. "But I"m going with you."
    
  "I wouldn"t have it any other way," Perdue smiled. "There."
    
  He threw a written agreement on the table, stipulating the terms and timeframe for the "item" that was never mentioned to ensure that no one would ever find out about the mask in this way.
    
  "Contract?" Marduk exclaimed. "Seriously, son?"
    
  "I may not be a killer, but I am a businessman," Perdue smiled. "Sign this agreement of ours so we can get some damn rest. At least for now."
    
    
  Chapter 33 - Judah's Reunion
    
    
  Sam and Nina sat in a heavily guarded room, just an hour before their meeting with the Sultan. She looked quite unwell, but Sam refrained from prying. However, according to the staff in Mannheim, Nina's radiation exposure wasn't the cause of her fatal condition. Her breath hissed as she tried to inhale, and her eyes remained slightly milky, but her skin had now completely healed. Sam wasn't a doctor, but he could see that something was amiss, both in Nina's health and in her abstinence.
    
  "You probably can't handle my breathing around you, hey?" he played.
    
  "Why do you ask?" she frowned, adjusting the velvet necklace to match the photographs of Sloane provided by Lisa Gordon. They included a grotesque specimen Gordon hadn't wanted to know about, even after Sloane's funeral director had been ordered to produce it through a dubious court order from Scorpio Majorus Holdings.
    
  "You don"t smoke anymore, so my tobacco breath must be driving you crazy," he asked.
    
  "No," she replied, "just annoying words that come out so breathily."
    
  "Professor Sloane?" a heavily accented female voice called from the other side of the door. Sam elbowed Nina hard, forgetting how fragile she was. He held out his hands apologetically. "I'm so sorry!"
    
  "Yes?" Nina asked.
    
  "Your retinue should be here in less than an hour," the woman said.
    
  "Oh, um, thank you," Nina replied. She whispered to Sam. "My entourage. They must be Sloan's representatives."
    
  "Yes".
    
  "Also, there are two gentlemen here who say they are part of your personal security detail, along with Mr. Cleave," the woman said. "Are you expecting Mr. Marduk and Mr. Kilt?"
    
  Sam burst out laughing, but held back his laughter, covering his mouth with his hand. "Kilt, Nina. It must be Purdue, for reasons I refuse to share."
    
  "I shudder at the thought," she replied, and turned to the woman: "That"s true, Yasmin. I was expecting them. In fact..."
    
  The two entered the room, pushing past the burly Arab guards to get inside.
    
  "...they were late!"
    
  The door closed behind them. There were no formalities, since Nina hadn't forgotten the blow she'd received in the Heidelberg hospital, and Sam hadn't forgotten Marduk's betrayal of their trust. Perdue picked up on this and cut it off immediately.
    
  "Come on, kids. We can form a group after we change history and manage to avoid arrest, okay?"
    
  They reluctantly agreed. Nina averted her eyes from Purdue, not giving him a chance to make things right.
    
  "Where is Margaret, Peter?" Sam asked Marduk. The old man shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't bring himself to tell the truth, even though they deserved to hate him for it.
    
  "We," he sighed, "split up. I couldn't find the lieutenant either, so I decided to abandon the entire mission. I was wrong to just leave, but you have to understand. I'm so tired of guarding this damned mask, chasing after those who take it. No one was supposed to know about it, but a Nazi researcher studying the Babylonian Talmud stumbled upon older texts from Mesopotamia, and word of the Mask came to light." Marduk took out the mask and held it in the light between them. "I'd just like to get rid of it once and for all."
    
  A sympathetic expression appeared on Nina's face, making her already tired appearance even worse. It was easy to tell she was far from recovered, but they tried to keep their concerns to themselves.
    
  "I called her at the hotel. She didn't come back and didn't check out," Sam seethed. "If anything happens to her, Marduk, I swear to Christ, I'll personally..."
    
  "We have to do this. Now!" Nina snapped them out of their reverie with a stern statement: "Before I lose my temper."
    
  "She needs to transform in front of Dr. Gordon and the other professors. Sloan's men are arriving, so how do we do that?" Sam asked the old man. In response, Marduk simply handed Nina the mask. She couldn't wait to touch it, so she took it from him. All she remembered was that she had to do this to save the peace treaty. She was dying anyway, so if the removal didn't work, her due date would simply be pushed back a few months.
    
  Looking at the inside of the mask, Nina winced through the tears that clouded her eyes.
    
  "I'm scared," she whispered.
    
  "We know, love," Sam said soothingly, "but we won't let you die like this...like this..."
    
  Nina had already realized they hadn't heard about the cancer, but Sam's choice of words was unintentionally intrusive. With a calm, determined expression, Nina picked up the container containing Sloan's photographs and, with tweezers, extracted the grotesque contents. They all let the task at hand overshadow the disgusting act as they watched a piece of skin from Martha Sloan's body slip into the mask.
    
  Intrigued beyond words, Sam and Perdue huddled together to see what would happen. Marduk simply stared at the clock on the wall. Inside the mask, the tissue sample instantly disintegrated, and across the normally bone-colored surface, the mask took on a deep red hue that seemed to come to life. A fine ripple ran across the surface.
    
  "Don"t waste time, or it will run out," Marduk warned.
    
  Nina caught her breath. "Happy Halloween," she said, grimacing as she hid her face behind her mask.
    
  Perdue and Sam were anxiously awaiting the hellish contortion of the facial muscles, the furious bulging of the glands, and the wrinkling of the skin, but they were disappointed. Nina squealed slightly when her hands released the mask, leaving it stuck to her face. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, other than her reaction.
    
  "Oh my god, this is creepy! This is driving me crazy!" she panicked, but Marduk came over and sat next to her for some emotional support.
    
  "Relax. What you're feeling is the fusion of cells, Nina. I believe it will sting a little from the stimulation of the nerve endings, but you must allow it to take shape," he coaxed.
    
  Before Sam and Purdue's eyes, the thin mask simply reshuffled its composition to harmonize with Nina's face, until it gracefully sank beneath her skin. Nina's barely discernible features transformed into Martha's, until the woman before them became an exact replica of the one in the photograph.
    
  "It's not fucking real," Sam marveled, watching. Purdue's mind was overwhelmed by the molecular structure of the entire transformation, both chemically and biologically.
    
  "This is better than science fiction," Purdue muttered, leaning in to examine Nina's face closely. "It's mesmerizing."
    
  "Both rude and creepy. Don't forget that," Nina said carefully, unsure of her ability to speak as she assumed the other woman's face.
    
  "It's Halloween, after all, my love," Sam smiled. "Just pretend you look really, really good in your Martha Sloan costume." Purdue nodded with a slight grin, but he was too absorbed in the scientific miracle he was witnessing to do anything else.
    
  "Where is the skin?" she asked through Martha"s lips. "Please tell me you have it here."
    
  Perdue had to answer her whether they observed public radio silence or not.
    
  "I have skin, Nina. Don't worry about it. Once the contract is signed..." He paused, allowing her to fill in the blanks.
    
  Shortly after, Professor Sloan's men arrived. Dr. Lisa Gordon was nervous, but hid it well beneath her professional demeanor. She informed Sloan's immediate family that she was ill and shared the same news with her staff. Due to a condition affecting her lungs and throat, she would be unable to deliver her speech, but she would still be present to seal the agreement with Mesoarabia.
    
  Leading a small group of press agents, lawyers, and bodyguards, she headed straight for the section labeled "Dignitaries on Private Visits," a knot in her stomach. The historical symposium was just minutes away, and she had to make sure everything went according to plan. Entering the room where Nina waited with her companions, Lisa maintained her playful expression.
    
  "Oh, Martha, I'm so nervous!" she exclaimed, seeing a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Sloan. Nina simply smiled. As Lisa had requested, she wasn't allowed to speak; she had to keep up the charade in front of Sloan's people.
    
  "Give us a minute, okay?" Lisa told her team. As soon as they closed the door, her whole demeanor changed. Her jaw dropped at the look on the face of a woman she could have sworn was her friend and colleague. "Damn it, Mr. Purdue, you're not kidding!"
    
  Perdue smiled warmly. "Always a pleasure to see you, Dr. Gordon."
    
  Lisa explained to Nina the basics of what was needed, how to accept ads, and so on. Then came the part that had been worrying Lisa the most.
    
  "Dr. Gould, I understand you've been practicing forging her signature?" Lisa asked very quietly.
    
  "I have. I think I've managed it, but because of the illness, my hands are a little less steady than usual," Nina replied.
    
  "That's wonderful. We made sure everyone knew Martha was very ill and had some mild tremors during her treatment," Lisa replied. "That would help explain any discrepancies in the signature, so that, with God's help, we could pull this off without incident."
    
  Press representatives from all major broadcasters were present in the media room in Susa, especially since all satellite systems and stations had been miraculously restored by 2:15 a.m. that day.
    
  As Professor Sloane emerged from the hallway to enter the meeting room with the Sultan, the cameras simultaneously turned toward her. Flashes from long-lens high-definition cameras cast bright light on the faces and clothing of the escorting leaders. Tensed, the three men responsible for Nina's well-being stood watching the proceedings on a monitor in the locker room.
    
  "She'll be fine," Sam said. "She's even been practicing Sloane's accent, in case she needs to answer any questions." He looked at Marduk. "And once this is over, you and I are going to find Margaret Crosby. I don't care what you have to do or where you have to go."
    
  "Watch your tone, son," Marduk replied. "Keep in mind that without me, dear Nina won't be able to restore her image or preserve her life for long."
    
  Perdue nudged Sam to repeat the plea for friendliness. Sam's phone rang, breaking the tense atmosphere in the room.
    
  "This is Margaret," Sam announced, glaring at Marduk.
    
  "See? She"s fine," Marduk replied indifferently.
    
  When Sam answered, it wasn't Margaret's voice on the line.
    
  "Sam Cleve, I presume?" Schmidt hissed, lowering his voice. Sam immediately put the call on speakerphone so the others could hear.
    
  "Yes, where"s Margaret?" Sam asked, wasting no time on the obvious nature of the call.
    
  "That's not your concern right now. You're worried about where she'll end up if you don't comply," Schmidt said. "Tell that impostor bitch with the Sultan to abandon her mission, or tomorrow you can pick up another impostor bitch with a shovel."
    
  Marduk looked shocked. He never imagined his actions would lead to the death of a beautiful lady, but now it was a reality. His hand covered the lower half of his face as he listened to Margaret scream in the background.
    
  "Are you watching from a safe distance?" Sam challenged Schmidt. "Because if you're anywhere within my reach, I won't give you the satisfaction of putting a bullet in your thick Nazi skull."
    
  Schmidt laughed with arrogant enthusiasm. "What are you going to do, paper boy? Write an article expressing your dissatisfaction, slandering the Luftwaffe."
    
  "Close," Sam replied. His dark eyes met Purdue"s. Without a word, the billionaire understood. Holding the tablet in his hand, he silently entered the security code and continued checking Margaret"s phone"s GPS while Sam battled the commander. "I"ll do what I do best. I"ll expose you. More than anyone else, you"ll be exposed as the depraved, power-hungry wannabe you are. You"ll never be Meyer, buddy. The lieutenant general is the leader of the Luftwaffe, and his reputation will ensure the world has a high opinion of the German armed forces, not some impotent man who thinks he can manipulate the world."
    
  Perdue smiled. Sam knew he had found a heartless commander.
    
  "Sloane is signing this treaty as we speak, so your efforts are pointless. Even if you killed everyone you're holding, it wouldn't change the decree's effect before you even raised a gun," Sam pestered Schmidt, secretly praying to God that Margaret wouldn't pay for his insolence.
    
    
  Chapter 34 - Margaret's Risky Sensation
    
    
  Margaret watched in horror as her friend Sam Cleve enraged her captor. She was tied to a chair, still dizzy from the drugs he'd used to subdue her. Margaret had no idea where she was, but from her limited understanding of German, she wasn't the only hostage being held here. Beside her was a pile of technological devices Schmidt had confiscated from his other hostages. While the corrupt commander pranced around and argued, Margaret resorted to her childish wiles.
    
  When she was a little girl in Glasgow, she used to scare other children by dislocating her fingers and shoulders for their amusement. Since then, of course, she suffered from some arthritis in her major joints, but she was almost certain she could still use her knuckles. Just minutes before he called Sam Cleave, Schmidt sent Himmelfarb to check the suitcase they had brought with them. They had retrieved her from the airbase bunker, which had been nearly destroyed by intruders. He didn't see Margaret's left hand slip from the handcuff and reach for the mobile phone that had belonged to Werner while he was held captive at Büchel Air Base.
    
  Craning her neck to get a better view, she reached out to grab the phone, but it was just out of reach. Trying not to miss her only opportunity for communication, Margaret nudged her chair every time Schmidt laughed. Soon she was so close that her fingertips almost touched the plastic and rubber of the phone's cover.
    
  Schmidt finished delivering his ultimatum to Sam, and now all he had to do was watch the current speeches before signing the contract. He glanced at his watch, seemingly unconcerned about Margaret, now that she had been presented as leverage.
    
  "Himmelfarb!" Schmidt shouted. "Bring the men. We don't have much time."
    
  Six pilots, suited and ready for deployment, silently entered the room. Schmidt's monitors displayed the same topographic maps as before, but since the destruction of Marduk had left him in the bunker, Schmidt had to make do with the bare essentials.
    
  "Sir!" Himmelfarb and the other pilots exclaimed as they stood between Schmidt and Margaret.
    
  "We have virtually no time to blow up the German air bases identified here," Schmidt said. "The signing of the treaty seems inevitable, but we'll see how long they'll stick to their agreement when our squadron, as part of Operation Leo 2, simultaneously blows up the VVO headquarters in Baghdad and the palace in Susa."
    
  He nodded to Himmelfarb, who pulled defective duplicate World War II-era masks from a chest. One by one, he gave each of the men a mask.
    
  "So, here on this tray, we have the preserved tissue of the failed pilot Olaf LöWenhagen. One sample per person, place it inside each mask," he ordered. Like machines, the identically dressed pilots did as he instructed. Schmidt checked each man's performance before issuing the next order. "Now remember, your fellow pilots from Büchel have already begun their mission in Iraq, so the first phase of Operation Leo 2 is complete. Your duty is to carry out the second phase."
    
  He scrolled through the screens, calling up a live broadcast of the signing of the agreement in Susa. "So, sons of Germany, put on your masks and await my orders. The moment it happens live on my screen here, I will know that our guys have bombed our targets in Susa and Baghdad. Then I will give you the order and activate Phase 2-the destruction of the Büchel, Norvenich, and Schleswig airbases. You all know your intended targets."
    
  "Yes, sir!" they answered in unison.
    
  "Fine, fine. Next time I plan to kill a cocky lecher like Sloane, I'll have to do it myself. These so-called snipers these days are a disgrace," Schmidt complained, watching the pilots leave the room. They were heading for the makeshift hangar where they hid decommissioned aircraft from the various airbases Schmidt oversaw.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Outside the hangar, a figure huddled under the shadowy roofs of a parking lot located beyond a gigantic, abandoned factory yard on the outskirts of Berlin. He moved quickly from one building to the next, disappearing into each to see if anyone was there. He reached the penultimate working levels of the dilapidated steel mill when he saw several pilots heading toward a single structure that stood out against the rusted steel and old, reddish-brown brick walls. It looked strange and out of place thanks to the silvery shimmer of the new steel from which it was constructed.
    
  Lieutenant Werner held his breath, watching half a dozen of Löwenhagen's soldiers discuss the mission that was scheduled to begin in a few minutes. He knew Schmidt had chosen him for this mission-a suicide mission in the spirit of the Leonidas Squadron of World War II. When they mentioned others heading for Baghdad, Werner's heart sank. He rushed to a place he hoped would be out of earshot and made a call, constantly checking his surroundings.
    
  "Hello, Sam?"
    
    
    * * *
    
    
  In the office, Margaret feigned sleep, trying to find out if the contract had been signed yet. She had to, because, based on previous narrow escapes and her experiences with the military during her career, she'd learned that as soon as a deal was struck, people started dying. It wasn't called "making ends meet" for nothing, and she knew it. Margaret wondered how she could defend herself against a professional soldier and a military commander with his hand tied behind his back-literally.
    
  Schmidt seethed with anger, tapping his boot incessantly, anxiously awaiting the moment of detonation. He picked up his watch again. By his latest calculation, ten more minutes. He thought how brilliant it would be if he could see the palace explode before the eyes of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights and the Sultan of Mesoaravia, just before sending his local demons to carry out the enemy's supposed retaliatory bombing of Luftwaffe airbases. The captain watched the proceedings, breathing heavily, his contempt growing stronger with each passing moment.
    
  "Look at that bitch!" he sneered as Sloan was shown recanting his speech, the same message scrolling left and right across the CNN screen. "I want my mask! The moment I get it back, I'll be you, Meyer!" Margaret glanced around for the 16th Inspector or the commander of the German Air Force, but he was absent-at least not in the office where she was being held.
    
  She immediately noticed movement in the hallway outside the door. Her eyes widened as she recognized the lieutenant. He gestured for her to be quiet and continue playing the possum. Schmidt had something to say about every image he saw on the live news feed.
    
  "Enjoy your last moments. As soon as Meyer claims responsibility for the Iraqi bombings, I'll cast aside his likeness. Then we'll see what you're capable of with that wet, ink-drenched dream of yours!" he chuckled. While he ranted, he ignored the lieutenant, who was making his way inside to confront him. Werner crept along the wall where there was still some shadow, but he had a good six meters to travel in the white fluorescent light before he could reach Schmidt.
    
  Margaret decided to offer a helping hand. Pushing herself violently to the side, she suddenly toppled over, hitting her arm and hip hard. She let out a terrifying scream that made Schmidt wince.
    
  "Jesus! What are you doing?" he yelled at Margaret, about to plant his boot on her chest. But he wasn't fast enough to avoid the body hurtling toward him and slamming into the table behind him. Werner lunged at the captain, instantly slamming his fist into Schmidt's Adam's apple. The vicious commander tried to remain coherent, but Werner wasn't willing to take any chances, given how tough the veteran officer was.
    
  Another swift blow to the temple with the pistol butt finished the job, and the captain collapsed limply to the floor. By the time Werner disarmed the commander, Margaret was already on her feet, trying to remove the chair leg from under her body and arm. He rushed to her aid.
    
  "Thank God you're here, Lieutenant!" she gasped as he released her. "Marlene's in the men's room, tied to a radiator. They've chloroformed her so she can't escape with us."
    
  "Really?" his face lit up. "She"s alive and okay?"
    
  Margaret nodded.
    
  Werner looked around. "After we tie this pig up, I need you to come with me as quickly as possible," he told her.
    
  "To get Marlene?" she asked.
    
  "No, to sabotage the hangar so Schmidt can't send his wasps out to sting anymore," he replied. "They're just waiting for orders. But without fighters, they could do some serious damage, couldn't they?"
    
  Margaret smiled. "If we survive this, may I quote you for the Edinburgh Post?"
    
  "If you help me, you"ll get an exclusive interview about this whole fiasco," he grinned.
    
    
  Chapter 35 - The Trick
    
    
  As Nina placed her damp hand on the decree, she wondered what impression her scribbles would make on this humble scrap of paper. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the Sultan one last time before signing the line. In that split second, meeting his black eyes, she sensed his genuine friendliness and sincere kindness.
    
  "Go on, Professor," he encouraged her, blinking slowly in reassurance.
    
  Nina had to pretend she was simply practicing her signature again, otherwise she would have been too nervous to do it correctly. As the ballpoint pen glided under her guidance, Nina felt her heart beat faster. They were waiting only for her. The whole world held its breath, waiting for her to finish signing. Never in the world would there have been a greater honor for her, even if this moment had been born of deception.
    
  The moment she gracefully placed the tip of her pen on the final dot of her signature, the world applauded. Those present applauded and rose to their feet. Meanwhile, millions watching the live broadcast prayed that nothing bad would happen. Nina looked up at the sixty-three-year-old Sultan. He gently shook her hand, looking deeply into her eyes.
    
  "Whoever you are," he said, "thank you for doing this."
    
  "What do you mean? You know who I am," Nina asked with a sophisticated smile, though she was actually horrified by the revelation. "I'm Professor Sloane."
    
  "No, you're not like that. Professor Sloane had very dark blue eyes. But you have beautiful Arabian eyes, like the onyx in my royal ring. It's as if someone caught a pair of tiger eyes and placed them on your face." Wrinkles formed around his eyes, and his beard couldn't hide his smile.
    
  "Please, Your Grace..." she begged, maintaining her pose for the sake of the audience.
    
  "Whoever you are," he spoke over her, "the mask you wear doesn't matter to me. It's not our masks that define us, but what we do with them. What matters to me is what you did here, understand?"
    
  Nina swallowed hard. She wanted to cry, but that would tarnish Sloane's image. The Sultan led her to the podium and whispered in her ear, "Remember, my dear, it's what we represent that matters most, not what we look like."
    
  During a standing ovation that lasted over ten minutes, Nina struggled to stay on her feet, clutching tightly to the Sultan's hand. She approached the microphone, where she had previously declined to speak, and gradually the silence faded to sporadic cheers and claps. Until she began to speak. Nina tried to keep her voice hoarse enough to remain enigmatic, but she had an announcement to make. It occurred to her that she had only a few hours to don someone else's face and do something useful with it. There was nothing to say, but she smiled and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, and all our friends around the world. My illness impairs my voice and speech, so I will do this quickly. Due to my worsening health problems, I would like to publicly resign..."
    
  A huge commotion erupted in the makeshift hall in Susa's palace, filled with astonished spectators, but everyone respected the leader's decision. She had brought her organization and much of the modern world into an era of advanced technology, efficiency, and discipline, without sacrificing individuality or common sense. For this, she was revered, regardless of her career choices.
    
  "...but I am confident that all my efforts will be carried forward flawlessly by my successor and the new Commissioner of the World Health Organization, Dr. Lisa Gordon. It has been a pleasure serving the people..." Nina continued finishing the announcement while Marduk waited for her in the locker room.
    
  "My God, Dr. Gould, you're quite the diplomat yourself," he remarked, watching her. Sam and Perdue left in a hurry after receiving a frantic phone call from Werner.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Werner sent Sam a message detailing the incoming threat. With Perdue in tow, they rushed to the Royal Guard and showed their identification to speak with the Meso-Arab wing commander, Lieutenant Jenebele Abdi.
    
  "Madam, we have urgent information from your friend, Lieutenant Dieter Werner," Sam said to the striking woman in her late twenties.
    
  "Oh, Ditty," she nodded lazily, not looking too impressed by the two crazy Scotsmen.
    
  "He asked me to give you this code. An unauthorized German fighter jet is based approximately twenty kilometers from the city of Susa and fifty kilometers from Baghdad!" Sam blurted out like an impatient schoolboy with an urgent message for the principal. "They are on a suicide mission to destroy CIA headquarters and this palace under the command of Captain Gerhard Schmidt."
    
  Lieutenant Abdi immediately issued orders to her men and ordered her wingmen to join her at the hidden desert compound to prepare for an air strike. She checked the code Werner had sent and nodded in acknowledgement of his warning. "Schmidt, huh?" she smirked. "I hate that fucking Kraut. I hope Werner blows his balls off." She shook hands with Purdue and Sam. "I need to suit up. Thanks for warning us."
    
  "Wait," Perdue frowned, "you"re involved in aerial combat yourself?"
    
  The lieutenant smiled and winked. "Of course! If you see old Dieter again, ask him why they called me 'Jenny Jihad' back at the flight academy."
    
  "Ha!" Sam chuckled as she ran with her team to arm themselves and intercept any approaching threat with extreme prejudice. The code provided by Werner directed them to the two corresponding nests from which the Leo 2 squadrons were to launch.
    
  "We missed signing Nina's contract," Sam lamented.
    
  "It's okay. This will be on every damn news channel you can imagine in no time," Purdue reassured, patting Sam on the back. "I don't want to sound paranoid, but I have to get Nina and Marduk to Raichtisusis within," he glanced at his watch and quickly calculated the hours, travel time, and elapsed time, "the next six hours."
    
  "Okay, let's go before that old bastard disappears again," Sam grumbled. "By the way, what did you text Werner while I was talking to Jihadi Jenny?"
    
    
  Chapter 36 - Confrontation
    
    
  After they freed the unconscious Marlene and quickly and quietly carried her over the broken fence to the aircraft, Margaret felt a sense of unease as she crept through the hangar with Lieutenant Werner. In the distance, they could hear the pilots growing restless, awaiting Schmidt's command.
    
  "How are we supposed to take out six F-16-like warbirds in less than ten minutes, Lieutenant?" Margaret whispered as they slid under the loose panel.
    
  Werner chuckled. "Schatz, you've been playing too many American video games." She shrugged sheepishly as he handed her a large steel tool.
    
  "Without tires, they won't be able to take off, Frau Crosby," Werner advised. "Please damage the tires enough to cause a good blowout as soon as they cross that line. I have a backup plan, further away."
    
  In his office, Captain Schmidt awoke from a blackout caused by blunt force. He was strapped to the same chair Margaret had been sitting in, and the door was locked, trapping him in his own holding area. The monitors had been left on so he could observe, which had practically driven him mad. Schmidt's frantic eyes only betrayed his failure, as the news feed on his screen relayed evidence that the treaty had been successfully signed and that a recent air raid attempt had been thwarted by the swift action of the Mesoarabian Air Force.
    
  "Jesus Christ! No! You couldn't have known! How could they have known?" he whined like a child, his knees practically dislocating as he tried to kick a chair in blind rage. His bloodshot eyes stared through his blood-streaked forehead. "Werner!"
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  In the hangar, Werner used his cell phone as a GPS satellite targeting device to pinpoint the hangar's location. Margaret did her best to puncture the plane's tires.
    
  "I feel really stupid doing this old-school stuff, Lieutenant," she whispered.
    
  "Then you should stop doing this," Schmidt told her from the hangar entrance, pointing his gun at her. He couldn't see Werner crouched in front of one of the Typhoons, typing something into his phone. Margaret raised her hands in surrender, but Schmidt fired two bullets at her, and she fell to the ground.
    
  Shouting out their orders, Schmidt finally launched the second phase of his attack plan, if only for revenge. Donning their inoperable masks, his men boarded their planes. Werner appeared in front of one of the aircraft, holding his cell phone. Schmidt stood behind the plane, moving slowly as he fired at the unarmed Werner. But he hadn't considered Werner's position or the direction he was leading Schmidt. The bullets ricocheted off the landing gear. When the pilot started the jet engine, the afterburners he activated blew a hellish tongue of flame straight into Captain Schmidt's face.
    
  Looking down at what remained of Schmidt's exposed flesh and teeth, Werner spat at him. "Now you don't even have a face for your death mask, pig."
    
  Werner pressed the green button on his phone and put it down. He quickly lifted the wounded journalist onto his shoulders and carried her to the car. From Iraq, Perdue received a signal and launched a satellite beam to target the targeting device, quickly raising the temperature inside the hangar. The result was swift and hot.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  On Halloween evening, the world celebrated, unaware of the true propriety of their costumes and masks. Purdue's private jet departed Susa with special permission and a military escort outside their airspace to ensure their safety. On board, Nina, Sam, Marduk, and Purdue devoured dinner as they headed to Edinburgh. A small, specialized team awaited them to apply the skin to Nina as quickly as possible.
    
  A flat-screen television kept them updated as the news unfolded.
    
  A bizarre accident at an abandoned steel mill near Berlin claimed the lives of several German Air Force pilots, including Deputy Commander-in-Chief Captain Gerhard Schmidt and Luftwaffe Commander-in-Chief Lieutenant General Harold Meyer. It remains unclear what the suspicious circumstances were.
    
  Sam, Nina and Marduk wondered where Werner was and whether he had managed to get out in time with Marlene and Margaret.
    
  "Calling Werner would be useless. The man goes through cell phones like they're underwear," Sam remarked. "We'll have to wait and see if he contacts us, right, Purdue?"
    
  But Perdue wasn't listening. He lay on his back in the reclining chair, his head tilted to the side, his trusty tablet resting on his stomach, his hands folded on it.
    
  Sam smiled, "Look at this. The man who never sleeps is finally getting some rest."
    
  On the tablet, Sam could see Purdue talking to Werner, answering Sam's question earlier that evening. He shook his head. "Genius."
    
    
  Chapter 37
    
    
  Two days later, Nina had her face restored, recuperating in the same cozy Kirkwall establishment where she'd been before. The dermis from Marduk's face had been removed and applied to the professor's likeness. Sloan, dissolving the fusion particles, worked until the Babylon Mask became (very) old again. As terrifying as the procedure was, Nina was glad to have her own face back. Still heavily sedated due to the cancer secret she'd shared with the medical staff, she fell asleep when Sam went off to get coffee.
    
  The old man was also recovering well, occupying a bed in the same hallway as Nina. In this hospital, he didn't have to sleep on bloody sheets and tarps, for which he was eternally grateful.
    
  "You're looking well, Peter," Perdue smiled, looking at Marduk's progress. "You'll be able to go home soon."
    
  "With my mask," Marduk reminded him.
    
  Perdue chuckled, "Of course. With your mask."
    
  Sam stopped by to say hello. "I was just with Nina. She's still recovering from the storm, but she's so happy to be herself again. Makes you think, doesn't it? Sometimes, to be your best, the best face to wear is your own."
    
  "Very philosophical," Marduk teased. "But I'm arrogant now that I can smile and sneer with a full range of motion."
    
  Their laughter filled the small section of the exclusive medical practice.
    
  "So all this time you were the real collector from whom the Babylon Mask was stolen?" Sam asked, fascinated by the realization that Peter Marduk was the millionaire relic collector from whom Neumann stole the Babylon Mask.
    
  "Is it that weird?" he asked Sam.
    
  "A little. Usually, wealthy collectors send private investigators and teams of restoration specialists to recover their items."
    
  "But then more people would know what this damned artifact really does. I can't risk that. You saw what happened when only two men learned of her abilities. Imagine what would happen if the world learned the truth about these ancient objects. Some things are better kept secret... behind masks, if you will."
    
  "I couldn't agree more," Perdue admitted. This referred to his secret feelings about Nina's estrangement, but he decided to hide it from the outside world.
    
  "I'm glad to hear that dear Margaret survived her gunshot wounds," Marduk said.
    
  Sam looked very proud at the mention of her. "Would you believe she's up for a Pulitzer Prize for investigative reporting?"
    
  "You should put that mask back on, my boy," Perdue said with complete sincerity.
    
  "No, not this time. She recorded the whole thing on Werner's confiscated cell phone! From the part where Schmidt explained his orders to his men to the part where he admits he planned the assassination attempt on Sloane, even though he wasn't sure at the time whether she was truly dead. Now Margaret is known for the risks she took to uncover the conspiracy and Meyer's murder, and so on. Of course, she twirled it carefully, lest any mention of the vile relic or the pilots who became suicidal madmen disturb the waters, you understand?"
    
  "I'm grateful she decided to keep it a secret after I abandoned her there. My God, what was I thinking?" Marduk groaned.
    
  "I'm sure being a top reporter will make up for it, Peter," Sam consoled him. "After all, if you hadn't left her there, she never would have gotten all the footage that's made her famous now."
    
  "Nevertheless, I owe her and the lieutenant some compensation," Marduk replied. "Next All Hallows' Eve, in memory of our adventure, I'll throw a grand celebration, and they'll be the guests of honor. But she should be kept away from my collection... just in case."
    
  "Excellent!" Perdue exclaimed. "We can pick her up at my estate. What"s the theme?"
    
  Marduk thought for a moment, then smiled with his new mouth.
    
  "Well, a masquerade ball, of course."
    
    
  END
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
  Preston W. Child
  The Mystery of the Amber Room
    
    
  PROLOGUE
    
    
    
  Åland Islands, Baltic Sea - February
    
    
  Teemu Koivusaari had his hands full with the illegal goods he was trying to smuggle, but once he found a buyer, it was all worth the effort. Six months had passed since he left Helsinki to join two colleagues in the Åland Islands, where they ran a lucrative business manufacturing counterfeit gemstones. They passed off everything from cubic zirconia to blue glass as diamonds and tanzanite, sometimes-quite skillfully-passing off base metals as silver and platinum to unsuspecting gem lovers.
    
  "What do you mean, there's more to it?" Teemu asked his assistant, a corrupt African silversmith named Mula.
    
  "I need another kilo to fulfill the Minsk order, Teemu. I told you so yesterday," Mula complained. "You know, I have to deal with clients when you screw up. I expect another kilo by Friday, otherwise you can go back to Sweden."
    
  "Finland".
    
  "What?" Mula frowned.
    
  "I"m from Finland, not Sweden," Teemu corrected his partner.
    
  Mula stood up from the table, wincing, still wearing his thick, razor-thin glasses. "Who cares where you're from?" The glasses magnified his eyes to the ridiculous shape of a fish's eye, the fin of which squealed with laughter. "Get lost, man. Bring me more amber; I need more raw material for emeralds. This buyer will be here by the weekend, so get moving!"
    
  Laughing loudly, a skinny Teemu emerged from the hidden makeshift factory they ran.
    
  "Hey! Tomi! We need to hit the coast for another catch, buddy," he said to their third colleague, who was busy talking to two Latvian girls on vacation.
    
  "Now?" Tomi cried. "Not now!"
    
  "Where are you going?" asked the more extroverted girl.
    
  "Uh, we have to," he hesitated, looking at his friend with a pitiful expression. "There"s something we need to do."
    
  "Really? What kind of work do you do?" she asked, pointedly licking the spilled Coke off her finger. Tomi looked at Teemu again, his eyes rolling back in lust, secretly begging him to quit his job for now so they could both score. Teemu smiled at the girls.
    
  "We're jewelers," he boasted. The girls were instantly intrigued and began talking excitedly in their native language. They held hands. Teasingly, they begged the two young men to take them with them. Teemu shook his head sadly and whispered to Tomi, "There's no way we can take them!"
    
  "Come on! They can't be older than seventeen. Show them a few of our diamonds, and they'll give us whatever we want!" Tomi growled in his friend's ear.
    
  Teemu looked at the gorgeous little kittens and it took him only two seconds to reply, "Okay, let"s go."
    
  With joyful shouts, Tomi and the girls slipped into the backseat of an old Fiat, and the two of them drove around the island, trying to remain undetected while transporting the stolen gems, amber, and chemicals for their counterfeit treasures. The local harbor had a small business that, among other things, supplied imported silver nitrate and gold dust.
    
  The crooked owner, a possessed old sailor from Estonia, usually helped the three crooks reach their quotas and introduced them to potential clients for a generous cut of the profits. As they jumped out of the small car, they saw him rush past them, shouting furiously, "Come on, boys! It's here! It's here, and it's right here!"
    
  "Oh my God, he"s in one of his crazy moods again today," Tomi sighed.
    
  "What"s here?" asked the quieter girl.
    
  The old man quickly looked around: "A ghost ship!"
    
  "Oh God, not this again!" Teemu groaned. "Listen! We need to discuss some business with you!"
    
  "Business won't go away!" the old man shouted, heading toward the edge of the docks. "But the ship will disappear."
    
  They ran after him, amazed by his swift movements. When they reached him, they all stopped to catch their breath. The day was overcast, and the icy ocean breeze chilled them to the bone as the storm approached. Occasionally, lightning flashed in the sky, accompanying distant rumbles of thunder. Each time lightning cut through the clouds, the young men flinched slightly, but their curiosity got the better of them.
    
  "Listen, now. Look," the old man said jubilantly, pointing to the shallows near the bay on the left.
    
  "What? Look what?" Teemu said, shaking his head.
    
  "Nobody knows about this ghost ship but me," a retired sailor told the young women with old-world charm and a twinkle in his eye. They seemed intrigued, so he told them about the apparition. "I see it on my radar, but sometimes it disappears, just," he said in a mysterious voice, "just disappears!"
    
  "I can"t see anything," Tomi said. "Come on, let"s go back."
    
  The old man looked at his watch. "Coming soon! Coming soon! Don"t go. Just wait."
    
  Thunder rumbled, startling the girls and sending them into the arms of two young men, instantly transforming it into a much-desired thunderstorm. The girls, embracing, watched in amazement as a red-hot magnetic charge suddenly appeared above the waves. From it emerged the bow of a sunken ship, barely visible above the surface.
    
  "See?" the old man shouted. "See? The tide is out, so this time you'll finally be able to see that godforsaken ship!"
    
  The young men behind him stood in awe of what they were witnessing. Tomi pulled out his phone to photograph the phenomenon, but a particularly powerful bolt of lightning struck from the clouds, causing them all to cringe. Not only did he fail to capture the scene, but they also failed to see the lightning collide with the electromagnetic field around the ship, causing a hellish roar that nearly burst their eardrums.
    
  "Jesus Christ! Did you hear that?" Teemu screamed against the cold gust of wind. "Let's get out of here before we get killed!"
    
  "What is this?" the extroverted girl exclaimed and pointed to the water.
    
  The old man crept closer to the edge of the pier to investigate. "It's a man! Come on, help me pull him out, boys!"
    
  "He looks dead," Tomi said with a horrified expression on her face.
    
  "Nonsense," the old man disagreed. "He's floating face up, and his cheeks are red. Help me, you good-for-nothings!"
    
  The young men helped him pull the man's limp body out of the crashing waves, preventing it from smashing against the pier or drowning. They carried it back to the old man's workshop and placed it on the workbench in the back, where the old man was melting some amber to shape it. After they were sure the stranger was indeed alive, the old man covered him with a blanket and left him there until he had finished his business with the two young men. The back room was delightfully warm after the melting process. Finally, they retired to their small apartment with two friends and left the old man in charge of the stranger's fate.
    
    
  Chapter 1
    
    
    
  Edinburgh, Scotland - August
    
    
  The sky above the spires had grown pale, and the weak sun cast a yellow glow all around. Like a scene from a looking-glass harbinger of ill omen, the animals seemed restless and the children were silent. Sam wandered aimlessly among the silk and cotton blankets hanging from somewhere he couldn't place. Even when he looked up, he couldn't see any attachment points for the fluffing cloth, no railings, no threads, no wooden supports. They seemed to hang from an invisible hook in the air, swaying in a wind only he could sense.
    
  No one else passing him on the street seemed to be affected by the dusty gusts carrying the desert sand. Their dresses and the hems of their long skirts swayed only from the movement of their feet as they walked, not from the wind that occasionally stifled his breath and blew his tousled dark hair into his face. His throat was dry, and his stomach burned from days without food. He was heading toward the well in the center of the town square, where all the townspeople gathered on market days and to hear the week's news.
    
  "God, I hate Sundays here," Sam muttered involuntarily. "I hate these crowds. I should have come two days ago when it was quieter."
    
  "Why didn"t you do it?" he heard Nina"s question from over his left shoulder.
    
  "Because I wasn't thirsty then, Nina. There's no point in coming here to drink if you're not thirsty," he explained. "People won't find water in the well until they need it, didn't you know?"
    
  "I didn't do that. I'm sorry. But it's weird, don't you think?" she remarked.
    
  "What?" he frowned as the falling sand stung his eyes and dried out his tear ducts.
    
  "That everyone else can drink from the well except you," she replied.
    
  "How so? Why do you say that?" Sam snapped defensively. "No one can drink until they're dry. There's no water here."
    
  "There's no water for you here. There's plenty for the others," she chuckled.
    
  Sam was infuriated by Nina's indifference to his suffering. To add insult to injury, she continued to provoke his rage. "Maybe it's because you don't belong here, Sam. You always interfere in everything and end up drawing the shortest straw, and that would be fine if you weren't such an insufferable whiner."
    
  "Listen! You have..." he began his reply, only to discover that Nina had left him. "Nina! Nina! Disappearing isn"t going to help you win this argument!"
    
  By this time, Sam had reached the salt-eaten well, nudged by the people gathered there. No one else wanted to drink, but they all stood like a wall, blocking the gaping hole through which Sam could hear the splashing of water in the darkness below.
    
  "Excuse me," he muttered, pushing them aside one by one to peer over the edge. Deep within the well, the water was a deep blue, despite the blackness of the depths. The light from above refracted into sparkling white stars on the rippled surface as Sam craved a bite.
    
  "Please, could you give me a drink?" he asked, addressing no one in particular. "Please! I'm so damn thirsty! The water is right here, and yet I can't reach it."
    
  Sam extended his arm as far as he could, but with every inch his arm moved forward, the water seemed to retreat further, keeping its distance, eventually ending up lower than before.
    
  "Oh, my gosh!" he screamed furiously. "Are you kidding me?" He resumed his previous stance and looked around at the strangers, who were still unfazed by the incessant sandstorm and its dry onslaught. "I need a rope. Does anyone have a rope?"
    
  The sky was growing brighter. Sam looked up at the flash of light that emanated from the sun, barely disturbing the star's perfect roundness.
    
  "A solar flare," he muttered, puzzled. "No wonder I'm so damn hot and thirsty. How can you humans not feel the unbearable heat?"
    
  His throat was so dry that the last two words came out as an inarticulate grumble. Sam hoped the raging sun wouldn't dry up the well, at least not until he'd finished drinking. In the darkness of his despair, he resorted to violence. If no one paid attention to a polite man, perhaps they would notice his plight if he behaved erratically.
    
  Wildly throwing trash cans and smashing pottery as he went, Sam screamed for a cup and a rope-anything that would help him get water. The lack of fluid in his stomach felt like acid. Sam felt a searing pain shoot through his body, as if every organ had been blistered by the sun. He fell to his knees, screaming like a banshee in agony, clawing at the loose yellow sand with his gnarled fingers as the acid gushed down his throat.
    
  He grabbed their ankles, but they only casually kicked his arm, paying him no particular attention. Sam howled in pain. Through narrowed eyes, somehow still clogged with sand, he looked up at the sky. There was no sun, no clouds. All he could see was a glass dome stretching from horizon to horizon. Everyone with him stood in awe before the dome, frozen in awe, before a loud bang blinded them all-everyone except Sam.
    
  A wave of invisible death pulsated from the sky beneath the dome and reduced all other citizens to ashes.
    
  "Oh, God, no!" Sam cried at the sight of their horrible end. He tried to take his hands away from his eyes, but they wouldn't move. "Let go of my hands! Let me be blind! Let me be blind!"
    
  "Three..."
    
  "Two..."
    
  "One".
    
  Another crack, like the pulse of destruction, echoed in Sam's ears as his eyes flew open. His heart pounded uncontrollably as he took in his surroundings with wide, terrified eyes. A thin pillow was beneath his head, and his hands were gently bound, testing the strength of the light rope.
    
  "Great, now I have rope," Sam noted as he looked at his wrists.
    
  "I believe the call to the rope was caused by your subconscious reminding you of your limitations," the doctor suggested.
    
  "No, I needed the rope to get water from the well," Sam countered the theory when the psychologist freed his hands.
    
  "I know. You told me everything on the way, Mr. Cleve."
    
  Dr. Simon Helberg was a forty-year veteran of science with a particular penchant for the mind and its delusions. Parapsychology, psychiatry, neurobiology, and, oddly enough, a special ability for extrasensory perception (ESP) steered the old man's boat. Considered by most to be a charlatan and a disgrace to the scientific community, Dr. Helberg refused to allow his tarnished reputation to affect his work. An antisocial scientist and reclusive theorist, Helberg thrived solely on information and the application of theories generally regarded as myth.
    
  "Sam, why do you think you didn't die in the pulse while everyone else did? What made you different?" he asked Sam, sitting down on the coffee table in front of the sofa where the journalist was still lying.
    
  Sam gave him an almost childish sneer. "Well, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? They were all of the same race, culture, and country. I was a complete outsider."
    
  "Yes, Sam, but that shouldn't excuse you from suffering from an atmospheric catastrophe, should it?" Dr. Helberg reasoned. Like a wise old owl, the plump, bald man stared at Sam with his enormous, light-blue eyes. His glasses sat so low on his nose that Sam felt the need to push them back up before they fell off. But he restrained his urges to consider the old man's points.
    
  "Yeah, I know," he admitted. Sam's large, dark eyes scanned the floor as his mind searched for a plausible answer. "I think it's because it was my vision, and those people were just extras on stage. They were part of the story I was watching," he frowned, unsure of his own theory.
    
  "I suppose that makes sense. However, they were there for a reason. Otherwise, you wouldn't have seen anyone else there. Perhaps you needed them to understand the effects of the death impulse," the doctor suggested.
    
  Sam sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed, "Doctor, what does it matter? I mean, really, what's the difference between watching people disintegrate and just watching them explode?"
    
  "Simple," the doctor replied. "The difference lies in the human element. Had I not witnessed the brutality of their deaths, it would have been nothing more than an explosion. It would have been nothing more than an event. However, the presence and, ultimately, the loss of human life are meant to imprint on you the emotional and moral element of your vision. You must perceive the destruction as the loss of life, not simply as a catastrophe without victims."
    
  "I"m too sober for this," Sam groaned, shaking his head.
    
  Dr. Helberg laughed and slapped his leg. He braced his hands on his knees and struggled to his feet, still chuckling as he went to turn off his tape recorder. Sam had agreed to be recorded during his sessions in the interests of the doctor's research into the psychosomatic manifestations of traumatic experiences-experiences originating from paranormal or supernatural sources, as absurd as that might sound.
    
  "Poncho"s or Olmega"s?" Dr. Helberg grinned, opening his cleverly hidden bar with drinks.
    
  Sam was surprised. "I never took you for a tequila drinker, Doc."
    
  "I fell in love with her when I stayed in Guatemala a few years longer than I was supposed to. Somewhere in the seventies, I gave my heart to South America, and you know why?" Dr. Helberg smiled, pouring shots.
    
  "No, tell me," Sam insisted.
    
  "I became obsessed with an obsession," the doctor said. And when he saw Sam's most puzzled look, he explained. "I had to know what was causing this mass hysteria people usually call religion, son. Such a powerful ideology, which had subjugated so many people for so many eons but offered no concrete justification for its existence other than the power of individuals over others, was indeed a good reason for research."
    
  "Dead!" Sam said, raising his glass to meet his psychiatrist's gaze. "I've been privy to this kind of observation myself. Not just religion, but also unorthodox practices and completely illogical doctrines that enslaved the masses, as if it were almost..."
    
  "Supernatural?" Dr. Helberg asked, raising one eyebrow.
    
  "Esoteric," I suppose, would be a more appropriate word, Sam said, finishing his shot and wincing at the unpleasant bitterness of the clear drink. "Are you sure this is tequila?" he paused, catching his breath.
    
  Ignoring Sam's trivial question, Dr. Helberg stayed on topic. "Esoteric themes encompass the phenomena you speak of, son. The supernatural is simply esoteric theosophy. Perhaps you refer to your recent visions as one of those perplexing mysteries?"
    
  "I doubt it. I see them as dreams, nothing more. They're hardly mass manipulation, like religion. Look, I'm all for spiritual faith or some kind of trust in a higher intelligence," Sam explained. "I'm just not sure these deities can be appeased or persuaded through prayer to give people what they desire. Everything will be as it will be. I doubt anything has ever come into being because of the pity of a person pleading with a god."
    
  "So, you believe that what's going to happen will happen regardless of any spiritual intervention?" the doctor asked Sam, secretly pressing the record button. "So, you're saying our fate is already determined."
    
  "Yeah," Sam nodded. "And we"re screwed."
    
    
  Chapter 2
    
    
  Calm has finally returned to Berlin after the recent assassinations. Several high commissioners, members of the Bundesrat, and various prominent financiers were the victims of murders that have remained unsolved by any organization or individual. It was a conundrum the country had never faced before, as the motives for the attacks were beyond conjecture. The men and women attacked had little in common other than being wealthy or well-known, though mostly in the political arena or in Germany's business and financial sectors.
    
  The press releases confirmed nothing, and journalists from all over the world flocked to Germany to find some secret report somewhere in the city of Berlin.
    
  "We believe this was the work of an organization," ministry spokesperson Gabi Holzer told the press during an official statement released by the Bundestag, Germany's parliament. "The reason we believe this is because the deaths involved more than one person."
    
  "Why is this? How can you be so sure this isn't the work of one person, Frau Holzer?" asked one reporter.
    
  She hesitated, sighing nervously. "Of course, this is just speculation. However, we believe many are involved due to the various methods used to kill these elite citizens."
    
  "Elite?"
    
  "Wow, elite," she says!
    
  The exclamations of several reporters and onlookers echoed her poorly chosen words in irritation, while Gabi Holzer tried to correct her wording.
    
  "Please! Please let me explain..." She tried to rephrase, but the crowd outside was already roaring in outrage. The headlines were bound to cast the nasty comment in a worse light than intended. When she finally managed to calm the journalists standing before her, she explained her choice of words as eloquently as she could, with difficulty, as her knowledge of English wasn't particularly strong.
    
  "Ladies and gentlemen of the international media, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I'm afraid I misspoke-my English, well... M-my apologies," she stammered slightly, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "As you all know, these horrific acts were committed against highly influential and prominent people in this country. While these targets seemingly had nothing in common and didn't even move in the same circles, we have reason to believe that their financial and political status had something to do with the attackers' motives."
    
  That was almost a month ago. It had been a difficult few weeks since Gabi Holzer had to deal with the press and their vulture mentality, but she still felt a sick feeling in her stomach whenever she thought about press conferences. Since that week, the attacks had ceased, but a gloomy, uncertain world, fraught with fear, reigned throughout Berlin and the rest of the country.
    
  "What did they expect?" her husband asked.
    
  "I know, Detlef, I know," she chuckled, peering out her bedroom window. Gabi was undressing for a long, hot shower. "But what no one outside of my job understands is that I have to be diplomatic. I can't just say something like, 'We think this is a well-funded gang of hackers in cahoots with a shadowy club of evil landowners just waiting to overthrow the German government,' can I?" she frowned, trying to unclasp her bra.
    
  Her husband came to her aid and opened it, removing it, and then unzipped her beige pencil skirt. It fell at her feet onto the thick, soft carpet, and she stepped out, still wearing her Gucci platform heels. Her husband kissed her neck and rested his chin on her shoulder as they watched the city lights drift through the sea of darkness. "Is this really what"s happening?" he asked in hushed words, his lips exploring her collarbone.
    
  "I think so. My superiors are very concerned. I believe it's because they all think alike. There is information about the victims that we haven't disclosed to the press. These are disturbing facts that tell us this isn't the work of one person," she said.
    
  "What facts? What are they hiding from the public?" he asked, cupping her breasts. Gabi turned and looked at Detlef with a stern expression.
    
  "Are you peeping? Who do you work for, Herr Holzer? Are you seriously trying to seduce me for information?" she snapped at him, playfully pushing him back. Her blonde curls danced across her bare back as she followed him every step of the way as he retreated.
    
  "No, no, I'm just showing interest in your work, dear," he protested meekly, falling backward onto their bed. Detlef, powerfully built, had a personality that belied his build. "I didn't mean to interrogate you."
    
  Gabi stopped dead in her tracks and rolled her eyes. "Um Gottes willen!"
    
  "What did I do?" he asked apologetically.
    
  "Detlef, I know you're not a spy! You were supposed to play along. Say things like, 'I'm here to get information out of you at any cost,' or 'If you don't tell me everything, I'll shake it out of you!' or whatever else comes to mind. Why are you so damn cute?" she whined, kicking the bed with her sharp heel, right between his legs.
    
  He gasped as he stood next to his family jewels, frozen in place.
    
  "Ugh!" Gabi chuckled and moved her foot away. "Light me a cigarette, please."
    
  "Of course, dear," he replied sadly.
    
  Gabi turned on the shower faucets to get the water hot. She removed her panties and went into the bedroom for a cigarette. Detlef sat back down, looking at his stunning wife. She wasn't very tall, but in those heels she towered over him, a curly-haired goddess with Karelia burning between her full, red lips.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  The casino was the epitome of lavish luxury, admitting only the most privileged, wealthy, and influential patrons into its sinfully riotous embrace. The MGM Grand towered majestically with its azure façade, reminding Dave Perdue of the Caribbean Sea, but it wasn't the billionaire inventor's final destination. He glanced back at the concierge and staff, who waved goodbye, clutching their $500 tips tightly. An unmarked black limousine picked him up and drove him to the nearest runway, where Perdue's flight crew awaited his arrival.
    
  "Where this time, Mr. Purdue?" the senior flight attendant asked, escorting him to his seat. "The moon? Orion's Belt, perhaps?"
    
  Perdue laughed with her.
    
  "Denmark Prime, please, James," Perdue commanded.
    
  "Right away, boss," she saluted. She had something he valued highly in his employees: a sense of humor. His genius and inexhaustible wealth never changed the fact that Dave Perdue was, above all, a cheerful and daring man. Since he was, for some reason, working on something somewhere most of the time, he decided to use his free time to travel. In fact, he was heading to Copenhagen for some Danish extravagance.
    
  Purdue was exhausted. He hadn't gotten up for more than 36 hours straight since he and a group of friends from the British Institute of Engineering and Technology built a laser generator. As his private jet took off, he leaned back and decided to get some well-deserved sleep after Las Vegas and its wild nightlife.
    
  As always when he traveled alone, Perdue left the flatscreen on to calm himself and help him sleep from the boredom it broadcast. Sometimes it was golf, sometimes cricket, sometimes a nature documentary, but he always chose something unimportant to give his mind some respite. The clock above the screen read five-thirty when the flight attendant served him an early dinner so he could go to bed with a full stomach.
    
  Through his drowsiness, Perdue heard the monotonous voice of a news reporter and the ensuing debate about the assassinations that plagued the political sphere. While they argued on the low-volume television screen, Perdue drifted off blissfully to sleep, oblivious to the stunned Germans in the studio. Occasionally, a commotion would jolt his consciousness, but soon he would drift off again.
    
  Four refueling stops along the way gave him some time to stretch his legs between naps. Between Dublin and Copenhagen, he spent the last two hours in a deep, dreamless sleep.
    
  It seemed like an eternity had passed when Perdue was awakened by the flight attendant's gentle coaxing.
    
  "Mr. Perdue? Sir, we have a slight problem," she cooed. His eyes widened at the sound of the word.
    
  "What is it? What"s the matter?" he asked, still incoherent in his stupor.
    
  "We have been denied permission to enter Danish or German airspace, sir. Perhaps we should be rerouted to Helsinki?" she asked.
    
  "Why were we here..." he muttered, rubbing his face. "Okay, I'll figure it out. Thank you, dear." With that, Perdue rushed to the pilots to figure out what the problem was.
    
  "They didn't give us a detailed explanation, sir. All they told us was that our registration ID was blacklisted in both Germany and Denmark!" the pilot explained, looking as puzzled as Purdue. "What I don't understand is that I requested prior permission, and it was granted, but now they're telling us we can't land."
    
  "Blacklisted for what?" Perdue frowned.
    
  "That sounds like complete nonsense to me, sir," the co-pilot interjected.
    
  "I wholeheartedly agree, Stan," Perdue replied. "Okay, do we have enough fuel to go somewhere else? I'll make the arrangements."
    
  "We still have fuel, sir, but not enough to take too many risks," the pilot reported.
    
  "Try it, Billord. If they don't let us in, head north. We can land in Sweden until we figure this out," he ordered his pilots.
    
  "Understood, sir."
    
  "Air traffic control again, sir," the co-pilot said suddenly. "Listen."
    
  "They're heading to Berlin, Mr. Purdue. What should we do?" the pilot asked.
    
  "What else can we do? I guess we'll have to stick with this for now," Perdue calculated. He called over a flight attendant and asked for a double rum on the rocks-his favorite libation when things weren't going his way.
    
  Landing at Dietrich's private airstrip on the outskirts of Berlin, Perdue prepared for the formal complaint he planned to file against the authorities in Copenhagen. His legal team was unable to travel to the German city for the foreseeable future, so he called the British Embassy to arrange a formal meeting with a government representative.
    
  Never one for fiery temperament, Perdue was furious at the sudden so-called blacklisting of his private jet. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why he would be blacklisted. It was ridiculous.
    
  The next day he entered the British Embassy.
    
  "Good afternoon, my name is David Perdue. I have an appointment with Mr. Ben Carrington," Perdue told his secretary in the fast-paced atmosphere of the embassy on Wilhelmstrasse.
    
  "Good morning, Mr. Purdue," she smiled warmly. "Let me take you straight to his office. He's been waiting to see you."
    
  "Thank you," Perdue replied, too embarrassed and irritated to even bring himself to smile at the secretary.
    
  The doors to the British representative's office were open when the receptionist ushered Perdue in. A woman sat at a desk with her back to the door, chatting with Carrington.
    
  "Mr. Purdue, I presume," Carrington smiled, rising from his seat to greet his Scottish guest.
    
  "That"s correct," Perdue confirmed. "It"s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carrington."
    
  Carrington pointed to the seated woman. "I've contacted a representative of the German International Press Bureau to assist us."
    
  "Mr. Perdue," the stunning woman smiled, "I hope I can be of assistance. Gabi Holzer. Pleased to meet you."
    
    
  Chapter 3
    
    
  Gabi Holzer, Ben Carrington and Dave Perdue discussed the unexpected ban on seating while having tea in the office.
    
  "I must assure you, Mr. Perdue, that this is unprecedented. Our legal department, as well as Mr. Carrington's people, have thoroughly checked your background for anything that could serve as grounds for such a claim, but we have found nothing in your records that could explain the denial of entry to Denmark and Germany," Gabi said.
    
  "Thank God for Chaim and Todd!" Perdue thought when Gabi mentioned his background check. "If they knew how many laws I broke in my research, they'd lock me up right now."
    
  Jessica Haim and Harry Todd were anything but Purdue's legal computer analysts; both were freelance computer security experts hired by him. Although they were responsible for the exemplary dossiers of Sam, Nina, and Purdue, Haim and Todd were never involved in any financial misdeeds. Purdue's own wealth was more than sufficient. Furthermore, they were not greedy. Just as with Sam Cleave and Nina Gould, Purdue surrounded himself with honest and decent people. They often operated outside the law, yes, but they were far from common criminals, and that was something most authorities and moralists simply could not understand.
    
  In the pale morning sunlight filtering through the blinds of Carrington's office, Purdue stirred his second cup of Earl Grey. The German woman's fair beauty was electrifying, but she didn't possess the charisma or good looks he'd expected. On the contrary, she seemed genuinely interested in getting to the bottom of things.
    
  "Tell me, Mr. Perdue, have you ever had any dealings with Danish politicians or financial institutions?" Gabi asked him.
    
  "Yes, I've done extensive business deals in Denmark. But I don't move in political circles. I'm more inclined toward academic pursuits. Museums, research, investments in higher education institutions, but I stay away from political agendas. Why?" he asked her.
    
  "Why do you think this is relevant, Mrs. Holzer?" Carrington asked, looking clearly intrigued.
    
  "Well, that's quite obvious, Mr. Carrington. If Mr. Perdue doesn't have a criminal record, he must pose a threat to these countries, including mine, in some other way," she confidently informed the British representative. "If the reason isn't based on a crime, it must be related to his reputation as a businessman. We're both aware of his financial situation and his reputation as something of a celebrity."
    
  "I see," Carrington said. "In other words, the fact that he's participated in countless expeditions and is well known as a philanthropist makes him a threat to your government?" Carrington laughed. "That's absurd, madam."
    
  "Wait, are you saying that my investments in certain countries may have caused other countries to mistrust my intentions?" Perdue frowned.
    
  "No," she replied calmly. "Not countries, Mr. Perdue. Institutions."
    
  "I"m lost," Carrington shook his head.
    
  Perdue nodded in agreement.
    
  "Let me explain. I'm in no way suggesting that this applies to my country or any other. Like you, I'm simply speculating, and I'm thinking that you, Mr. Perdue, may have unwittingly become embroiled in a dispute between..." she paused to find the appropriate English word, "...certain authorities?"
    
  "Bodies? Like organizations?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Yes, exactly," she said. "Perhaps your financial position in various international organizations has earned you the ire of agencies opposed to those with whom you are affiliated. Such issues could easily escalate globally, leading to your entry ban from certain countries; not by the governments of those countries, but by someone with influence over those countries' infrastructure."
    
  Perdue thought about this seriously. The German lady was right. In fact, she was more right than she could ever have known. He had previously been ensnared by companies that felt his inventions and patents were of immense value to them, but feared their opposition might offer more lucrative deals. This sentiment had often previously resulted in industrial espionage and trade boycotts, which prevented him from doing business with his international subsidiaries.
    
  "I must admit, Mr. Perdue. It makes a lot of sense, given your presence in powerful scientific industry conglomerates," Carrington agreed. "But to your knowledge, Mrs. Holzer, this isn't an official entry ban, then? It's not from the German government, is it?"
    
  "Correct," she confirmed. "Mr. Perdue certainly has no problem with the German government... or Danish, I would assume. I believe it's done more covertly, um, under-" She struggled to find the right word.
    
  "You mean secret? Secret organizations?" Perdue prompted, hoping he had misinterpreted her broken English.
    
  "That's right. Underground groups that want you to stay away from them. Is there anything you're currently involved in that could pose a threat to the competition?" she asked Perdue.
    
  "No," he quickly replied. "Actually, I took a little vacation. In fact, I"m on vacation right now."
    
  "This is so disturbing!" Carrington exclaimed, shaking his head humorously.
    
  "That's where the disappointment comes from, Mr. Carrington," Perdue smiled. "Well, at least I know I'm not in any trouble with the law. I'll handle this with my people."
    
  "Good. We then discussed everything we could, given the little information we had about this unusual incident," Carrington concluded. "However, off the record, Mrs. Holzer," he addressed the attractive German envoy.
    
  "Yes, Mr. Carrington," she smiled.
    
  "You officially represented the Chancellor on CNN the other day regarding the murders, but you didn't reveal the reason," he asked, his tone very concerned. "Is there something fishy that the press shouldn't know about?"
    
  She looked extremely uncomfortable, struggling to maintain her professionalism. "I'm afraid," she looked at both men with a nervous expression, "this is highly confidential information."
    
  "In other words, yes," Perdue pressed. He approached Gabi Holzer with caution and gentle respect and sat down directly next to her. "Madam, could this possibly have something to do with the recent attacks on the political and social elite?"
    
  There was that word again.
    
  Carrington looked utterly mesmerized as he awaited her answer. With trembling hands, he poured more tea, focusing his entire attention on the German liaison.
    
  "I suppose everyone has their own theory, but as an official, I'm not at liberty to express my own views, Mr. Perdue. You know that. How can you think I could discuss this with a civilian?" She sighed.
    
  "Because I worry when secrets are shared at the government level, my dear," Perdue replied.
    
  "It's a German matter," she said bluntly. Gabi glanced sharply at Carrington. "Can I smoke on your balcony?"
    
  "Of course," he agreed, standing up to unlock the beautiful glass doors that led from his office to a beautiful balcony overlooking Wilhelmstrasse.
    
  "I can see the whole city from here," she remarked, lighting her long, thin cigarette. "We could talk freely here, away from the walls that might have ears. Something"s brewing, gentlemen," she told Carrington and Purdue as they flanked her to enjoy the view. "And it"s an ancient demon that"s awakened; a long-buried rivalry... No, not a rivalry. It"s more like a conflict between factions long thought dead, but they"ve awakened and are ready to strike."
    
  Perdue and Carrington exchanged a quick glance before taking in the rest of Gabi's message. She didn't look at them once, but spoke through a thin puff of smoke between her fingers. "Our chancellor was captured before the killings even started."
    
  Both men gasped at the bombshell Gabi had just dropped on them. Not only had she shared confidential information, but she had also just admitted that the head of the German government was missing. It smacked of a coup, but it sounded as if something far darker was behind the kidnapping.
    
  "But that was more than a month ago, maybe more!" Carrington exclaimed.
    
  Gabi nodded.
    
  "And why wasn't this made public?" Perdue asked. "Surely it would have been very helpful to warn all neighboring countries before this kind of insidious plot spread to the rest of Europe."
    
  "No, this must be kept secret, Mr. Perdue," she disagreed. She turned to face the billionaire, her eyes emphasizing the seriousness of her words. "Why do you think these people, these elite members of society, were killed? It was all part of an ultimatum. The people behind it all threatened to kill influential German citizens until they got what they wanted. The only reason our Chancellor is still alive is because we are still fulfilling their ultimatum," she informed them. "But when we approach that deadline, and the Federal Intelligence Service doesn"t deliver what they demand, our country will..." she laughed bitterly, "...under new leadership."
    
  "Good heavens!" Carrington muttered under his breath. "We need to get MI6 involved, and-"
    
  "No," Perdue interrupted. "You can't risk turning this into a grand public spectacle, Mr. Carrington. If this leaks out, the Chancellor will be dead before nightfall. What we need to do is have someone investigate the origins of the attacks."
    
  "What do they want from Germany?" Carrington was fishing.
    
  "I don't know that part," Gabi lamented, blowing smoke into the air. "What I do know is that they're a very wealthy organization with virtually unlimited resources, and what they want is nothing less than world domination."
    
  "So what do you think we should do about this?" Carrington asked, leaning on the railing to look at Perdue and Gabi simultaneously. The wind whipped his thinning, straight gray hair as he waited for the proposal. "We can't let anyone know about this. If it became public, hysteria would spread across Europe, and I'm almost certain it would be a death sentence for your chancellor."
    
  From the doorway, Carrington's secretary beckoned him to sign the visa waiver, leaving Perdue and Gabi in awkward silence. Each pondered their role in this matter, though it was none of their business. They were simply two upstanding citizens of the world, seeking to help in the fight against the dark souls who had cruelly ended innocent lives in pursuit of greed and power.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, I hate to admit it," she said, quickly glancing around to see if their host was still busy. "But I was the one who arranged for your flight to be rerouted."
    
  "What?" Perdue said, his pale blue eyes full of questions as he stared at the woman in amazement. "Why would you do that?"
    
  "I know who you are," she said. "I knew you wouldn"t tolerate being kicked out of Danish airspace, so I had some people-let"s call them assistants-hack into the air traffic control system to send you to Berlin. I knew I"d be the one Mr. Carrington would call about this. I had to meet with you in an official capacity. People are watching, you see."
    
  "My God, Mrs. Holzer," Perdue frowned, looking at her with great concern. "You've certainly gone through great trouble to talk to me, so what do you want from me?"
    
  "This Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist is your companion in all your quests," she began.
    
  "Sam Cleve?"
    
  "Sam Cleve," she repeated, relieved that he understood who she meant. "He's supposed to be investigating kidnappings and attacks on the rich and powerful. He should be able to figure out what the hell they're up to. I'm in no position to expose them."
    
  "But you know what"s going on," he said. She nodded as Carrington rejoined them.
    
  "So," Carrington said, "have you told anyone else in your office about your ideas, Mrs. Holzer?"
    
  "I did archive some of the information, of course, but, you know," she shrugged.
    
  "Clever," Carrington remarked, sounding deeply impressed.
    
  Gabi added with conviction. "You know, I shouldn't know anything at all, but I'm not sleeping. I'm inclined to do things like this, things that would impact the well-being of the German people and everyone else, for that matter, through my business."
    
  "That's very patriotic of you, Mrs. Holzer," Carrington said.
    
  He pressed the muzzle of the silencer to her jaw and blew her brains out before Perdue could blink. As Gabi's mangled body tumbled over the railing from which Carrington had thrown her, Perdue was quickly overpowered by two embassy bodyguards, who knocked him unconscious.
    
    
  Chapter 4
    
    
  Nina bit the mouthpiece of her snorkel, fearing she might breathe incorrectly. Sam insisted there was no such thing as breathing incorrectly, that she could only be breathing in the wrong place-underwater, for example. Clear, pleasantly warm water enveloped her floating body as she moved forward over the reef, hoping she wouldn't be mauled by a shark or any other sea creature having a bad day.
    
  Below her, twisted corals decorated the pale, barren ocean floor, bringing it to life with vibrant, beautiful colors in shades Nina hadn't even suspected existed. Numerous species of fish joined her in her exploration, darting across her path and making quick movements that made her a little nervous.
    
  "What if something's hiding among these damn schools and it's going to pounce on me?" Nina was scared herself. "What if I'm being chased by a kraken or something right now, and all the fish are actually running like that because they want to get away from it?"
    
  Fueled by a surge of adrenaline from her overactive imagination, Nina kicked faster, clutching her arms tightly to her sides as she squirmed her way past the last large rocks to reach the surface. Behind her, a trail of silvery bubbles marked her progress, and a stream of shimmering little balls of air erupted from the top of her snorkel.
    
  Nina broke the surface just as she felt her chest and legs begin to burn. With her wet hair slicked back, her brown eyes seemed especially large. Her feet touched the sandy floor, and she began to make her way back to the beach cove between the hills formed by the rocks. Wincing, she struggled against the current, goggles in hand.
    
  The tide was rising behind her, a dangerous time to be in the water here. Fortunately, the sun disappeared behind gathering clouds, but it was too late. Nina was experiencing a tropical climate for the first time in the world, and she was already suffering because of it. The pain in her shoulders punished her every time water splashed on her red skin. Her nose had already begun to peel from the sunburn of the previous day.
    
  "Oh God, can I just get to the shallows already!" she chuckled in despair at the constant onslaught of waves and sea spray, which coated her flushed body with salty surf. When the water reached her waist and knees, she hurried to find the nearest shelter, which turned out to be a beach bar.
    
  Every boy and man she encountered turned to watch the petite beauty step swaggeringly onto the soft sand. Nina's dark eyebrows, perfectly shaped above large, dark eyes, only accentuated her marbled skin, even though it was now deeply flushed. All eyes immediately fell on the three emerald-green triangles that barely covered the parts of her body that men desired most. Nina's physique was by no means ideal, but it was the way she carried herself that made others admire and desire her.
    
  "Have you seen the man who was with me this morning?" she asked the young bartender, who was sporting an unbuttoned floral shirt.
    
  "The man with the obsessive lenses?" he asked her. Nina had to smile and nod.
    
  "Yes. That would be exactly what I"m looking for," she winked. She picked up her white cotton tunic from the corner chair where she"d left it and pulled it over her head.
    
  "Haven"t seen him in a while, ma"am. Last time I saw him, he was heading to meet with the elders of a nearby village to learn about their culture or something," the bartender added. "Want a drink?"
    
  "Um, can you transfer the bill to me?" she charmed.
    
  "Of course! What will it be?" he smiled.
    
  "Sherry," Nina decided. She doubted they had any liqueur. "Ta."
    
  The day had given way to a smoky chill as the high tide brought a salt fog that settled onto the beach. Nina sipped her drink, clutching her sunglasses as her eyes scanned her surroundings. Most of the patrons had left, save for a group of Italian students engaged in a drunken brawl across the bar and two strangers hunched over their drinks at the counter.
    
  Having finished her sherry, Nina realized that the sea had come much closer and the sun was quickly setting.
    
  "Is there a storm coming or something?" she asked the bartender.
    
  "I don't think so. There aren't enough clouds for that," he replied, leaning forward to peer out from under the thatched roof. "But I think it's going to get cold soon."
    
  Nina laughed at the thought.
    
  "And how could that be?" she giggled. Noticing the bartender's puzzled look, she told him why she found their cold idea amusing. "Oh, I'm from Scotland, see?"
    
  "Ah!" he laughed. "I see! That"s why you sound like Billy Connelly! And why you," he frowned sympathetically, paying particular attention to her red skin, "lost the battle with the sun on your first day here."
    
  "Yes," Nina agreed, pouting in defeat as she examined her hands again. "Bali hates me."
    
  He laughed and shook his head. "No! Bali loves beauty. Bali loves beauty!" he exclaimed and ducked under the counter, only to emerge with a bottle of sherry. He poured her another glass. "On the house, compliments of Bali."
    
  "Thank you," Nina smiled.
    
  Her newfound relaxation had undoubtedly done her good. Not once since she and Sam had arrived two days earlier had she lost her temper, except, of course, when she cursed the sun as it lashed her. Far from Scotland, far from her home in Oban, she felt as if deeper questions simply couldn't reach her. Especially here, with the Equator to her north instead of south, for once she felt beyond the reach of any kind of mundane or serious matters.
    
  Bali hid her securely. Nina enjoyed the strangeness, how different the islands were from Europe, even if she hated the sun and the incessant heat waves that turned her throat into a desert and made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. Not that she had anything in particular to hide from, but Nina needed a change of scenery for her own good. Only then would she be at her best when she returned home.
    
  Upon learning Sam was alive and seeing him again, the brash academic immediately decided to make the most of his company, now that she knew he wasn't lost to her after all. The way he, Raichtisusis, emerged from the shadows at Dave Purdue's estate taught her to value the present and nothing more. When she thought he was dead, she understood the meaning of finality and regret and vowed never to experience that pain again-the pain of not knowing. His absence from her life convinced Nina that she loved Sam, even if she couldn't imagine herself in a serious relationship with him.
    
  Sam was somewhat different in those days. Naturally, he would have been, having been abducted aboard a diabolical Nazi ship, which had trapped his very being in its bizarre web of unholy physics. How long he'd been tossed from wormhole to wormhole was unclear, but one thing was clear: it had changed the world-renowned journalist's view of the unbelievable.
    
  Nina listened to the fading conversation of the visitors, wondering what Sam was up to. The presence of his camera only convinced her he'd be gone for a while, likely lost in the islands' beauty and unable to keep track of time.
    
  "Last drink," the bartender smiled and offered to pour her another.
    
  "Oh, no, thank you. On an empty stomach, it's like Rohypnol," she chuckled. "I think I'll call it a day."
    
  She hopped off her barstool, gathered her amateur scuba gear, and, slinging it over her shoulder, waved goodbye to the bar staff. There was no sign of him in the room she shared with Sam, which was to be expected, but Nina couldn't help but feel uneasy about his departure. She made herself a cup of tea and waited, looking out through the wide sliding glass door, where thin white curtains fluttered in the sea breeze.
    
  "I can"t," she moaned. "How can people just sit around like this? Oh God, I"m going to go crazy."
    
  Nina closed the windows, put on khaki cargo pants and hiking boots, and packed a folding knife, compass, towel, and bottle of fresh water into her small bag. Determined, she set out for the densely forested area behind the resort, where a hiking trail led to a local village. At first, the overgrown sandy path meandered through a magnificent cathedral of jungle trees, teeming with colorful birds and invigorating, clear streams. For a few minutes, the bird calls were almost deafening, but eventually the chirping faded, as if they were confined to the surroundings she had just left.
    
  The path ahead of her led straight uphill, and the vegetation here was much less lush. Nina realized that the birds had been left behind and that she was now making her way through an eerily quiet place. In the distance, she could hear the voices of people engaged in heated arguments, echoing across the flat terrain that extended from the edge of the hill where she stood. Below, in a small village, women wailed and huddled, while the men of the tribe defended themselves by shouting at each other. Amidst all this, a single man sat on the sand-an intruder.
    
  "Sam!" Nina gasped. "Sam?"
    
  She began to descend the hill toward the settlement. The distinct smell of fire and meat filled the air as she approached, her eyes fixed on Sam. He sat cross-legged, his right hand resting on the top of another man's head, repeating a single word in a foreign language over and over again. The disturbing sight frightened Nina, but Sam was her friend, and she hoped to assess the situation before the crowd turned violent.
    
  "Hello!" she said, stepping into the central clearing. The villagers reacted with undisguised hostility, immediately shouting at Nina and wildly waving their arms to drive her away. She spread her arms, trying to show she wasn't an enemy.
    
  "I'm not here to cause any harm. This," she pointed at Sam, "is my friend. I'll take him, okay? Okay?" Nina dropped to her knees, displaying submissive body language as she moved toward Sam.
    
  "Sam," she said, holding out her hand to him. "Oh my God! Sam, what"s wrong with your eyes?"
    
  His eyes rolled back into their sockets as he repeated one word over and over again.
    
  "Kalihasa! Kalihasa!"
    
  "Sam! Damn it, Sam, wake up, damn it! You're going to get us killed!" she screamed.
    
  "You can"t wake him," the man who must have been the tribal chief told Nina.
    
  "Why not?" She frowned.
    
  "Because he"s dead."
    
    
  Chapter 5
    
    
  Nina felt her hair stand on end in the dry afternoon heat. The sky above the village turned a pale yellow, reminiscent of the pregnant sky of Atherton, where she had once visited as a child during a thunderstorm.
    
  She frowned in disbelief, looking sternly at the chief. "He"s not dead. He"s alive and breathing... right here! What is he saying?"
    
  The old man sighed as if he had seen the same scene too many times in his life.
    
  "Kalihasa. He commands the person under his control to die in his name."
    
  Another man next to Sam began convulsing, but the enraged onlookers made no move to help their comrade. Nina shook Sam vigorously, but the chef, alarmed, pushed her away.
    
  "What?" she screamed at him. "I"ll stop this! Let me go!"
    
  "The dead gods speak. You must listen," he warned.
    
  "Have you all gone mad?" she screamed, throwing her hands in the air. "Sam!" Nina was terrified, but she kept reminding herself that this was Sam-her Sam-and that she had to keep him from killing the native. The chief held her wrist to keep her from interfering. His grip was unnaturally strong for such a frail-looking old man.
    
  On the sand before Sam, a native screamed in agony, and Sam continued to repeat his lawless chant. Blood oozed from Sam's nose and dripped onto his chest and thighs, causing the villagers to chorus in horror. Women wept, and children shrieked, bringing Nina to tears. Shaking her head violently, the Scottish historian screamed hysterically, gathering her strength. She lunged forward with all her might, breaking free from the chieftain's grip.
    
  Consumed with rage and fear, Nina rushed toward Sam with a bottle of water in hand, pursued by three villagers sent to stop her. But she was too fast. Reaching Sam, she poured water over his face and head. She dislocated her shoulder when the village men grabbed her, their momentum proving too much for her small frame.
    
  Sam's eyes closed as drops of water trickled down his forehead. His singing ceased instantly, and the native before him was released from his torment. Exhausted and weeping, he rolled on the sand, calling out to his gods and thanking them for their mercy.
    
  "Get away from me!" Nina screamed, slamming her good arm into one of the men. He hit her hard in the face, sending her falling onto the sand.
    
  "Get your evil prophet out of here!" Nina's attacker growled in a thick accent, raising his fist, but the chief stopped him from further violence. The other men rose from the ground at his command and left Nina and Sam alone, but not before spitting at the intruders as they passed.
    
  "Sam? Sam!" Nina screamed, her voice shaking with shock and rage as she held his face in her hands. She pressed her injured arm painfully to her chest, trying to pull the stunned Sam to his feet. "Jesus Christ, Sam! Get up!"
    
  For the first time, Sam blinked, frowning as confusion washed over him.
    
  "Nina?" he groaned. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
    
  "Look, just get the fuck up and get out of here before these people fry our pale asses for dinner, okay?" she said under her breath. "Please. Please, Sam!"
    
  He looked at his beautiful friend. She seemed shocked.
    
  "What's that bruise on your face? Nina. Hey! Did anyone..." He realized they were in the middle of a rapidly growing crowd. "...did anyone hit you?"
    
  "Don't be all macho now. Let's just get the fuck out of here. Right now," she whispered with firm insistence.
    
  "Okay, okay," he muttered incoherently, still completely stunned. His eyes darted from side to side as he surveyed the spitting audience members, who were shouting insults and gesturing at him and Nina. "What's their problem, for God's sake?"
    
  "It doesn't matter. I'll explain everything if we get out of here alive," Nina gasped in agony and panic, dragging Sam's unsteady body toward the top of the hill.
    
  They moved as fast as they could, but Nina's injury prevented her from running.
    
  "I can't, Sam. You keep going," she shouted.
    
  "Absolutely not. Let me help you," he replied, clumsily feeling her stomach.
    
  "What are you doing?" she frowned.
    
  "Trying to put my arms around your waist so I can pull you along with me, darling," he snorted.
    
  "You're not even close. I'm right here, in plain sight," she groaned, but then something occurred to her. Waving an open palm in front of Sam's face, Nina noticed he followed the movement. "Sam? Do you see?"
    
  He blinked rapidly and looked upset. "A little. I can see you, but it"s hard to judge the distance. My depth perception is completely fucked, Nina."
    
  "Okay, okay, let's just go back to the resort. Once we're safely in our room, we can figure out what the hell happened to you," she suggested sympathetically. Nina took Sam's hand and accompanied them both back to the hotel. Under the watchful eyes of guests and staff, Nina and Sam hurried to their room. Once inside, she locked the door.
    
  "Go lie down, Sam," she said.
    
  "Not until we get you a doctor to treat that nasty bruise," he protested.
    
  "Then how can you see the bruise on my face?" she asked, looking up the number in the hotel directory.
    
  "I see you, Nina," he sighed. "I just can't tell you how far away all this is from me. I have to admit, it's far more annoying than not being able to see, can you believe it?"
    
  "Oh, yeah. Sure," she replied, dialing the number for a taxi service. She'd ordered a ride to the nearest emergency room. "Take a quick shower, Sam. We need to find out if your vision is permanently damaged-that is, right after they put this back in your rotator cuff."
    
  "Is your shoulder out of joint?" Sam asked.
    
  "Yes," she replied. "It slipped out when they grabbed me to keep me away from you."
    
  "Why? What were you planning to do, that they wanted to protect me from you?" He smiled slightly with pleasure, but he could tell that Nina was keeping the details from him.
    
  "I was just going to wake you up, and they didn"t seem to want me to do that, that"s all," she shrugged.
    
  "That's what I want to know. Was I asleep? Was I unconscious?" he asked sincerely, turning to face her.
    
  "I don"t know, Sam," she said unconvincingly.
    
  "Nina," he tried to find out.
    
  "You have less," she glanced at the clock by the bed, "twenty minutes to shower and get ready for our taxi."
    
  "Okay," Sam conceded, getting up to shower, slowly feeling his way along the edge of the bed and the table. "But this isn't over. When we get back, you're going to tell me everything, including what you're keeping from me."
    
  At the hospital, the medical workers on duty took care of Nina's shoulder.
    
  "Would you like something to eat?" asked the perceptive Indonesian doctor. He reminded Nina of one of those promising young Hollywood hipster directors, with his dark features and witty personality.
    
  "Perhaps your nurse?" Sam interjected, leaving the unsuspecting nurse stunned.
    
  "Don't pay any attention to him. He can't help it," Nina winked at the surprised nurse, who was barely in her twenties. The girl forced a smile, casting an uncertain glance at the handsome man who had entered the emergency room with Nina. "And I only bite men."
    
  "Good to know," the charming doctor smiled. "How did you do that? And don't tell me you had to work hard."
    
  "I fell while walking," Nina answered without flinching.
    
  "Okay, let"s go. Ready?" the doctor asked.
    
  "No," she whined for a split second before the doctor yanked her arm with a powerful grip, causing her muscles to spasm. Nina screamed in agony as her ligaments burned and her muscles stretched, causing a devastating burst of pain in her shoulder. Sam jumped up to go to her, but the nurse gently pushed him away.
    
  "It"s over! It"s done," the doctor reassured her. "Everything"s back to normal, okay? It"ll burn for another day or two, but then it"ll get better. Keep it in a sling. Don"t move around too much for the next month, so no walking."
    
  "Oh, my God! For a second I thought you were ripping my fucking arm off!" Nina frowned. Her forehead was glistening with sweat, and her clammy skin was cold to the touch as Sam reached out to take her hand.
    
  "Are you okay?" he asked.
    
  "Yes, I am golden," she said, but her face said something else. "Now we need to check your eyesight."
    
  "What"s wrong with your eyes, sir?" asked the charismatic doctor.
    
  "Well, that's the thing. I have no idea. I..." he looked at Nina suspiciously for a moment, "you know, fell asleep outside while sunbathing. And when I woke up, I had trouble focusing at a distance."
    
  The doctor stared at Sam, his gaze locked on Sam's, as if he didn't believe a word the tourist had just said. He dug into his coat pocket for his penlight and nodded. "You say you fell asleep while sunbathing. Do you sunbathe in your shirt? You don't have a tan line on your chest, and unless you reflect the sunlight off your pale skin, my Scottish friend, there's little to suggest your story is true."
    
  "I don"t think it matters why he was sleeping, doc," Nina defended herself.
    
  He looked at the little firecracker with large, dark eyes. "Really, that makes all the difference, ma'am. Only if I know where it's been, for how long, what it's been exposed to, and so on, can I determine what might have caused the problem."
    
  "Where did you go to school?" Sam asked, completely off topic.
    
  "I graduated from Cornell University and spent four years at Peking University, sir. I was working on my master's degree at Stanford, but I had to interrupt it to come and help with the 2014 floods in Brunei," he explained, searching Sam's eyes.
    
  "And you're hidden in such a small place like this? I'd say it's almost a pity," Sam remarked.
    
  "My family is here, and I think that's where my skills are most needed," the young doctor said, trying to speak lightly and personally, wanting to establish a close relationship with the Scotsman, especially given his suspicions of something amiss. It would be impossible to have a serious discussion about such a condition even with the most open-minded people.
    
  "Mr. Cleve, why don"t you come with me to my office so we can talk privately," the doctor suggested in a serious tone that worried Nina.
    
  "Can Nina come with us?" Sam asked. "I want her to be with me during private conversations about my health."
    
  "Very well," the doctor said, and they escorted him into a small room off the short hallway of the ward. Nina glanced at Sam, but he seemed calm. The sterile environment made Nina feel nauseous. The doctor closed the door and gave them both a long, intense look.
    
  "Perhaps you were in the village near the beach?" he asked them.
    
  "Yes," Sam said. "Is it a local infection?"
    
  "Is that where you got injured, ma'am?" He turned to Nina with a hint of apprehension. She nodded in agreement, looking somewhat embarrassed by her earlier clumsy lie.
    
  "Is it a disease or something, Doctor?" Sam pressed. "Do these people have some kind of disease...?"
    
  The doctor took a deep breath. "Mr. Cleve, do you believe in the supernatural?"
    
    
  Chapter 6
    
    
  Purdue awoke in what resembled a freezer or a coffin designed to preserve a corpse. His eyes could see nothing before him. The darkness and silence were akin to a cold atmosphere that stung his bare skin. His left hand reached for his right wrist, but he discovered his watch had been removed. Every breath was a gasp of agony as he choked on the cold air seeping in from somewhere in the darkness. It was then that Purdue realized he was completely naked.
    
  "Oh my God! Please don't tell me I'm lying on a slab in some morgue. Please don't tell me I'm thought to be dead!" his inner voice begged. 'Keep calm, David. Just stay calm until you find out what's going on. There's no point in panicking prematurely. Panic only clouds your judgment. Panic only clouds your judgment.'
    
  He carefully moved his hands down his body and ran them along his sides to feel what was underneath him.
    
  "Atlas".
    
  "Could it be a coffin?" he thought, but he imagined a coffin would be anything but cold. The sporadic muscle twitches eventually developed into full-blown cramps, especially in his legs. Purdue howled in pain in the darkness, clutching his legs. At least that meant he wasn't encased in a coffin or a morgue refrigerator. Still, knowing that brought him no comfort. The cold was unbearable, even more so than the thick darkness around him.
    
  Suddenly the silence was broken by approaching footsteps.
    
  "Is this my salvation?" Or my doom?
    
  Purdue listened intently, fighting the urge to breathe quickly. No voices filled the room, only the incessant footsteps. His heart pounded wildly with the multitude of thoughts about what it could be-where he could be. A switch flicked, and a white light blinded Purdue, stinging his eyes.
    
  "There he is," he heard a high-pitched male voice that reminded him of Liberace. "My Lord and Savior."
    
  Purdue couldn't open his eyes. Even through closed lids, light penetrated his skull.
    
  "Take your time, Herr Perdue," advised a voice with a strong Berlin accent. "Your eyes need to adjust first, otherwise you'll go blind, my dear. And we don't want that. You're simply too precious."
    
  Uncharacteristically for Dave Perdue, he chose to respond with a clearly pronounced "Fuck you."
    
  The man chuckled at his profanity, which sounded quite funny. The sound of hand clapping reached Perdue's ears, and he winced.
    
  "Why am I naked? I don't lift like that, man," Perdue managed to say.
    
  "Oh, you'll rock no matter how hard we push you, my dear. You'll see. Resistance is very unhealthy. Cooperation is as essential as oxygen, as you'll soon understand. I'm your master, Klaus, and you're naked for the simple reason that naked men are easy to spot when they run away. You see, there's no need to restrain you when you're naked. I believe in simple but effective methods," the man explained.
    
  Purdue forced his eyes to adjust to the bright surroundings. Contrary to all the images he'd imagined as he lay in the darkness, the cell where he was being held captive was large and opulent. It reminded him of the decor in the chapel of Glamis Castle in his native Scotland. Renaissance-style oil paintings, painted in vibrant colors and set in gilded frames, adorned the ceilings and walls. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and stained glass adorned the windows, which peeked out from behind luxurious, deep-purple drapery.
    
  Finally, his eyes found the man he'd only heard his voice about until then, and he looked almost exactly as Purdue had imagined. Not very tall, slender, and elegantly dressed, Klaus stood attentively, his hands folded neatly in front of him. When he smiled, deep dimples appeared in his cheeks, and his dark, beady eyes sometimes seemed to glow in the bright light. Purdue noticed that Klaus combed his hair in a way that reminded him of Hitler's-a dark side part, very short from the top of his ear down. But his face was clean-shaven, and there was no trace of the hideous tuft of hair under his nose that the demonic Nazi leader sported.
    
  "When can I get dressed?" Perdue asked, trying to be as polite as possible. "I"m really cold."
    
  "I'm afraid you can't. While you're here, you'll be naked for both practical and," Klaus's eyes studied Perdue's tall, lean frame with shameless admiration, "aesthetic purposes."
    
  "Without clothes I'll freeze to death! This is ridiculous!" Perdue objected.
    
  "Please control yourself, Herr Perdue," Klaus replied calmly. "Rules are rules. However, the heating will be turned on as soon as I give the order, to ensure your comfort. We only cooled the room to wake you up."
    
  "Couldn"t you just wake me up the old-fashioned way?" Purdue chuckled.
    
  "What's the old-fashioned way? Calling your name? Dousing you with water? Sending your favorite cat to cuddle your face? Please. This is a temple of unholy gods, my dear fellow. We certainly don't advocate kindness and pampering," Klaus said in a cold voice that belied his smiling face and sparkling eyes.
    
  Perdue's legs trembled and his nipples hardened from the cold as he stood next to the silk-covered table that had served as his bed since he was brought here. His hands covered his manhood, his dropping body temperature revealed by the purple hue of his nails and lips.
    
  "Heizung!" Klaus ordered. He switched to a softer tone: "In a few minutes, you'll be much more comfortable, I promise."
    
  "Thank you," Perdue stammered through chattering teeth.
    
  "You may sit down if you wish, but you will not be allowed to leave this room until you are escorted out-or carried out-depending on your level of cooperation," Klaus informed him.
    
  "Something like that," Perdue said. "Where am I? The temple? And what do you need from me?"
    
  "Slowly!" Klaus exclaimed with a wide grin, clapping his hands. "You just want to get the details. Relax."
    
  Perdue felt his frustration growing. "Look, Klaus, I'm not a damn tourist! I'm not here to visit, and I'm certainly not here to entertain you. I want to know the details so we can finish this unfortunate business and I can go home! You seem to assume I'm content to be here in my damned holiday costume, jumping through your hoops like a circus animal!"
    
  Klaus's smile quickly faded. After Perdue finished his tirade, the thin man looked at him without moving. Perdue hoped his point had gotten through to the obnoxious idiot who'd played games with him on one of his less-than-stellar days.
    
  "Are you finished, David?" Klaus asked in a low, ominous voice, barely audible. His dark eyes stared directly into Purdue's as he lowered his chin and steepled his fingers. "Let me make something clear. You are not a guest here, that's right; you are also not the host. You have no power here because you are naked, which means you don't have access to a computer, gadgets, or credit cards to perform your magic tricks."
    
  Klaus slowly approached Perdue, continuing his explanation. "You will not be allowed to ask questions or have opinions here. You will obey or die, and you will do so without question, am I clear?"
    
  "Crystal clear," Perdue replied.
    
  "The only reason I have any respect for you at all is because you were once Renatus of the Order of the Black Sun," he told Perdue, circling him. Klaus showed a clear expression of utter contempt for his captive. "Even though you were a bad king, a treacherous turncoat who chose to destroy the Black Sun instead of using them to rule a new Babylon."
    
  "I never applied for this position!" he defended his case, but Klaus continued speaking as if Perdue"s words were merely creaks in the wood paneling of the room.
    
  "You had the most powerful beast in the world at your beck and call, Renatus, and you decided to defile it, sodomize it, and nearly bring about the complete collapse of centuries of power and wisdom," Klaus preached. "If that had been your plan all along, I would have commended you. It shows a talent for deception. But if you did it because you feared power, my friend, you are worthless."
    
  "Why do you defend the Order of the Black Sun? Are you one of their minions? Did they promise you a place in their throne room after they destroy the world? If you trust them, you're a fool of the highest order," Perdue retorted. He felt his skin relax under the soft warmth of the changing temperature in the room.
    
  Klaus chuckled, smiling bitterly as he stood in front of Perdue.
    
  "I suppose the nickname 'fool' depends on the goal of the game, don't you think? To you, I'm a fool who seeks power by any means necessary. To me, you're a fool for throwing it away," he said.
    
  "Listen, what do you want?" Perdue seethed.
    
  He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Behind the curtain, flush with the wooden frame, was a keyboard. Before using it, Klaus glanced back at Purdue.
    
  "You were brought here to be programmed so you could serve a purpose again," he said. "We need a special relic, David, and you're going to find it for us. And do you want to know the best part?"
    
  Now he was smiling, just like before. Perdue said nothing. He preferred to bide his time and use his observational skills to find a way out once the madman had left. At this point, he no longer wanted to entertain Klaus, but instead simply agreed.
    
  "The best part is that you will want to serve us," Klaus chuckled.
    
  "What is this relic?" Perdue asked, pretending to be interested in knowing.
    
  "Oh, something truly special, even more special than the Spear of Destiny!" he revealed. "Once called the Eighth Wonder of the World, my dear David, it was lost during World War II to a most sinister force that spread across Eastern Europe like a crimson plague. Due to their interference, it is lost to us, and we want it back. We want every surviving piece reassembled and restored to its former glory, to adorn the main hall of this temple in its golden splendor."
    
  Perdue choked. What Klaus was hinting at was absurd and impossible, but it was typical of Black Sun.
    
  "You seriously expect to find the Amber Room?" Perdue asked, surprised. "It was destroyed by British air raids and never made it beyond Königsberg! It no longer exists. Only its fragments are scattered across the ocean floor and under the foundations of old ruins destroyed in 1944. This is a fool's errand!"
    
  "Well, let"s see if we can change your mind about that," Klaus smiled.
    
  He turned to enter the code on the keypad. A loud hum followed, but Purdue couldn't discern anything unusual until the exquisite paintings on the ceiling and walls dissolved into their original canvases. Purdue realized it had all been an optical illusion.
    
  The surfaces within the frames were covered with LED screens, capable of transforming scenes, like windows, into a cyberuniverse. Even the windows were simply images on flat screens. Suddenly, the terrifying Black Sun symbol appeared on all the monitors, before switching to a single, gigantic image that spread across all the screens. Nothing remained of the original room. Purdue was no longer in the castle's opulent drawing room. He stood inside a cavern of fire, and although he knew it was merely a projection, he couldn't deny the discomfort of the rising temperature.
    
    
  Chapter 7
    
    
  The blue light from the television gave the room an even more eerie atmosphere. On the walls, the movement of the newscasts cast a multitude of shapes and shadows in black and blue, flashing like lightning and only briefly illuminating the table decorations. Nothing was where it should have been. Where the glass shelves of the sideboard once held glasses and plates, there was only a gaping frame, with nothing inside. Large, jagged shards of broken dishes were scattered across the floor in front of it, as well as on the top of the drawer.
    
  Blood stains stained some of the wood chips and floor tiles, turning black in the television light. The people on the screen seemed to be addressing no one in particular. There was no audience in the room, though someone was present. On the sofa, a dozing mass of a man filled all three seats and the armrests. His blankets had fallen to the floor, leaving him exposed to the night chill, but he didn't care.
    
  Since his wife's murder, Detlef had felt nothing. Not only had his emotions drained, but his senses had gone numb. Detlef wanted to feel nothing but sadness and mourning. His skin was cold, so cold it burned, but the widower felt only numbness as his blankets slid off and fell in a heap on the carpet.
    
  Her shoes were still lying on the edge of the bed, where she'd thrown them the night before. Detlef couldn't bear to take them, because then she would truly be gone. Gabi's fingerprints were still on the leather strap, the dirt from her soles was still there, and when he touched the shoes, he felt it. If he put them away in the closet, the traces of his last moments with Gabi would be lost forever.
    
  The skin had peeled away from his broken knuckles, leaving a film of residue over the raw flesh. Detlef didn't feel it either. He felt only the cold, dulling the pain of his rampage and the lacerations left by the jagged edges. Of course, he knew he would feel the sting of the wounds the next day, but for now, all he wanted was to sleep. When he slept, he would see her in his dreams. He wouldn't have to face reality. In sleep, he could hide from the reality of his wife's death.
    
  "This is Holly Darryl, at the scene of the sordid incident that took place this morning at the British Embassy in Berlin," babbled an American reporter on television. "It was here that Ben Carrington of the British Embassy witnessed the grisly suicide of Gabi Holzer, a spokesperson for the German Chancellery. You may remember Mrs. Holzer as the spokesperson who spoke to the press about the recent murders of politicians and financiers in Berlin, now dubbed the 'Midas Offensive' by the media. Sources say it remains unclear what Mrs. Holzer's motives were for taking her own life after assisting in the investigation of these murders. It remains to be seen whether she was a possible target of the same killers, or perhaps even connected to them."
    
  Detlef growled, half-asleep, at the media's audacity, which even hinted that his wife might have something to do with the murders. He couldn't decide which of the two lies irritated him more-the supposed suicide or the absurd distortion of her involvement. Disturbed by the unfair speculations of know-it-all journalists, Detlef felt a growing hatred for those who had denigrated his wife in the eyes of the world.
    
  Detlef Holzer wasn't a coward, but he was a serious loner. Perhaps it was his upbringing or perhaps simply his personality, but he always suffered among people. Self-doubt was always his cross, even as a child. He never imagined himself so important as to have his own opinion, and even as a man of thirty-five, married to a stunning woman renowned throughout Germany, Detlef still tended to withdraw.
    
  If he hadn't had extensive combat training in the army, he would never have met Gabi. During the 2009 elections, violence was widespread due to rumors of corruption, sparking protests and boycotts of candidate speeches in certain locations across Germany. Gabi, among other things, hedged her bets by hiring personal security. When she first met her bodyguard, she instantly fell in love with him. How could she not love such a soft-hearted, gentle giant like Detlef?
    
  He never understood what she saw in him, but it was all part of his low self-esteem, so Gabi learned to take his modesty lightly. She never forced him to appear with her in public after his contract as her bodyguard ended. His wife respected his unintentional reservations, even in the bedroom. They were polar opposites when it came to discretion, but they found a comfortable middle ground.
    
  Now she was gone, and he was left completely alone. The longing for her crippled his heart, and he wept incessantly in the sanctuary of the sofa. His thoughts were dominated by ambivalence. He was going to do whatever it took to find out who killed his wife, but first he had to overcome the obstacles he had created for himself. That was the hardest part, but Gabi deserved justice, and he just needed to find a way to become more confident.
    
    
  Chapter 8
    
    
  Sam and Nina had no idea how to answer the doctor's question. Given everything they'd witnessed during their adventures together, they had to admit that unexplained phenomena existed. While much of what they'd experienced could be attributed to complex physics and undiscovered scientific principles, they were open to other explanations.
    
  "Why do you ask?" Sam asked.
    
  "I need to be sure that neither you nor the ladies here will think I'm some kind of superstitious idiot in what I'm about to tell you," the young doctor admitted. His gaze darted back and forth between them. He was deadly serious, but he wasn't sure whether he should trust strangers enough to explain such a far-fetched theory.
    
  "We're very open-minded when it comes to such things, Doctor," Nina assured him. "You can tell us. Honestly, we've seen some strange things ourselves. Sam and I still find little surprising."
    
  "Same thing," Sam added with a childish chuckle.
    
  It took the doctor a moment to figure out how to convey his theory to Sam. His face betrayed his concern. Clearing his throat, he shared what he thought Sam needed to know.
    
  "The people in the village you visited had a very strange encounter several hundred years ago. It's a story that's been passed down orally for centuries, so I'm not sure how much of the original story remains in today's legend," he recounted. "They tell of a precious stone that was picked up by a little boy and brought back to the village to give to the chieftain. But because the stone looked so unusual, the elders thought it was the eye of a god, so they covered it up, fearing they would be watched. Long story short, everyone in the village died three days later because they blinded the god, and he vented his wrath on them."
    
  "And you think my vision problem has something to do with this story?" Sam frowned.
    
  "Look, I know this sounds crazy. Believe me, I know how it sounds, but hear me out," the young man insisted. "What I"m thinking is a little less medical and more along the lines of... um... that sort of..."
    
  "The weird side?" Nina asked, her tone skeptical.
    
  "Wait a minute," Sam said. "Go on. What does this have to do with my vision?"
    
  "I think something happened to you there, Mr. Cleve; something you can't remember," the doctor suggested. "I'll tell you why. Since the ancestors of this tribe blinded the god, only the man harboring the god could go blind in their village."
    
  An overwhelming silence fell over the three, while Sam and Nina stared at the doctor with the most incomprehensible looks he'd ever seen. He had no idea how to explain what he was trying to say, especially since it was so absurd and quixotic.
    
  "In other words," Nina slowly began to make sure she understood everything correctly, "you're telling us you believe the old wives' tale, right? So, that has nothing to do with the decision. You just wanted to let us know you bought into this crazy crap."
    
  "Nina," Sam frowned, not too pleased that she was so abrupt.
    
  "Sam, this guy is practically telling you there's a god inside you. Now, I'm all for ego and can even handle a little narcissism here and there, but for Christ's sake, you can't believe that nonsense!" she admonished him. "My God, that's like saying that if you get an earache in the Amazon, you're half unicorn."
    
  The foreigner's ridicule was too forceful and crude, forcing the young doctor to reveal his diagnosis. Face to face with Sam, he turned his back on Nina, ignoring her dismissiveness of his intellect. "Look, I know how it sounds. But you, Mr. Cleve, processed a frightening amount of concentrated heat through your organon-visus in a short period of time, and while it should have caused your head to explode, you only suffered minor damage to your lens and retina!"
    
  He glanced at Nina. "That was the basis of my diagnostic conclusion. Make of it what you will, but it's too strange to dismiss as anything other than supernatural."
    
  Sam was stunned.
    
  "So this is the reason for my crazy vision," Sam said to himself.
    
  "The extreme heat caused some small cataracts, but any ophthalmologist can remove them as soon as you get home," the doctor said.
    
  Remarkably, it was Nina who encouraged him to explore the other side of his diagnosis. With great respect and curiosity in her voice, Nina asked the doctor about Sam's vision problem from an esoteric perspective. Initially reluctant, he agreed to share his perspective on the specifics of what had happened.
    
  "All I can say is that Mr. Cleve's eyes were exposed to temperatures similar to lightning and emerged with minimal damage. That alone is unnerving. But when you know the stories of villagers like me, you remember things, especially things like the angry blind god who slaughtered the entire village with heavenly fire," the doctor said.
    
  "Lightning," Nina said. "So that's why they insisted Sam was dead, even though his eyes were rolled back into his skull. Doctor, he was having a seizure when I found him."
    
  "Are you sure it wasn"t just a byproduct of the electrical current?" asked the doctor.
    
  Nina shrugged: "Maybe."
    
  "I don't remember any of this. When I woke up, all I remember was feeling hot, half-blind, and extremely confused," Sam admitted, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I know even less now than I did before you told me all this, Doc."
    
  "None of this was supposed to solve your problem, Mr. Cleave. But it was nothing short of a miracle, so I should at least give you a little more information about what might have happened to you," the young man told them. "Look, I don't know what caused this ancient..." He looked at the skeptical lady with Sam, not wanting to provoke her ridicule again. "I don't know what mysterious anomaly caused you to cross the rivers of the gods, Mr. Cleave, but if I were you, I'd keep it a secret and seek the help of a sorcerer-doctor or shaman."
    
  Sam laughed. Nina didn't find it funny at all, but she held her tongue about the more disturbing things she'd seen Sam do when she found him.
    
  "So, I'm possessed by an ancient god? Oh, sweet Jesus!" Sam burst out laughing.
    
  The doctor and Nina exchanged glances, and a silent agreement arose between them.
    
  "You must remember, Sam, that in ancient times, forces of nature that can be explained by science today were called gods. I think that's what the doctor is trying to clarify here. Call it what you will, but there's no doubt that something extremely strange is happening to you. First the visions, and now this," Nina explained.
    
  "I know, love," Sam reassured her, chuckling. "I know. It just sounds so damn crazy. Almost as crazy as time travel or man-made wormholes, you know?" Now, through his smile, he looked bitter and broken.
    
  The doctor scowled at Nina when Sam mentioned time travel, but she merely shook her head dismissively and dismissed it. As much as the doctor believed in the weird and wonderful, she could hardly explain to him that his male patient had spent several nightmarish months as the unwitting captain of a teleporting Nazi ship that had recently defied all laws of physics. Some things just weren't meant to be shared.
    
  "Well, Doctor, thank you so much for your medical-and mystical-help," Nina smiled. "Ultimately, you've been more helpful than you'll ever know."
    
  "Thank you, Miss Gould," the young doctor smiled, "for finally trusting me. Welcome to both of you. Please take care of yourself, okay?"
    
  "Yeah, we're cooler than a prostitute..."
    
  "Sam!" Nina interrupted. "I think you need some rest." She raised an eyebrow at the amusement of both men, who laughed about it as they said goodbye and left the doctor's office.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Late that evening, after a well-deserved shower and treating their injuries, the two Scots went to bed. In the darkness, they listened to the sound of the ocean nearby when Sam pulled Nina closer.
    
  "Sam! No!" she protested.
    
  "What have I done?" he asked.
    
  "My arm! I can't lie on my side, remember? It burns like hell, and it feels like the bone is rattling in my eye socket," she complained.
    
  He was silent for a moment as she struggled to take her place on the bed.
    
  "You can still lie on your back, right?" he playfully flirted.
    
  "Yes," Nina replied, "but my hand is tied across my chest, so I"m sorry, Jack."
    
  "Just your tits, right? The rest is fair game?" he teased.
    
  Nina chuckled, but what Sam didn't know was that she was smiling in the dark. After a brief pause, his tone became much more serious, yet relaxed.
    
  "Nina, what was I doing when you found me?" he asked.
    
  "I told you," she defended herself.
    
  "No, you gave me the lowdown," he rebutted her answer. "I saw how you held back in the hospital when you told the doctor the state you found me in. Okay, maybe I'm stupid sometimes, but I'm still the world's best investigative journalist. I've overcome stalemates with rebels in Kazakhstan and followed a trail to a terrorist hideout during the brutal wars of Bogotá, baby. I know body language, and I know when sources are hiding something from me."
    
  She sighed. "What good does knowing the details do you anyway? We still don't know what's going on with you. Hell, we don't even know what happened to you the day you disappeared aboard the DKM Geheimnis. I'm really not sure how much more of this made-up bullshit you can take, Sam."
    
  "I understand that. I know, but this concerns me, so I need to know. No, I have a right to know," he countered. "You need to tell me so I have the full picture, my love. Then I can put two and two together, you understand? Only then will I know what to do. If there"s one thing I"ve learned as a journalist, it"s that half the information...but even 99% of the information is sometimes not enough to convict a criminal. Every detail is necessary; every fact must be assessed before a conclusion is reached."
    
  "Okay, okay, okay," she interrupted. "I understand. I just don"t want you to have to deal with too much so soon after you got back, okay? You"ve been through so much and miraculously persevered through it all, sweetheart. All I"m trying to do is spare you some of the bad shit until you"re better prepared to deal with it."
    
  Sam rested his head on Nina's graceful belly, causing her to giggle. He couldn't rest his head on her chest because of the sling, so he wrapped his arm around her hip and slid his hand under the small of her back. She smelled of roses and felt like satin. He felt Nina's free hand brush through his thick dark hair as she held him there, and she began to speak.
    
  For over twenty minutes, Sam listened to Nina recount everything that had happened, without missing a single detail. When she told him about the native and the strange voice with which Sam spoke words in an incomprehensible language, she felt his fingertips twitch against her skin. Besides, Sam had done a fairly good job of explaining his frightening condition, but neither of them had slept until sunrise.
    
    
  Chapter 9
    
    
  The incessant pounding at his front door drove Detlef Holtzer to despair and rage. Three days had passed since his wife's murder, but contrary to his hopes, his feelings had only worsened. Each time another reporter knocked, he cringed. Shadows of his childhood crawled from his memories; those dark, abandoned times that made him repulsed the sound of someone knocking on the door.
    
  "Leave me alone!" he shouted, ignoring the caller.
    
  "Mr. Holzer, this is Hein Mueller from the funeral home. Your wife's insurance company contacted me to sort out some issues with you before they can proceed..."
    
  "Are you deaf? I said, get lost!" the hapless widower spat. His voice was shaky with alcohol. He was on the verge of a full-blown breakdown. "I want an autopsy! She was murdered! I"m telling you, she was murdered! I"m not burying her until they investigate this!"
    
  No matter who showed up at his door, Detlef refused them entry. Inside the house, the reclusive man had become indescribably reduced to practically nothing. He stopped eating and barely moved from the sofa, where Gabi's shoes pinned him to her presence.
    
  "I'll find him, Gabi. Don't worry, honey. I'll find him and throw his body off the cliff," he growled softly, rocking back and forth, his eye frozen in place. Detlef could no longer cope with the grief. He stood up and paced the house, heading for the darkened windows. With his index finger, he tore off the corner of the trash bags he'd taped to the glass. Outside, in front of his house, two cars were parked, but they were empty.
    
  "Where are you?" he sang softly. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran into his burning eyes, red from lack of sleep. His massive frame had lost a few pounds since he stopped eating, but he was still a real man. Barefoot, in slacks and a wrinkled long-sleeved shirt hanging loosely at his waist, he stood, waiting for someone to appear at the cars. "I know you"re here. I know you"re at my door, you little mice," he winced as he sang the words. "Mouse, mouse! Are you trying to break into my house?"
    
  He waited, but no one knocked on his door, which was a great relief, though he still distrusted the calm. He dreaded that knock, which sounded like a battering ram to his ears. As a teenager, his father, an alcoholic gambler, left him home alone while he ran from loan sharks and bookmakers. Young Detlef would hide inside, drawing the curtains while the wolves were at the door. A knock on the door was synonymous with a full-scale attack on the little boy, and his heart pounded wildly inside him, terrified of what would happen if they entered.
    
  In addition to knocking, the angry men shouted threats and cursed at him.
    
  "I know you're in there, you little brat! Open the door or I'll burn your house to the ground!" they screamed. Someone threw bricks through the windows, while the teenager sat huddled in the corner of his bedroom, covering his ears. When his father returned home quite late, he found his son in tears, but he only laughed and called the boy a weakling.
    
  To this day, Detlef felt his heart leap whenever someone knocked on his door, even though he knew the callers were harmless and had no ill intentions. But now? Now they were knocking on his door again. They wanted him. They were like the angry men outside in his teenage years, insisting he come out. Detlef felt trapped. He felt threatened. It didn't matter why they had come. The point was that they were trying to force him out of his sanctuary, and it was an act of war on the widower's sensitive emotions.
    
  For no apparent reason, he went into the kitchen and grabbed a paring knife from the drawer. He was perfectly aware of what he was doing, but he lost control. Tears filled his eyes as he sank the blade into his skin, not too deeply, but deep enough. He had no idea what possessed him to do it, but he knew he had to. Following some command from a dark voice in his head, Detlef drew the blade a few inches from one side of his forearm to the other. It stung like a giant paper cut, but it was bearable. As he lifted the knife, he watched blood ooze quietly from the line he had drawn. As the small red streak became a trickle across his white skin, he took a deep breath.
    
  For the first time since Gabi's death, Detlef felt peace. His heart slowed to a calm rhythm, and his worries receded beyond his reach-for the moment. The calm of release captivated him, making him grateful for the knife. For a moment, he contemplated what he had done, but despite the protests of his moral compass, he felt no guilt for it. In fact, he felt accomplished.
    
  "I love you, Gabi," he whispered. "I love you. This is a blood oath for you, my baby."
    
  He wrapped his hand in a dishcloth and washed the knife, but instead of putting it back, he put it in his pocket.
    
  "Just stay put," he whispered to the knife. "Be there when I need you. You're safe. I feel safe with you." A wry smile played across Detlef's face as he savored the sudden calm that had come over him. It was as if the act of cutting himself had cleared his mind, so much so that he felt confident enough to put some effort into finding his wife's killer through some kind of proactive investigation.
    
  Detlef walked across the broken glass of the buffet, not caring to be disturbed. The pain was just another layer of agony, layered on top of what he was already experiencing, making it seem somehow trivial.
    
  Having just learned that he didn't need to cut himself to feel better, he also knew he had to find his late wife's notebook. Gabi was old-fashioned in this regard. She believed in physical notes and calendars. Although she used her phone to remind her of appointments, she also wrote everything down, a habit she cherished now that it could help point to her possible killers.
    
  As he rummaged through her drawers, he knew exactly what he was looking for.
    
  "Oh God, I hope that wasn't in your purse, baby," he muttered, continuing to search frantically. "Because they have your purse, and they're not giving it back to me until I walk out that door to talk to them, you know?" He continued talking to Gabi as if she were listening, the privilege of singles-to keep them from going crazy, something he'd learned from watching his mother abused as she endured the hell of being married.
    
  "Gabi, I need your help, baby," Detlef groaned. He sank into a chair in the small room Gabi used as her office. He looked at the books scattered around and at her old cigarette box on the second shelf of the wooden cabinet she used for her files. Detlef took a deep breath and composed himself. "Where would you put the business diary?" he asked in a quiet voice, his mind racing through all the possibilities.
    
  "It has to be somewhere you could easily access it," he frowned, deep in thought. He stood up and imagined it was his office. "Where would be more convenient?" He sat at her desk, facing her computer monitor. There was a calendar on her desk, but it was empty. "I assume you wouldn't write this here because it's not for public viewing," he remarked, rummaging through the items on the desk surface.
    
  In a porcelain cup with the logo of her old rowing team, she kept pens and a letter opener. A shallower bowl held a few flash drives and trinkets, like hair ties, a marble, and two rings she never wore because they were too big. To the left, next to the leg of her desk lamp, lay an open package of throat lozenges. No diary.
    
  Detlef felt grief wash over him again, distraught over not finding the black leather-bound book. Gabi's piano stood in the far right corner of the room, but the books there contained only sheet music. Outside, he heard rain, which matched his mood.
    
  "Gabi, can I help you with something?" he sighed. The phone in Gabi's filing cabinet rang, scaring him half to death. He knew better than to touch it. It was them. It was the hunters, the accusers. It was the same people who saw his wife as some kind of suicidal weakling. "No!" he screamed, shaking with rage. Detlef grabbed an iron bookend from the shelf and hurled it at the phone. The heavy bookend knocked the phone off the cabinet with tremendous force, leaving it shattered on the floor. His red, watery eyes looked longingly at the broken device, then moved to the cabinet he had damaged with the heavy bookend.
    
  Detlef smiled.
    
  He found Gabi's black diary on the cabinet. It had been lying under the phone this whole time, hidden from prying eyes. He went to pick it up, laughing maniacally. "Baby, you're the best! Was that you? Huh?" he murmured tenderly, opening the book. "Did you just call me? Did you want me to see the book? I know you did."
    
  He leafed through it eagerly, looking for the appointments she had made for the date of her death two days ago.
    
  "Who did you see? Who saw you last, besides that British idiot? Let's see."
    
  With dried blood under his fingernail, he ran his index finger from top to bottom, carefully reviewing each entry.
    
  "I just need to see who you were with before you..." He swallowed hard. "They say you died this morning."
    
    
  8:00 a.m. - Meeting with intelligence representatives
    
  9:30 - Margo Flowers, CHD Story
    
  10:00 AM - David Perdue's office, Ben Carrington, regarding Milla's flight
    
  11:00 a.m. - The Consulate remembers Kirill
    
  12:00 PM - Make an appointment with Dentist Detlef
    
    
  Detlef's hand went to his mouth. "The toothache's gone, you know, Gabi?" His tears blurred the words he was trying to read, and he slammed the book shut, clutched it tightly to his chest, and collapsed into a heap of grief, sobbing bitterly. He could see flashes of lightning through the darkened windows. Gabi's small office was now almost completely dark. He simply sat there and cried until his eyes were dry. The sadness was all-consuming, but he had to pull himself together.
    
  "Carrington's office," he thought. "The last place she was was Carrington's office. He told the media he was there when she died." Something nudged him. There was something else in that recording. He quickly opened the book and flicked the switch on the desk lamp to get a better view. Detlef gasped. "Who's Milla?" he wondered out loud. "And who's David Perdue?"
    
  His fingers couldn't move fast enough as he returned to her contact list, crudely scrawled on the hard inside cover of her book. There was nothing for "Milla," but at the bottom of the page was a web address for one of Perdue's businesses. Detlef immediately went online to see who this Perdue was. After reading the "About Us" section, Detlef clicked on the "Contact Us" tab and smiled.
    
  "Gotcha!"
    
    
  Chapter 10
    
    
  Perdue closed his eyes. Resisting the urge to check the screens, he kept them closed and ignored the sounds of screaming emanating from the four speakers in the corners. What he couldn't ignore was the fever, which was steadily increasing. His body sweated from the onslaught of heat, but he tried his best to follow his mother's rule of not panicking. She always said Zen was the answer.
    
  Once you panic, you're theirs. Once you panic, your mind will believe it, and all the emergency responses will kick in. "Stay calm, or you're screwed," he repeated to himself over and over, standing still. In other words, Purdue had played a good old trick on himself, one he hoped his brain would buy into. He was afraid that even moving would raise his body temperature even further, and he didn't need that.
    
  The surround sound tricked his mind, making him believe it was all real. Only by refraining from looking at the screens could Purdue prevent his brain from consolidating the perceptions and turning them into reality. While studying the basics of NLP in the summer of 2007, he learned subtle tricks of the mind to influence his understanding and reasoning. He never imagined his life would depend on them.
    
  For hours, the deafening sound echoed from all directions. The screams of abused children gave way to a chorus of gunshots before fading into the constant, rhythmic clang of steel on steel. The pounding of hammers on anvils gradually transformed into rhythmic sexual moans before being drowned out by the squeals of seal pups being beaten to death. The recordings played on an endless loop for so long that Perdue could predict the next sound.
    
  To his horror, the billionaire soon realized that the horrific sounds no longer disgusted him. Instead, he realized that certain parts aroused him, while others provoked his hatred. Because he refused to sit, his legs began to ache, and his lower back was killing him, but the floor also began to heat up. Remembering the table as a possible refuge, Purdue opened his eyes to search for it, but while he kept his eyes closed, they removed it, leaving him no room to move.
    
  "Are you trying to kill me already?" he shouted, jumping from one foot to the other to give his legs a break from the scorching hot floor surface. "What do you want from me?"
    
  But no one answered him. Six hours later, Purdue was exhausted. The floor hadn't warmed up in the slightest, but it was still hot enough to burn his feet if he dared to rest them for more than a second at a time. What was worse than the heat and the constant need to move was that the audio clip continued to play without stopping. Every now and then, he couldn't help but open his eyes to see what had changed in the intervening time. After the table disappeared, nothing had changed. For him, this fact was more unnerving than the opposite.
    
  Perdue's feet began to bleed as the blisters on his soles burst, but he couldn't afford to stop even for a moment.
    
  "Oh, Jesus! Please make it stop! Please! I"ll do what you want!" he screamed. Trying not to lose it was no longer an option. Otherwise, they would never have bought the idea that he"d suffered enough to believe their mission would succeed. "Klaus! Klaus, for God"s sake, please tell them to stop!"
    
  But Klaus didn't answer or end the torment. The horrific audio clip repeated endlessly until Perdue screamed over him. Even the mere sound of his own words brought some relief compared to the repetitive sounds. It wasn't long before his voice failed him.
    
  "You're doing great, you idiot!" he said in nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Now you can't call for help, and you don't even have the voice to surrender." His legs buckled under his weight, but he was afraid he'd hit the floor. Soon he wouldn't be able to take another step. Crying like a child, Perdue begged. "Mercy. Please."
    
  Suddenly, the screens went dark, leaving Purdue in pitch darkness once again. The sound stopped instantly, leaving his ears ringing in the sudden silence. The floor was still hot, but cooled within seconds, allowing him to finally sit up. His feet throbbed with excruciating pain, and every muscle in his body twitched and spasmed.
    
  "Oh, thank God," he whispered, grateful that the ordeal was over. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand and didn't even notice the sweat stinging his eyes. The silence was majestic. He could finally hear his heartbeat, which had quickened with the strain. Purdue breathed a deep sigh of relief, savoring the blessing of oblivion.
    
  But Klaus didn't mean "oblivion" for Perdue.
    
  Exactly five minutes later, the screens came back on, and the first scream came from the speakers. Purdue felt his soul shatter. He shook his head in disbelief, feeling the floor warming up again, and his eyes filled with despair.
    
  "Why?" he growled, punishing his throat with the effort of screaming. "What kind of bastard are you? Why don"t you show your face, you son of a whore!" His words-even if they had been heard-would have fallen on deaf ears, because Klaus wasn"t there. In fact, there was no one there. The torture device was set to shut off precisely when Purdue"s hopes were aroused, a fine Nazi-era technique for enhancing psychological torture.
    
  Never trust hope. It is as fleeting as it is cruel.
    
  When Purdue awoke, he was back in the opulent castle room with its oil paintings and stained-glass windows. For a moment, he thought it had all been a nightmare, but then he felt the excruciating pain of bursting blisters. He couldn't see very well, as they had taken his glasses along with his clothes, but his vision was good enough to make out details on the ceiling-not paintings, but frames.
    
  His eyes were dry from the desperate tears he'd shed, but that was nothing compared to the splitting headache he was suffering from due to the acoustic overload. Trying to move his limbs, he found his muscles were holding up better than he'd expected. Finally, Purdue looked down at his feet, apprehensive about what he might see. As expected, his toes and sides were covered in burst blisters and dried blood.
    
  "Don't worry about it, Herr Perdue. I promise you won't be forced to stand on them for at least another day," a sarcastic voice drifted through the air from the door. "You've been sleeping like a log, but it's time to wake up. Three hours of sleep is plenty."
    
  "Klaus," Perdue chuckled.
    
  A thin man leisurely walked toward the table where Perdue reclined, holding two cups of coffee. Tempted to toss it into the German's mouse-sized mug, Perdue resisted the urge to quench his terrible thirst. He sat up and snatched the cup from his tormentor, only to discover it was empty. Furious, Perdue threw the cup to the floor, where it shattered.
    
  "You really should watch your temper, Herr Perdue," Klaus advised, his cheerful voice sounding more mocking than amused.
    
  "That's what they want, Dave. They want you to act like an animal," Perdue thought to himself. "Don't let them win."
    
  "What do you expect from me, Klaus?" Perdue sighed, appealing to the German's more respectable side. "What would you do in my place? Tell me. I guarantee you'd do the same."
    
  "Oh! What happened to your voice? Would you like some water?" Klaus asked cordially.
    
  "So you can turn me down again?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Maybe. But maybe not. Why don"t you give it a try?" he replied.
    
  "Mind games." Purdue knew the game all too well. Sow confusion and leave your opponent unsure whether to expect punishment or reward.
    
  "Can I have some water, please?" Pardew tried. After all, he had nothing to lose.
    
  "Wasser!" Klaus shouted. He gave Perdue a warm smile, the authenticity of a lipless corpse, as the woman brought out a sturdy vessel of pure, clean water. If Perdue had been able to stand, he would have run halfway to meet her, but he had to wait for her. Klaus placed the empty mug he was holding next to Perdue and poured some water.
    
  "Good thing you bought two cups," Perdue rasped.
    
  "I brought two mugs for two reasons. I figured you were going to break one of them. So, I knew you'd need the second one to drink the water you'd ask for," he explained, as Perdue grabbed the bottle to get to the water.
    
  At first, he ignored the cup, clamping the bottle's neck between his lips so hard that the heavy container hit his teeth. But Klaus took it from him and offered Perdue the cup. Only after he'd drunk two cups did Perdue catch his breath.
    
  "Another one? Please," he begged Klaus.
    
  "One more, but we"ll talk later," he said to his captive and filled his cup again.
    
  "Klaus," Perdue breathed out, finishing every last drop. "Could you please just tell me what you want from me? Why did you bring me here?"
    
  Klaus sighed and rolled his eyes. "We've been through this before. You don't have to ask questions." He handed the bottle back to the woman, and she left the room.
    
  "How can I not? At least let me know why I'm being tortured," Perdue pleaded.
    
  "You're not being tortured," Klaus insisted. "You're being restored. When you first contacted the Order, it was to tempt us with your Sacred Spear, the one you and your friends found, remember? You invited all the high-ranking members of Black Sun to a secret meeting on Deep Sea One to show off your relic, right?"
    
  Perdue nodded. It was true. He had used the relic as leverage to gain favor with the Order for potential business.
    
  "When you played with us that time, our members found themselves in a very dangerous situation. But I'm sure you had good intentions, even after you walked away with the relic like a coward, abandoning them to their fate when the waters came," Klaus lectured passionately. "We want you to become that person again; to work with us to obtain what we need so we can all prosper. With your genius and wealth, you would be the perfect candidate, so we're going to... change your mind."
    
  "If you want the Spear of Destiny, I"ll be more than happy to give it to you in exchange for my freedom," Pardue offered, and he meant every word.
    
  "Gott im Himmel! David, weren't you listening?" Klaus exclaimed with youthful frustration. "We can have whatever we want! We want you back, but you're proposing a deal and want to negotiate. This isn't a business deal. This is an introductory lesson, and only after we're sure you're ready will you be allowed to leave this room."
    
  Klaus looked at his watch. He stood up to leave, but Perdue tried to deter him with a platitude.
    
  "Um, can I have some more water, please?" he croaked.
    
  Without stopping or looking back, Klaus shouted, "Wasser!"
    
  As he closed the door behind him, a huge cylinder with a radius almost the size of the room descended from the ceiling.
    
  "Oh God, what now?" Perdue screamed in complete panic as she crashed into the floor. The central ceiling panel slid open and began releasing a stream of water into the cylinder, drenching Perdue's inflamed, naked body and muffling his screams.
    
  What terrified him more than the fear of drowning was the realization that they had no intention of killing.
    
    
  Chapter 11
    
    
  Nina finished packing while Sam took his final shower. They were scheduled to arrive at the airstrip in an hour, heading to Edinburgh.
    
  "Are you finished yet, Sam?" Nina asked loudly, coming out of the bathroom.
    
  "Yeah, she just whipped up some more foam on my ass. I'll be right out!" he replied.
    
  Nina laughed and shook her head. The phone in her purse rang. Without looking at the screen, she answered.
    
  "Hello".
    
  "Hello, uh, Dr. Gould?" asked the man on the phone.
    
  "It's her. Who am I speaking to?" she frowned. They were addressing her by her title, which meant they were a businessman or some kind of insurance agent.
    
  "My name is Detlef," the man introduced himself with a strong German accent. "One of Mr. David Perdue's assistants gave me your number. I'm actually trying to reach him."
    
  "So why didn"t she give you his number?" Nina asked impatiently.
    
  "Because she has no idea where he is, Dr. Gould," he replied softly, almost timidly. "She told me that you might know?"
    
  Nina was puzzled. This didn't make any sense. Perdue never left his assistant's sight. Perhaps his other employees, but never his assistant. The key, especially with his impulsive and adventurous nature, was that one of his people always knew where he was going, in case anything went wrong.
    
  "Listen, Det-Detlef? Right?" Nina asked.
    
  "Yes, ma"am," he said.
    
  "Give me a few minutes to find him, and I'll call you right back, okay? Give me your number, please."
    
  Nina didn't trust the caller. Perdue couldn't just disappear like that, so she assumed it was a shady businessman trying to get Perdue's personal number by deceiving her. He gave her his number, and she hung up. When she called Perdue's mansion, his assistant answered.
    
  "Oh, hi, Nina," the woman greeted her, hearing the familiar voice of the attractive historian with whom Perdue always hung out.
    
  "Listen, did a stranger just call you to talk to Dave?" Nina asked. The answer caught her off guard.
    
  "Yes, he called a few minutes ago, asking for Mr. Purdue. But, to tell you the truth, I haven't heard anything from him today. Maybe he's gone away for the weekend?" she mused.
    
  "He didn't ask you if he was going anywhere?" Nina nudged him. This worried her.
    
  "The last time he visited me was in Las Vegas for a while, but on Wednesday he was planning to go to Copenhagen. There was a fancy hotel he wanted to stay at, but that's all I know," she said. "Should we be worried?"
    
  Nina sighed heavily. "I don"t want to cause panic, but just to be sure, you understand?"
    
  "Yes".
    
  "Did he travel on his own plane?" Nina wanted to know. That would give her a chance to begin her search. Receiving confirmation from her assistant, Nina thanked her and ended the call to try calling Purdue on his cell phone. Nothing. She rushed to the bathroom door and burst inside, finding Sam just wrapping a towel around his waist.
    
  "Hey! If you wanted to play, you should have said so before I got myself together," he smirked.
    
  Ignoring his joke, Nina muttered, "I think Purdue might be in trouble. I'm not sure if it's a Hangover 2-type problem or a real problem, but something's wrong."
    
  "How so?" Sam asked, following her into the room to get dressed. She told him about the mysterious caller and the fact that Purdue's assistant hadn't heard from him.
    
  "I assume you called his mobile?" Sam suggested.
    
  "He never turns off his phone. You know, he has this funny voicemail that takes messages with physics jokes or that he replies to, but it's never just dead, right?" she said. "When I called him, there was nothing."
    
  "That's very strange," he agreed. "But let's go home first, and then we can find out everything. That hotel he went to in Norway..."
    
  "Denmark," she corrected him.
    
  "It doesn't matter. Maybe he's just really enjoying himself. This is the man's first 'normal people' holiday in-well, forever-you know, the kind where he doesn't have people trying to kill him and stuff," he shrugged.
    
  "Something doesn't feel right. I'm just going to call his pilot and get to the bottom of this," she announced.
    
  "Great. But we can"t miss our own flight, so pack your things and let"s go," he said, patting her on the shoulder.
    
  Nina forgot about the man who had pointed out Purdue's disappearance, primarily because she was trying to figure out where her ex-lover might be. As they boarded the plane, they both turned off their phones.
    
  When Detlef tried to contact Nina again, he encountered another dead end, which enraged him, and he immediately believed he was being played. If Perdue's female partner wanted to protect him by eluding the widow of the woman Perdue had killed, Detlef thought, he would have to resort to the very thing he was trying to avoid.
    
  From somewhere in Gabi's small office, he heard a hissing sound. At first, Detlef dismissed it as background noise, but soon it turned into a staticky crackle. The widower listened closely to determine the source. It sounded like someone changing channels on a radio, and every now and then a raspy voice muttered inaudibly, but without music. Detlef quietly moved toward the spot where the white noise was growing louder.
    
  Finally, he looked down at the vent just above the room's floor. It was half-hidden by curtains, but there was no doubt the sound was coming from there. Feeling the need to solve the mystery, Detlef went to get his toolbox.
    
    
  Chapter 12
    
    
  On the flight back to Edinburgh, Sam had trouble reassuring Nina. She was worried about Purdue, especially since she couldn't use her phone during the long flight. Unable to call his crew to confirm his location, she was extremely restless for much of the flight.
    
  "There's nothing we can do right now, Nina," Sam said. "Just take a nap or something until we land. Time flies when you're asleep," he winked.
    
  She gave him one of her looks, one of those she gave him when there were too many witnesses for anything more physical.
    
  "Look, we'll call the pilot as soon as we get there. Until then, you can relax," he suggested. Nina knew he was right, but she just couldn't help but feel something was wrong.
    
  "You know I can never sleep. When I'm nervous, I can't function properly until I'm done," she grumbled, folding her arms, leaning back, and closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to deal with Sam. He, in turn, rummaged through his carry-on, looking for something to occupy his time.
    
  "Peanuts! Shh, don't tell the flight attendants," he whispered to Nina, but she ignored his attempt at humor, holding up a small bag of peanuts and shaking it. When her eyes closed, he decided it would be best to leave her alone. "Yeah, maybe you should get some rest."
    
  She said nothing. In the darkness of the closed world, Nina wondered if her former lover and friend had forgotten to contact his assistant, as Sam had suggested. If so, there would certainly be plenty to discuss with Purdue on the way. She didn't like worrying about things that might turn out to be trivial, especially with her tendency to overanalyze. Every now and then, the turbulence of the flight pulled her from her light sleep. Nina didn't realize how long she dozed off and on. It felt like minutes, but it stretched on for more than an hour.
    
  Sam slapped his hand against her arm where her fingers rested on the edge of the armrest. Instantly angered, Nina's eyes widened to smirk at her companion, but this time he wasn't stupid. There was no shock to frighten him, either. But then Nina was shocked to see Sam tense up, like the fit she'd witnessed in the village a few days earlier.
    
  "Oh, my God! Sam!" she said under her breath, trying not to attract attention for now. She grabbed his wrist with her other hand, trying to pull it free, but he was too strong. "Sam!" she squeezed out. "Sam, wake up!" She tried to speak quietly, but his convulsions began to attract attention.
    
  "What"s wrong with him?" asked a plump lady from the other side of the island.
    
  "Please, just give us a minute," Nina snapped as kindly as she could. His eyes widened, again dull and vacant. "Oh, God, no!" This time she groaned a little louder as despair washed over her, fearing what might happen. Nina remembered what had happened to the man he'd touched during his last seizure.
    
  "Excuse me, ma'am," the flight attendant interrupted Nina's struggle. "Is something wrong?" But when she asked, the flight attendant saw Sam's eerie eyes staring at the ceiling. "Oh, shit," she muttered in alarm before going to the intercom to ask if there was a doctor on board. People everywhere turned to see what the commotion was about; some were shouting, while others were muting their conversations.
    
  As Nina watched, Sam's mouth opened and closed rhythmically. "Oh, God! Don't talk. Please don't talk," she begged, watching him. "Sam! You have to wake up!"
    
  Through the clouds of his consciousness, Sam could hear her voice pleading from somewhere far away. She was walking beside him again toward the well, but this time the world was red. The sky was deep maroon, and the ground was deep orange, like the brick dust beneath his feet. He couldn't see Nina, though in his vision he knew she was there.
    
  When Sam reached the well, he didn't ask for a cup, but there was an empty one on the crumbling wall. He leaned forward again to peer into the well. Before him, he saw a deep, cylindrical well, but this time the water wasn't far below, in the shadows. Beneath it was a well full of clear water.
    
  "Please help! He's choking!" Sam heard Nina's scream from somewhere far away.
    
  Down in the well, Sam saw Purdue reaching up.
    
  "Purdue?" Sam frowned. "What are you doing in the well?"
    
  Perdue gasped for air as his face barely broke the surface. He approached Sam as the water rose higher and higher, looking terrified. Ashen and desperate, his face was contorted, and his hands clutched the sides of the well. Perdue's lips were blue, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Sam could see his friend was naked in the churning water, but when he reached out to save Perdue, the water level had dropped significantly.
    
  "It seems like he can't breathe. Is he asthmatic?" another male voice came from the same place as Nina's.
    
  Sam looked around, but he was alone in the red wasteland. In the distance, he could see a ruined old building, reminiscent of a power plant. Black shadows loomed behind four or five stories of empty window frames. No smoke rose from the towers, and large weeds had grown through the cracks and crevices of the walls, formed by years of abandonment. From somewhere far away, from the depths of his being, he could hear a constant hum. The sound grew louder, ever so slightly, until he recognized it as some kind of generator.
    
  "We need to open his airways! Pull his head back for me!" he heard the man's voice again, but Sam tried to make out another sound, an approaching rumble that grew louder, taking over the entire wasteland until the ground began to shake.
    
  "Purdue!" he screamed, trying once more to save his friend. When he peered into the well again, it was empty, save for a symbol painted on the wet, dirty floor at the bottom. He knew it all too well. A black circle with distinct rays like streaks of lightning lay silently at the bottom of the cylinder, like a spider in ambush. Sam gasped. "The Order of the Black Sun."
    
  "Sam! Sam, can you hear me?" Nina insisted, her voice coming closer through the dusty air of the deserted place. The industrial hum increased to a deafening level, and then the same pulse he had seen under hypnosis pierced the atmosphere. This time, there was no one left to burn to ashes. Sam screamed as the waves of pulse approached him, forcing scalding hot air into his nose and mouth. When she made contact with him, he was snatched away at the very last moment.
    
  "There he is!" came a cheering male voice as Sam woke up on the floor of the aisle where he had been placed for emergency resuscitation. His face was cold and clammy under Nina's gentle hand, and a middle-aged Native American man stood smiling over him.
    
  "Thank you so much, Doctor!" Nina smiled at the Indian. She looked down at Sam. "Darling, how are you feeling?"
    
  "It feels like I"m drowning," Sam managed to croak, feeling the warmth leave his eyeballs. "What happened?"
    
  "Don't worry about it now, okay?" she reassured him, looking very pleased and happy to see him. He sat up, irritated by the gawking audience, but he couldn't lash out at them for noticing such a spectacle, could he?
    
  "Oh my God, I feel like I swallowed a gallon of water in one go," he whined as Nina helped him sit up.
    
  "Maybe it's my fault, Sam," Nina admitted. "I kind of... splashed water in your face again. It seems to be helping you wake up."
    
  Wiping his face, Sam stared at her. "Not if it drowns me!"
    
  "That didn't even come close to your lips," she chuckled. "I'm not stupid."
    
  Sam took a deep breath and decided not to argue for now. Nina's large, dark eyes never left his, as if she were trying to figure out what he was thinking. And she was, in fact, wondering exactly that, but she gave him a few minutes to recover from the attack. What the other passengers heard him muttering was just the incoherent gibberish of a man in the throes of a seizure, but Nina understood the words all too well. It was quite unsettling, but she had to give Sam a moment before asking him if he even remembered what he'd seen underwater.
    
  "Do you remember what you saw?" she asked involuntarily, a victim of her own impatience. Sam looked at her, initially looking surprised. After some thought, he opened his mouth to speak, but remained mute until he could formulate his words. In truth, this time he recalled every detail of the revelation far better than when Dr. Helberg had hypnotized him. Not wanting to cause Nina any further distress, he softened his answer slightly.
    
  "I saw that well again. And this time the sky and earth weren't yellow, but red. Oh, and this time I wasn't surrounded by people either," he said in his most nonchalant tone.
    
  "Is that all?" she asked, knowing he was leaving most of it out.
    
  "Basically, yes," he replied. After a long pause, he casually said to Nina, "I think we should follow your hunch about Purdue."
    
  "Why?" she asked. Nina knew Sam had seen something because he'd said Purdue's name while he'd been unconscious, but she was playing dumb.
    
  "I just think you have a good reason to want to know his whereabouts. This whole thing smells like trouble to me," he said.
    
  "Good. I'm glad you finally understand the urgency. Maybe now you'll stop telling me to relax," she delivered her short, "I-told-you-so" sermon from the Gospels. Nina shifted in her seat just as the plane's intercom announced they were about to land. It had been a long, unpleasant flight, and Sam hoped Purdue was still alive.
    
  After leaving the airport building, they decided to have an early dinner before returning to Sam's apartment on the South Side.
    
  "I need to call Pilot Purdue. Just give me a minute before you catch a cab, okay?" Nina told Sam. He nodded and continued, pressing two cigarettes between his lips to light one. Sam did a superb job of hiding his apprehension from Nina. She circled him, talking to the pilot, and he casually handed her one of the cigarettes as she passed in front of him.
    
  Puffing on a cigarette and pretending to watch the setting sun just above the Edinburgh skyline, Sam replayed the events of his vision in his mind, searching for clues as to where Perdue might be held. In the background, he could hear Nina's voice trembling with emotion as she relayed each bit of information she received over the phone. Depending on what they learned from Perdue's pilot, Sam intended to begin at the very spot where Perdue was last seen.
    
  It felt good to smoke again after hours of abstinence. Even the terrifying drowning sensation he'd experienced earlier wasn't enough to keep him from inhaling the therapeutic poison. Nina stuffed her phone into her bag, holding the cigarette between her lips. She looked thoroughly flustered as she quickly approached him.
    
  "Call us a taxi," she said. "We need to get to the German consulate before they close."
    
    
  Chapter 13
    
    
  Muscle spasms prevented Perdue from using his arms to stay afloat, threatening to push him beneath the surface. He floated for hours in the frigid water of the cylindrical tank, suffering from severe sleep deprivation and slowed reflexes.
    
  "Another sadistic Nazi torture?" he thought. "Please, God, just let me die quickly. I can't go on anymore."
    
  These thoughts weren't exaggerated or born of self-pity, but a fairly accurate self-assessment. His body had been starved, deprived of all nutrients, and forced into self-preservation. Only one thing had changed since the room had been illuminated two hours earlier. The water had turned a sickening yellow, which Purdue's overstrained senses perceived as urine.
    
  "Get me out!" he cried several times during periods of absolute calm. His voice was hoarse and weak, trembling from the cold that penetrated his bones. Although the water had stopped pouring some time ago, he was still in danger of drowning if he stopped kicking. Beneath his blistered feet lay at least 15 feet of water-filled cylinder. He wouldn't be able to stand if his limbs became too tired. He simply had no choice but to continue, otherwise he would surely die a horrible death.
    
  Through the water, Purdue noticed a pulsing every minute. When it happened, his body jerked, but it didn't harm him, leading him to conclude it was a low-current shock designed to keep his synapses active. Even in his delirious state, he found this quite unusual. If they'd wanted to electrocute him, they could easily have done so by now. Perhaps, he thought, they'd intended to torture him by running an electric current through the water, but misjudged the voltage.
    
  Distorted visions penetrated his weary mind. His brain was barely able to support the movement of his limbs, exhausted from lack of sleep and nutrition.
    
  "Keep swimming," he continued to urge his brain, unsure if he was speaking aloud or if the voice he was hearing was coming from within his mind. When he looked down, he was horrified to see a nest of writhing, squid-like creatures in the water below him. Screaming in fear at their appetite, he tried to pull himself up the slippery glass of the pool, but without anything to grab onto, there was no escape.
    
  One tentacle reached out to him, sending a wave of hysteria through the billionaire. He felt the rubbery appendage wrap around his leg before pulling him deeper into the cylindrical tank. Water filled his lungs, and his chest burned as he glanced at the surface one last time. Looking down at what awaited him was simply too terrifying.
    
  "Of all the deaths I imagined for myself, I never thought I'd end up like this! Like an alpha fleece turning to ash," his confused mind struggled to think clearly. Lost and scared to death, Purdue gave up thinking, formulating, or even paddling. His heavy, limp body sank to the bottom of the tank, his open eyes seeing nothing but yellow water as his pulse shot through him once more.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  "That was close," Klaus remarked cheerfully. When Perdue opened his eyes, he was lying on a bed in what must have been the infirmary. Everything, from the walls to the sheets, was the same color as the hellish water in which he had just drowned.
    
  "But if I had drowned..." he tried to make sense of the strange events.
    
  "So, do you think you're ready to fulfill your duty to the Order, Herr Perdue?" Klaus asked. He sat, dressed painfully neatly in a gleaming double-breasted brown suit, complemented by an amber tie.
    
  "For God's sake, just play along this time! Just play along with me, David. No bullshit this time. Give him what he wants. You can be a tough ass later, when you're free," he told himself firmly.
    
  "I am. I am ready for any instructions," Purdue slurred. His lids drooped, concealing his exploration of the room he was in as his eyes scanned the area to determine where he was.
    
  "You don't sound particularly convincing," Klaus remarked dryly. His hands were clasped between his thighs, as if he were either warming them or speaking with the body language of a high school girl. Perdue hated him and his hideous German accent, delivered with the eloquence of a debutante, but he had to do everything possible not to displease the man.
    
  "Give me orders, and you'll see how damn serious I am," Purdue muttered, breathing heavily. "You want the Amber Room. I'll take it from its final resting place and return it here myself."
    
  "You don't even know where here is, my friend," Klaus smiled. "But I think you're trying to figure out where we are."
    
  "How else...?" Perdue began, but his psyche quickly reminded him that he shouldn't ask questions. "I need to know where to take this."
    
  "You'll be told where to take it once you pick it up. It will be your gift to the Black Sun," Klaus explained. "You understand, of course, that you can never be Renat again because of your betrayal."
    
  "That"s understandable," Perdue agreed.
    
  "But there's more to your task, my dear Mr. Perdue. You're expected to eliminate your former colleagues Sam Cleve and that delightfully impudent Dr. Gould before you address the European Union Assembly," Klaus commanded.
    
  Perdue kept his expression impassive and nodded.
    
  "Our representatives in the EU will organize an emergency meeting of the Council of the European Union in Brussels and invite international media, during which you will make a short announcement on our behalf," Klaus continued.
    
  "I believe I'll have the information when the time comes," Perdue said, and Klaus nodded. "Right. I'll pull the necessary strings to begin the search in Königsberg right now."
    
  "Invite Gould and Clive to join you, will you?" Klaus growled. "Two birds, as they say."
    
  "Child's play," Perdue smiled, still under the influence of the hallucinogenic drugs he'd swallowed with his water after a night spent in the heat. "Give me... two months."
    
  Klaus threw his head back and giggled like an old woman, crowing with delight. He rocked back and forth until he caught his breath. "My dear, you'll do it in two weeks."
    
  "That's impossible!" Perdue exclaimed, trying not to sound hostile. "It just takes weeks of planning to organize such a search."
    
  "That's true. I know. But we have a schedule that's been significantly tightened by all the delays we've had because of your unpleasant attitude," the German invader sighed. "And our opposition will no doubt figure out our game plan with every advance we make toward their hidden treasure."
    
  Perdue was curious to know who was behind this standoff, but he didn't dare ask. He feared it might provoke his captor to another round of barbaric torture.
    
  "Now let these legs heal first, and we'll make sure you're on your way home in six days. No point in sending you on an errand as...?" Klaus chuckled. "What do you English call that? A cripple?"
    
  Perdue smiled resignedly, genuinely upset that he had to stay another hour, let alone a week. By now, he'd learned to simply accept it, lest he provoke Klaus into throwing him back into the octopus pit. The German stood up and left the room, shouting, "Enjoy your pudding!"
    
  Perdue looked at the delicious, thick custard he was served while in the hospital bed, but it felt like eating a brick. Having lost several pounds after days of starvation in the torture chamber, Perdue was barely able to restrain himself from eating.
    
  He didn't know it, but his room was one of three in their private medical wing.
    
  After Klaus left, Perdue looked around, trying to find anything that wasn't tinged with yellow or amber. He had trouble understanding whether it was the sickeningly yellow water in which he'd nearly drowned that was causing his eyes to see everything in amber tones. It was the only explanation he had for seeing these strange colors everywhere.
    
  Klaus walked down a long vaulted corridor to where his security men awaited instructions on who to kidnap next. This was his master plan, and it had to be executed to perfection. Klaus Kemper was a third-generation Freemason from Hesse-Kassel, raised in the ideology of the Black Sun organization. His grandfather was Hauptsturmführer Karl Kemper, commander of Panzer Group Kleist during the Prague Offensive in 1945.
    
  From a young age, Klaus's father taught him to be a leader and excel in everything he did. There was no room for error in the Kemper clan, and his more than cheerful father often resorted to ruthless methods to enforce his doctrines. From his father's example, Klaus quickly learned that charisma can be as dangerous as a Molotov cocktail. Many times, he witnessed his father and grandfather intimidate independent and powerful people into surrendering simply by addressing them with certain gestures and tone of voice.
    
  One day, Klaus desired such power, as his slight frame would never have made him a good competitor in more masculine arts. Lacking athleticism or strength, it was only natural for him to immerse himself in his vast knowledge of the world and verbal mastery. With this seemingly meager talent, the young Klaus managed to periodically rise in rank within the Order of the Black Sun after 1946, until he achieved the prestigious status of the organization's chief reformer. Klaus Kemper not only garnered enormous support for the organization in academic, political, and financial circles, but by 2013, he had established himself as one of the main organizers of several of Black Sun's covert operations.
    
  The specific project he was currently working on, for which he had recruited many renowned collaborators in recent months, would become his crowning achievement. In fact, if all had gone according to plan, Klaus might well have secured the highest position in the Order-Renatus's-for himself. He would then become the architect of world domination, but to make it all come true, he needed the baroque beauty of the treasure that once adorned the palace of Tsar Peter the Great.
    
  Despite his colleagues' bewilderment about the treasure he sought to find, Klaus knew that only the world's greatest explorer could recover it for him. David Perdue-a brilliant inventor, billionaire adventurer, and academic philanthropist-had all the resources and knowledge Kemper needed to find the little-known artifact. It was simply a shame he hadn't been able to successfully coerce the Scotsman into submission, even if Perdue thought Kemper could be fooled by his sudden compliance.
    
  In the lobby, his henchmen greeted him respectfully as he left. Klaus shook his head in disappointment as he passed them.
    
  "I"ll be back tomorrow," he told them.
    
  "Protocol for David Perdue, sir?" the chief asked.
    
  Klaus walked out into the barren wasteland surrounding their settlement in southern Kazakhstan and answered bluntly: "Kill him."
    
    
  Chapter 14
    
    
  At the German consulate, Sam and Nina contacted the British embassy in Berlin. They learned that Purdue had an appointment with Ben Carrington and the late Gabi Holzer a few days earlier, but that was all they knew.
    
  They had to go home because it was closing time for the day, but at least they had enough to keep them going. This was Sam Cleave's forte. As a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist, he knew exactly how to get the information he needed without throwing stones into a quiet pond.
    
  "I wonder why he needed to meet that Gabi woman," Nina remarked, stuffing her mouth with cookies. She'd intended to eat them with hot chocolate, but she was starving, and the kettle was taking too long to heat up.
    
  "I'm going to check it out as soon as I turn on my laptop," Sam replied, throwing his bag on the couch before taking his luggage to the laundry room. "Make me some hot chocolate, too, please!"
    
  "Of course," she smiled, wiping crumbs from her mouth. In the temporary solitude of the kitchen, Nina couldn't help but recall the frightening episode on the plane home. If she could find a way to anticipate Sam's attacks, it would be a great help, reducing the likelihood of disaster the next time they weren't so lucky with a doctor nearby. What if it happened when they were alone?
    
  "What if this happens during sex?" Nina mused, weighing the terrifying yet hilarious possibilities. "Just imagine what he could do if he channeled this energy through something other than his palm?" She began to giggle at the amusing images in her mind. "That would justify a cry of 'Oh my God!', wouldn't it?" Running through all sorts of ridiculous scenarios in her head, Nina couldn't help but laugh. She knew it wasn't funny at all, but it simply gave the historian some unorthodox ideas, and she found some comic relief in it.
    
  "What's so funny?" Sam smiled as he walked into the kitchen for a cup of ambrosia.
    
  Nina shook her head to dismiss it, but she was shaking with laughter, snorting between fits of giggles.
    
  "Nothing," she chuckled. "Just some cartoon in my head about a lightning rod. Forget about it."
    
  "Good," he grinned. He loved it when Nina laughed. Not only did she have a musical laugh that people found infectious, but she was also usually a little high-strung and temperamental. Unfortunately, it had become rare to see her laugh so genuinely.
    
  Sam positioned his laptop so that he could connect it to his fixed router for faster broadband speeds than through his wireless device.
    
  "I should have let Purdue make me one of their wireless modems, after all," he muttered. "These things predict the future."
    
  "Do you have any more cookies?" she called to him from the kitchen, while he could hear her opening and closing cabinet doors everywhere in her search.
    
  "No, but my neighbor baked me some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Check them, but I'm sure they're still good. Look in the jar on the fridge," he instructed.
    
  "Got 'em! Ta!"
    
  Sam opened a search for Gabi Holtzer and immediately discovered something that made him very suspicious.
    
  "Nina! You won't believe this," he exclaimed, scanning countless news reports and articles about the death of the German ministry's spokesperson. "This woman worked for the German government some time ago, handling these assassinations. Remember those murders in Berlin and Hamburg and a few other places just before we went on vacation?"
    
  "Yeah, vaguely. So what about her?" Nina asked, sitting down on the arm of the sofa with her cup and cookie.
    
  "She met Perdue at the British High Commission in Berlin, and get this: on the day she reportedly committed suicide," he emphasized the last two words in his confusion. "It was the same day Perdue met this Carrington guy."
    
  "That was the last anyone saw of him," Nina noted. "So, Perdue goes missing on the same day he meets a woman, who soon after commits suicide. It smacks of conspiracy, doesn't it?"
    
  "Apparently the only person at the meeting who isn't dead or missing is Ben Carrington," Sam added. He glanced at the Brit's photo on the screen to memorize his face. "I'd like to talk to you, son."
    
  "I understand we"re heading south tomorrow," Nina suggested.
    
  "Yes, that is, as soon as we pay Raichtisusis a visit," Sam said. "Wouldn't hurt to make sure he hasn't returned home yet."
    
  "I called his cell phone over and over again. It's turned off, no vocal cords, nothing," she repeated.
    
  "How was this dead woman connected to Purdue?" Sam asked.
    
  "The pilot said Perdue wanted to know why his flight to Copenhagen was denied entry. Since she was a representative of the German government, she was invited to the British embassy to discuss why," Nina reported. "But that was all the captain knew. That was their last contact, so the flight crew is still in Berlin."
    
  "Jesus. I have to admit, I have a really bad feeling about this," Sam admitted.
    
  "You finally admit it," she replied. "You mentioned something when you had that fit, Sam. And that something definitely means shitstorm material."
    
  "What?" he asked.
    
  She took another bite of the cookie. "Black Sun."
    
  A grim expression crossed Sam's face as his eyes fell to the floor. "Damn it, I forgot that part," he said quietly. "Now I remember."
    
  "Where did you see that?" she asked bluntly, knowing the horrific nature of the sign and its ability to turn conversations into ugly memories.
    
  "At the bottom of the well," he confided. "I've been thinking. Maybe I should talk to Dr. Helberg about this vision. He'll know how to interpret it."
    
  "While you're at it, ask his clinical opinion about vision-induced cataracts. I'll bet it's a new phenomenon he can't explain," she said firmly.
    
  "You don"t believe in psychology, do you?" Sam sighed.
    
  "No, Sam, I don't know. It's impossible for a specific set of behavioral patterns to be sufficient to diagnose different people in the same way," she argued. "He knows less about psychology than you do. His knowledge is based on the research and theories of some other old fart, and you continue to rely on his less-than-successful attempts to formulate his own theories."
    
  "How can I know more than him?" he snapped back at her.
    
  "Because you live it, you idiot! You experience these phenomena, while he can only speculate. Until he feels, hears, and sees it the way you do, there's no way he'll even begin to understand what we're dealing with!" Nina barked. She was so disappointed with him and his naive trust in Dr. Helberg.
    
  "And what, in your qualified opinion, are we dealing with, my dear?" he asked sarcastically. "Is this something out of one of your ancient history books? Oh, yes, my God. Now I remember! You might even believe it."
    
  "Helberg's a psychiatrist! All he knows is what a bunch of psychopathic idiots demonstrated in some study based on circumstances far removed from the level of weirdness you experienced, my dear! Wake up, damn it! Whatever's wrong with you, it's not just psychosomatic. Something external is controlling your visions. Something intelligent is manipulating your cerebral cortex," she explained.
    
  "Because it speaks through me?" he smiled sardonically. "Note that everything said here represents what I already know, what is already in my subconscious."
    
  "Then explain the thermal anomaly," she quickly retorted, momentarily stumping Sam.
    
  "Apparently my brain also controls my body temperature. Same thing," he countered, not showing his uncertainty.
    
  Nina laughed mockingly. "Your body temperature-I don't care how hot you think you are, Playboy-can't reach the thermal properties of a lightning bolt. And that's exactly what the doctor picked up in Bali, remember? Your eyes were transmitting so much concentrated electricity that 'your head should have exploded,' remember?"
    
  Sam didn't answer.
    
  "And one more thing," she continued her verbal victory, "they say hypnosis causes heightened levels of oscillatory electrical activity in certain neurons of the brain. Genius! Whatever's hypnotizing you is channeling incredible amounts of electrical energy through you, Sam. Can't you see that what's happening to you is categorically beyond mere psychology?"
    
  "Then what do you suggest?" he shouted. "A shaman? Electroshock therapy? Paintball? A colonoscopy?"
    
  "Oh, my God!" She rolled her eyes. "No one"s talking to you. You know what? Figure this shit out for yourself. Go see that charlatan and let him pick your brain some more until you"re as clueless as he is. It shouldn"t be a long journey for you!"
    
  With that, she ran out of the room and slammed the door. If she'd had a car, she would have gone straight home to Oban, but she was stuck overnight. Sam knew better than to mess with Nina when she was angry, so he spent the night on the sofa.
    
  The annoying ringtone of her phone woke Nina the next morning. She awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep that had been too brief and sat up in bed. Her phone was ringing somewhere in her purse, but she couldn't find it in time to answer it.
    
  "Okay, okay, damn it," she muttered through the cotton wool of her awakening mind. Frantically fumbling with her makeup, keys, and deodorant, she finally pulled out her cell phone, but the call had already ended.
    
  Nina frowned as she looked at her watch. It was already 11:30 a.m., and Sam had let her sleep in.
    
  "Great. You're already annoying me today," she scolded Sam in his absence. "You should have overslept yourself." When she left the room, she realized Sam was gone. Heading for the kettle, she glanced at her phone screen. Her eyes could barely focus, but she was still sure she didn't recognize the number. She pressed redial.
    
  "Dr. Helberg"s office," the secretary replied.
    
  "Oh my God," Nina thought. "He went there." But she kept her cool in case she was mistaken. "Hello, this is Dr. Gould. Did I just get a call from this number?"
    
  "Dr. Gould?" the lady repeated excitedly. "Yes! Yes, we"ve been trying to contact you. It"s about Mr. Cleve. Is it possible...?"
    
  "Is he okay?" Nina exclaimed.
    
  "Could you please come into our offices...?"
    
  "I asked you a question!" Nina couldn't resist. "Please, just tell me if he's okay first!"
    
  "We... we d-don"t know, Dr. Gould," the lady answered hesitantly.
    
  "What the hell does this mean?" Nina seethed, her anger fueled by concern for Sam's well-being. She heard a noise in the background.
    
  "Well, ma"am, he appears to be... um... levitating."
    
    
  Chapter 15
    
    
  Detlef removed the floorboards where the vent had been, but when he inserted the screwdriver head into the second screw hole, the entire structure sank into the wall where it had been installed. A loud crack startled him, and he fell backward, pushing off the wall with his feet. As he sat and watched, the wall began to slide sideways, like a sliding door.
    
  "What the...?" he goggled, propping himself up on his hands where he was still cowering on the floor. The doorway led to what he thought was their neighboring apartment, but instead, the dark room turned out to be a secret chamber next to Gabi's office, with a purpose he would soon discover. He rose to his feet, brushing off his pants and shirt. While the darkened doorway awaited him, he didn't want to simply walk inside, as his training had taught him not to rush recklessly into unknown places-at least not without a weapon.
    
  Detlef went to get his Glock and flashlight, in case the unknown room was rigged or had an alarm. This was what he knew best-security breaches and anti-assassination protocol. With absolute precision, he aimed the barrel into the darkness, regulating his heart rate so he could make a precise shot if necessary. But the steady pulse couldn't curb the thrill or the adrenaline rush. Detlef felt like old times again as he entered the room, assessing the perimeter and carefully scanning the interior for any alarms or triggers.
    
  But to his disappointment, it was just a room, although what was inside was far from uninteresting.
    
  "Idiot," he scolded himself when he spotted the standard light switch next to the inside of the door frame. He flicked it on to give himself a full view of the room. Gabi's radio room was lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. He knew it was hers because her cassis lipstick stood at attention next to one of her cigarette cases. One of her cardigans was still draped over the back of the small office chair, and Detlef had to overcome his sadness again at the sight of his wife's belongings.
    
  He picked up the soft cashmere cardigan and inhaled her scent deeply before setting it down to examine the equipment. The room was furnished with four desks. One where her chair sat, two others on either side of it, and one by the door where she kept stacks of documents in what looked like folders-he couldn't immediately identify them. In the dim light of the bulb, Detlef felt as if he had stepped back in time. A musty smell, reminiscent of a museum, filled the room with its unpainted cement walls.
    
  "Wow, honey, I would have thought you, of all people, would have hung some wallpaper and a couple of mirrors," he said to his wife as he looked around the radio room. "That's what you always did; decorated everything."
    
  The place reminded him of a dungeon or an interrogation room in an old spy movie. On her desk was a clever device, similar to a CB radio, but somehow different. Completely ignorant of this kind of outdated radio, Detlef glanced around for the switch. A protruding steel switch was attached to the lower right corner, so he tried it. Suddenly, two small gauges lit up, their needles moving up and down as static hissed through the speaker.
    
  Detlef glanced at the other devices. "They look too complicated for anyone other than a rocket scientist to figure out," he remarked. "What's all this about, Gabi?" he asked, noticing a large corkboard mounted above the desk where stacks of papers lay. Pinned to the board, he saw several articles about murders Gabi had been investigating without her superiors' knowledge. She'd scrawled 'MILLA' on the side in red marker.
    
  "Who's Milla, baby?" he whispered. He remembered an entry in her diary about a certain Milla, written at the same time as the two men present at her death. "I have to know. It's important."
    
  But all he could hear was the whistling whisper of frequencies coming in waves from the radio. His eyes wandered further down the board, where something bright and shiny caught his eye. Two full-color photographs depicted a palace room in gilded splendor. "Wow," Detlef muttered, stunned by the detail and intricate work adorning the walls of the opulent chamber. Amber and gold moldings formed beautiful emblems and shapes, framed at the corners by small figurines of cherubs and goddesses.
    
  "Valued at $143 million? My God, Gabi, do you know what that is?" he muttered, reading details about the lost artwork known as the Amber Room. "What did you have to do with this room? You must have had something to do with it; otherwise, none of this would be here, right?"
    
  All the murder reports contained notes that hinted at the possibility that the Amber Room had something to do with them. Under the word "MILLA," Detlef found a map of Russia and its borders with Belarus, Ukraine, Kazakhstan, and Lithuania. Above the Kazakh Steppe region and Kharkiv, Ukraine, were numbers written in red pen, but they had no familiar pattern, such as a phone number or coordinates. Seemingly by chance, Gabi had written these two-digit numbers on the maps she had pinned to the wall.
    
  What caught his eye was a clearly valuable relic hanging from the corner of the corkboard. Attached to a purple ribbon with a dark blue stripe down the middle was a medal with an inscription in Russian. Detlef carefully removed it and pinned it to his vest under his shirt.
    
  "What the hell have you gotten yourself into, honey?" he whispered to his wife. He snapped a few photos with his cell phone camera and made a short video clip of the room and its contents. "I'll find out what all this had to do with you and that Purdue you were dating, Gabi," he vowed. "And then I'll find his friends who will tell me where he is, or they'll die."
    
  Suddenly, a cacophony of static erupted from the makeshift radio on Gabi's desk, startling Detlef half to death. He fell backwards onto the paper-strewn desk, pushing it with such force that some of the files slid off and scattered in disarray across the floor.
    
  "Oh, my God! My fucking heart!" he screamed, clutching his chest. The red needles on the gauges rapidly jumped left and right. It reminded Detlef of old hi-fi systems, which displayed the volume or clarity of the media playing. Through the static, he heard a voice fade in and out. Upon closer inspection, he realized it wasn't a broadcast, but a call. Detlef sat down in his late wife's chair and listened intently. It was a woman's voice, speaking one word at a time. Frowning, he leaned in. His eyes immediately widened. There was a distinct word there, one he recognized.
    
  "Gabi!"
    
  He sat up warily, unsure what to do. The woman continued calling his wife in Russian; he could say it, but he couldn't speak it. Determined to talk to her, Detlef hurried to open his phone's browser to look at old radios and how they were controlled. In his frenzy, his thumbs kept misspelling the search terms, driving him into indescribable despair.
    
  "Damn! Not "dick talk"!" he complained as several pornographic results appeared on his phone screen. His face glistened with sweat as he rushed to get help operating the old communication device. "Wait! Wait!" he shouted into the radio as a female voice urged Gabi to answer. "Wait for me! Ugh, shit!"
    
  Enraged by the unsatisfactory results of his Google search, Detlef grabbed a thick, dusty book and threw it at the radio. The iron casing loosened slightly, and the receiver fell off the table, dangling by its cord. "Fuck you!" he yelped, frustrated at being unable to control the device.
    
  There was a crackling sound on the radio, and a male voice with a strong Russian accent came from the speaker. "Fuck you too, bro."
    
  Detlef was stunned. He jumped up and walked over to where he'd shoved the device. He grabbed the swinging microphone he'd just attacked with the book and clumsily lifted it. There was no broadcast button on the device, so Detlef simply began speaking.
    
  "Hello? Hey! Hello?" he called, his eyes darting around in desperate hope that someone would answer. His other hand rested gently on the transmitter. For a moment, only static dominated. Then the screeching of switching channels with different modulations filled the small, eerie room, while its sole occupant waited in anticipation.
    
  Finally, Detlef had to admit defeat. Distraught, he shook his head. "Please, speak?" he groaned in English, realizing the Russian on the other end of the line probably didn"t speak German. "Please? I don"t know how to work this thing. I have to tell you that Gabi is my wife."
    
  A female voice creaked from the speaker. Detlef perked up. "Is that Milla? Are you Milla?"
    
  With slow reluctance the woman answered, "Where is Gabi?"
    
  "She"s dead," he replied, then wondered aloud about protocol. "Should I say "the end"?"
    
  "No, it's a covert transmission via L-band using amplitude modulation as the carrier wave," she assured him in broken English, though she was fluent in the terminology of her trade.
    
  "What?" Detlef yelped in utter confusion at a subject he was completely inept at.
    
  She sighed. "This conversation is like a phone call. You talk. I talk. No need to say "over.""
    
  Detlef felt relieved to hear this. "Sehr gut!"
    
  "Speak louder. I can barely hear you. Where's Gabi?" she repeated, not having heard his previous answer clearly.
    
  Detlef found it difficult to repeat the news. "My wife... Gabi is dead."
    
  For a long moment, there was no answer, only the distant crackle of static. Then the man appeared again. "You're lying."
    
  "No, no. No! I"m not lying. My wife was killed four days ago," he defended himself cautiously. "Check the Internet! Check CNN!"
    
  "Your name," the man said. "It"s not your real name. Something that identifies you. Just between you and Milla."
    
  Detlef didn't even think about it. "Widower."
    
  Crackle.
    
  Lovely.
    
  Detlef hated the dull sound of white noise and the dead air. He felt so empty, so lonely, so hollowed out by the void of information-in a way, it defined him.
    
  "Widower. Switch your transmitter to 1549 MHz. Wait for Metallica. Find the numbers. Use your GPS and head out on Thursday," the man instructed.
    
  Click
    
  The click echoed in Detlef's ears like a gunshot, leaving him devastated and confused. He stood frozen, his arms outstretched, bewildered. "What the fuck?"
    
  Suddenly he was spurred on by instructions he had intended to forget.
    
  "Come back! Hello?" he shouted into the loudspeaker, but the Russians had gone. He threw his hands in the air, roaring in frustration. "Fifteen forty-nine," he said. "Fifteen forty-nine. Remember that!" He frantically searched for the approximate number on the dial indicator. Slowly turning the dial, he found the indicated station.
    
  "So what now?" he whined. He had pen and paper ready to write down the numbers, but he had no idea what it meant to wait for Metallica. "What if it"s a code I can"t decipher? What if I don"t understand the message?" he panicked.
    
  Suddenly, the station began broadcasting music. He recognized Metallica, but he didn't recognize the song. The sound gradually faded as a female voice began reading out digital codes, and Detlef wrote them down. When the music started again, he concluded the broadcast was over. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a long sigh of relief. He was intrigued, but his training had also warned him that he couldn't trust anyone he didn't know.
    
  If his wife was killed by people she was involved with, it could very well have been Milla and her accomplice. Until he knew for sure, he couldn't simply follow their orders.
    
  He had to find a scapegoat.
    
    
  Chapter 16
    
    
  Nina burst into Dr. Helberg's office. The waiting room was empty except for the secretary, who looked ashen-pale. As if she knew Nina, she immediately pointed to the closed doors. Behind them, she could hear a man's voice, speaking very deliberately and very calmly.
    
  "Please. Just come in," the secretary pointed at Nina, who was pressed against the wall in horror.
    
  "Where is the guard?" Nina asked quietly.
    
  "He left when Mr. Cleve started levitating," she said. "Everyone ran out of there. On the other hand, with all the trauma it caused, we'll have plenty to deal with in the future," she shrugged.
    
  Nina entered the room, where she could only hear the doctor's conversation. She was grateful she hadn't heard "the other Sam" speak as she pressed the doorknob. She carefully stepped into the room, lit only by the sparse midday sun filtering through the closed blinds. The psychologist saw her but continued talking, while his patient hovered vertically, inches off the ground. It was a frightening sight, but Nina was forced to remain calm and assess the problem logically.
    
  Dr. Helberg urged Sam to return from the session, but when he snapped his fingers to wake him, nothing happened. He shook his head, looking at Nina, expressing his confusion. She looked at Sam, whose head was thrown back, his milky eyes wide.
    
  "I've been trying to get him out of there for almost half an hour," he whispered to Nina. "He told me you've seen him like this twice already. Do you know what's going on?"
    
  She shook her head slowly, but decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Nina pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket and pressed the record button to capture the scene. She carefully lifted it to capture Sam's entire body in the frame before speaking.
    
  Gathering her courage, Nina took a deep breath and said, "Kalihasa."
    
  Dr. Helberg frowned, shrugging. "What is it?" he mouthed.
    
  She held out her hand to ask him to be quiet before she said it louder. "Kalihasa!"
    
  Sam's mouth opened, adjusting to the voice Nina so dreaded. The words came out of Sam, but it wasn't his voice or his lips that spoke them. The psychologist and the historian watched in horror at the horrific episode.
    
  "Kalihasa!" a chorus of indeterminate gender uttered. "The vessel is primitive. The vessel is very rare."
    
  Neither Nina nor Dr. Helberg knew what this statement meant other than the reference to Sam, but the psychologist convinced her to continue for the sake of learning about Sam's condition. She shrugged, looking at the doctor, unsure what to say. There was a slim chance this subject could be discussed or reasoned with.
    
  "Kalihasa," Nina muttered timidly. "Who are you?"
    
  "Conscious," it replied.
    
  "What kind of creature are you?" she asked, paraphrasing what she believed to be a misunderstanding on the part of the voice.
    
  "Consciousness," he replied. "Your mind is wrong."
    
  Dr. Helberg gasped in excitement upon discovering the creature's ability to communicate. Nina tried not to take it personally.
    
  "What do you want?" Nina asked a little more boldly.
    
  "To exist," it said.
    
  To her left, a handsome, plump psychiatrist was bursting with amazement, absolutely fascinated by what was happening.
    
  "With people?" she asked.
    
  "Enslave," he added while she was still speaking.
    
  "To enslave the vessel?" Nina asked, having become adept at formulating her questions.
    
  "The vessel is primitive."
    
  "Are you a god?" she said without thinking.
    
  "Are you a god?" it repeated.
    
  Nina sighed in exasperation. The doctor gestured for her to continue, but she was disappointed. Frowning and pursing her lips, she told the doctor, "This is just a repetition of what I said."
    
  "That's not an answer. He's asking a question," the voice replied, to her surprise.
    
  "I am not a god," she answered modestly.
    
  "That is why I exist," it quickly replied.
    
  Suddenly, Dr. Helberg fell to the floor and began convulsing, just like a local villager. Nina panicked, but continued recording both men.
    
  "No!" she screamed. "Stop! Stop it right now!"
    
  "Are you God?" it asked.
    
  "No!" she screamed. "Stop killing him! Right now!"
    
  "Are you God?" they asked her again, while the poor psychologist writhed in agony.
    
  She shouted sternly as a last resort before searching for the water jug again. "Yes! I am God!"
    
  In an instant, Sam fell to the ground, and Dr. Helberg stopped screaming. Nina rushed to check on them both.
    
  "Excuse me!" she called to the receptionist. "Could you come in here and help me, please?"
    
  No one came. Assuming the woman had left like the others, Nina opened the door to the waiting room. The secretary sat on the waiting room couch, holding the security guard's pistol. At her feet lay a dead security officer, shot in the back of the head. Nina stepped back slightly, not wanting to risk the same fate. She quickly helped Dr. Helberg sit up after his painful spasms, whispering to him not to make a sound. When he regained consciousness, she approached Sam to assess his condition.
    
  "Sam, can you hear me?" she whispered.
    
  "Yes," he groaned, "but I feel weird. Was this another bout of madness? I was half-aware of it this time, you know?"
    
  "What do you mean?" she asked.
    
  "I was conscious throughout this whole thing, and it was as if I was gaining control over the current coursing through me. That argument with you just now. Nina, that was me. Those were my thoughts, a little distorted and sounding like they were straight out of a horror movie! And you know what?" he whispered with great urgency.
    
  "What?"
    
  "I can still feel it going through me," he admitted, grabbing her shoulders. "Doc?" Sam blurted out when he saw what his insane abilities had done to the doctor.
    
  "Shh," Nina reassured him and pointed to the door. "Listen, Sam. I need you to try something for me. Can you try using that... other side... to manipulate someone"s intentions?"
    
  "No, I don"t think so," he suggested. "Why?"
    
  "Look, Sam, you just controlled Dr. Helberg's brain patterns to induce a seizure," she insisted. "You did it to him. You did it by manipulating the electrical activity in his brain, so you should be able to do the same to the receptionist. If you don't," Nina warned, "she'll kill us all in a minute."
    
  "I have no idea what you're talking about, but fine, I'll try," Sam agreed, stumbling to his feet. He peered around the corner and saw a woman sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette, holding a security officer's pistol in her other hand. Sam glanced back at Dr. Helberg. "What's her name?"
    
  "Elma," the doctor replied.
    
  "Elma?" When Sam called from around the corner, something happened he hadn't realized before. Hearing her name intensified her brain activity, instantly establishing a connection with Sam. A faint electric current ran through him like a wave, but it wasn't painful. In her mind, she felt as if Sam were attached to her by invisible cables. He wasn't sure if he should speak to her out loud and order her to drop the gun or if she should just think about it.
    
  Sam decided to use the same method he remembered using while under the influence of the strange power earlier. Simply by thinking of Elma, he sent her a command, feeling it slide along a perceptible thread to her mind. When it connected with her, Sam felt his thoughts merge with hers.
    
  "What's going on?" Dr. Helberg asked Nina, but she pulled him away from Sam and whispered for him to remain still and wait. They both watched from a safe distance as Sam's eyes rolled back into his head again.
    
  "Oh, dear Lord, no! Not again!" Dr. Helberg groaned under his breath.
    
  "Quiet! I think Sam is in control this time," she suggested, hoping to her lucky stars that she was right in her assumption.
    
  "Maybe that's why I couldn't snap him out of it," Dr. Helberg told her. "After all, it wasn't a hypnotic state. It was his own mind, only expanded!"
    
  Nina had to agree that this was a fascinating and logical conclusion from a psychiatrist for whom she had previously had little professional respect.
    
  Elma stood up and threw the gun into the middle of the waiting room. Then she walked into the doctor's office, cigarette in hand. Nina and Dr. Helberg ducked at the sight of her, but all she did was smile at Sam and give him her cigarette.
    
  "Can I offer you one too, Dr. Gould?" she smiled. "I have two more in my backpack."
    
  "Uh, no thanks," Nina replied.
    
  Nina was stunned. Had the woman who had just cold-bloodedly murdered a man really offered her a cigarette? Sam looked at Nina with a boastful smile, to which she merely shook her head and sighed. Elma went to the reception desk and called the police.
    
  "Hello, I would like to report a murder at Dr. Helberg"s office in the Old Town..." she reported her actions.
    
  "Holy shit, Sam!" Nina gasped.
    
  "I know, right?" he smiled, but looked a little flustered by the revelation. "Doc, you're going to have to come up with some kind of story that makes sense to the police. I didn't control any of that crap she did in the waiting room."
    
  "I know, Sam," Dr. Helberg nodded. "You were still under hypnosis when it happened. But we both know she wasn't in control of her mind, and that worries me. How can I let her spend the rest of her life in prison for a crime she technically didn't commit?"
    
  "I'm sure you can testify to her mental stability and perhaps find an explanation that would prove she was in a trance or something," Nina suggested. Her phone rang, and she went to the window to answer it while Sam and Dr. Helberg monitored Elma's movements to make sure she hadn't escaped.
    
  "The truth is, whoever was controlling you, Sam, wanted to kill you, whether it was my assistant or me," Dr. Helberg warned. "Now that it's safe to assume that this power is your own consciousness, I implore you to be very careful about your intentions and attitude, or you may end up killing someone you love."
    
  Nina suddenly caught her breath, so hard that both men looked at her. She looked stunned. "It's Purdue!"
    
    
  Chapter 17
    
    
  Sam and Nina left Dr. Helberg's office before the police arrived. They had no idea what the psychologist was about to tell the authorities, but they had more important things to think about right now.
    
  "Did he say where he was?" Sam asked as they headed toward Sam"s car.
    
  "He was held in a camp run by... guess who?" she chuckled.
    
  "Black Sun, by any chance?" Sam played along.
    
  "Bingo! And he gave me a sequence of numbers to enter into one of his machines in Raichtisusis. Some kind of clever device, similar to the Enigma machine," she informed him.
    
  "Do you know what it"s like?" he asked as they drove to the Purdue estate.
    
  "Yes. It was widely used by the Nazis during World War II for communication. It's essentially an electromechanical rotor cipher machine," Nina explained.
    
  "And you know how to work this thing?" Sam wanted to know because they knew he'd be at a loss trying to figure out complex codes. He'd once tried writing code for a software course and ended up creating a program that did nothing but create umlauts and stationary bubbles.
    
  "Purdue gave me some numbers to enter into the computer, he said it would give us his location," she replied, looking over the seemingly nonsensical sequence she had written down.
    
  "I wonder how he got to the phone," Sam said as they approached the hill where the massive Purdue estate loomed over the winding road. "I hope he doesn't get discovered while he's waiting for us to get to him."
    
  "No, he's safe for now. He told me the guards were ordered to kill him, but he managed to escape the room they were holding him in. Now he's apparently hiding in the computer room and hacked their communication lines so he can call us," she explained.
    
  "Ha! Old school! Good job, old cock!" Sam chuckled at Purdue's resourcefulness.
    
  They pulled into the driveway of Perdue's house. The security guards knew their boss's closest friends and waved warmly as they opened the huge black gates. Perdue's assistant met them at the door.
    
  "Did you find Mr. Purdue?" she asked. "Oh, thank goodness!"
    
  "Yes, we need to get to his electronics room, please. It's urgent," Sam requested, and they hurried to the basement, which Purdue had converted into one of his holy chapels of invention profusion. On one side, he stored everything he was still working on, and on the other, everything he'd completed but not yet patented. For anyone who didn't live and breathe engineering, or was less technically inclined, it was an impenetrable maze of wires and equipment, monitors and instruments.
    
  "Damn, look at all this junk! How are we supposed to find that thing here?" Sam fretted. His hands ran to the sides of his head as he scanned the place, searching for what Nina had described as something like a typewriter. "I don't see anything like that here."
    
  "Me too," she sighed. "Just help me check the cabinets too, please, Sam."
    
  "I hope you know how to handle this thing, or Perdue will be history," he told her as he opened the first cabinet doors, ignoring any jokes he might have made about the pun of his statement.
    
  "Given all the research I did for one of my graduate theses in 2004, I should be able to figure it out, don"t worry," Nina said, rummaging through several cabinets that lined the east wall.
    
  "I think I found it," he said casually. From an old green army locker, Sam pulled out a battered typewriter and held it up like a trophy. "Is this it?"
    
  "Yes, that"s it!" she exclaimed. "Okay, put it here."
    
  Nina cleared the small desk and pulled out a chair from another table to sit in front of it. She pulled out the sheet of numbers Purdue had given her and set to work. While Nina focused on the process, Sam pondered the most recent events, trying to make sense of them. If he could truly compel people to obey his orders, it would completely change his life, but something about his new, convenient set of talents was causing a whole bunch of red lights to flash in his head.
    
  "Excuse me, Dr. Gould," one of Purdue's housekeepers called from the door. "There's a gentleman here to see you. He says he spoke to you on the phone a few days ago about Mr. Purdue."
    
  "Oh, shit!" Nina cried. "I totally forgot about this guy! Sam, the guy who alerted us to Perdue"s disappearance? It must be him. Damn, he"s going to be upset."
    
  "Anyway, he seems very nice," the employee interjected.
    
  "I"ll go talk to him. What"s his name?" Sam asked her.
    
  "Holzer," she replied. "Detlef Holzer."
    
  "Nina, Holzer is the name of the woman who died at the consulate, isn't it?" he asked. She nodded, suddenly remembering the man's name from the phone conversation, now that Sam had mentioned it.
    
  Sam left Nina to her business and rose to speak with the stranger. When he entered the lobby, he was surprised to see a powerfully built man sipping tea with such refinement.
    
  "Mr. Holzer?" Sam smiled, extending his hand. "Sam Cleve. I'm a friend of Dr. Gould and Mr. Purdue. How can I help you?"
    
  Detlef smiled warmly and shook Sam's hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cleve. Um, where's Dr. Gould? It seems like everyone I try to talk to disappears, and someone else takes their place."
    
  "She's just really into the project right now, but she's here. Oh, and she's sorry she hasn't called you back yet, but it looks like you were able to find Mr. Perdue's property pretty easily," Sam remarked, sitting down.
    
  "Have you found him yet? I really need to talk to him about my wife," Detlef said, playing cards face up with Sam. Sam looked at him, intrigued.
    
  "May I ask what Mr. Perdue"s relationship was to your wife?" Were they business partners? Sam knew full well that they had met in Carrington"s office to discuss the no-landing order, but first he wanted to get to know the stranger.
    
  "No, actually, I wanted to ask him a few questions about the circumstances of my wife's death. You see, Mr. Cleve, I know she didn't commit suicide. Mr. Purdue was there when she was killed. Do you understand where I'm going with this?" he asked Sam in a more stern tone.
    
  "You think Purdue killed your wife," Sam confirmed.
    
  "I believe," Detlef replied.
    
  "And you"re here for revenge?" Sam asked.
    
  "Would that really be so far-fetched?" the German giant countered. "He was the last person to see Gabi alive. Why else would I be here?"
    
  The atmosphere between them quickly became tense, but Sam tried to use common sense and be polite.
    
  "Mr. Holzer, I know Dave Perdue. He's certainly not a murderer. He's an inventor and researcher interested only in historical relics. What do you think he would gain from your wife's death?" Sam asked, his journalistic skill intrigued.
    
  "I know she was trying to expose the people behind those murders in Germany, and that it had something to do with the elusive Amber Room, which was lost during World War II. Then she went to meet David Perdue and died. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?" he asked Sam confrontationally.
    
  "I can understand how you came to that conclusion, Mr. Holzer, but immediately after Gabi"s death, Perdue went missing..."
    
  "That's the point. Wouldn't the killer try to disappear to avoid being caught?" Detlef interrupted. Sam had to admit the man had good reason to suspect Purdue of murdering his wife.
    
  "Okay, I"ll tell you what," Sam offered diplomatically, "as soon as we find..."
    
  "Sam! I can't get this damn thing to tell me all the words. Purdue's last two sentences said something about the Amber Room and the Red Army!" Nina shouted, running up the steps to the Dress Circle.
    
  "That's Dr. Gould, right?" Detlef asked Sam. "I recognize her voice from the phone. Tell me, Mr. Cleve, what's her connection to David Perdue?"
    
  "I'm a colleague and a friend. I advise him on historical matters during his expeditions, Mr. Holzer," she answered his question firmly.
    
  "It's a pleasure to meet you face to face, Dr. Gould," Detlef smiled coldly. "Now tell me, Mr. Cleve, how is it that my wife was investigating something very similar to the same subjects Dr. Gould just mentioned?" And they both happen to know David Perdue, so why don't you tell me what I should think?"
    
  Nina and Sam exchanged frowning glances. It seemed as if their visitor was missing pieces in their own puzzle.
    
  "Mr. Holzer, what items are you talking about?" Sam asked. "If you could help us figure this out, we could probably find Purdue, and then I promise you can ask him anything you want."
    
  "Without killing him, of course," Nina added, joining the two men on the velvet seats in the living room.
    
  "My wife was investigating the murders of financiers and politicians in Berlin. But after her death, I found a room-the radio room, I think-and there I found articles about the murders and numerous documents about the Amber Room, which had once been given to Tsar Peter the Great by King Friedrich Wilhelm I of Prussia," Detlef said. "Gabi knew there was a connection between them, but I need to talk to David Perdue to find out what it was."
    
  "Well, there is a way you can talk to him, Mr. Holzer," Nina shrugged. "I think the information you need might be contained in his recent communication to us."
    
  "So you know where he is!" he barked.
    
  "No, we only got this message, and we need to decipher all the words before we can go and rescue him from the people who kidnapped him," Nina explained to the agitated visitor. "If we can't decipher his message, I have no idea how to look for him."
    
  "By the way, what was in the rest of the message that you managed to decipher?" Sam asked her curiously.
    
  She sighed, still confused by the nonsensical wording. "It mentions 'Army' and 'Steppe,' perhaps a mountainous region? Then it says 'seek the Amber Room or die,' and the only thing I got was a bunch of punctuation marks and asterisks. I'm not sure his car is completely fine."
    
  Detlef considered this information. "Look at this," he said suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket. Sam assumed a defensive stance, but the stranger simply pulled out his cell phone. He scrolled through the photos and showed them the contents of the secret room. "One of my sources gave me coordinates where I could find the people Gabi threatened to expose. See these numbers? Put them in your machine and see what it does."
    
  They returned to the room in the basement of the old mansion, where Nina worked with the Enigma machine. Detlef's photographs were clear and close enough that each combination could be discerned. Over the next two hours, Nina entered the numbers one by one. Finally, she had a printout of words matching the ciphers.
    
  "Now this isn't Purdue's message; this message is based on the numbers from Gabi's maps," Nina explained before reading out the results. "First, it says 'Black vs. Red in the Kazakh Steppe,' then 'Radiation Cage,' and the last two combinations are 'Mind Control' and 'Ancient Orgasm.'"
    
  Sam raised an eyebrow. "Ancient orgasm?"
    
  "Ugh! I misspoke. It's 'ancient organism,'" she stammered, much to the amusement of Detlef and Sam. "So, 'Steppe' is mentioned by both Gabi and Purdue, and that's the only clue, which just happens to be the location."
    
  Sam looked at Detlef. "So, you came all the way from Germany to find Gabi's killer. How about a trip to the Kazakh steppe?"
    
    
  Chapter 18
    
    
  Perdue's legs still ached terribly. Every step he took felt like walking on nails that reached up to his ankles. This made it nearly impossible for him to wear shoes, but he knew he had to if he wanted to escape his prison. After Klaus left the infirmary, Perdue immediately removed the IV from his arm and began testing his legs to see if they were strong enough to support his weight. He didn't believe they intended to care for him for the next few days. He expected more torture that would cripple his body and mind.
    
  Thanks to his affinity for technology, Perdue knew he could manipulate their communications devices, as well as any access control and security systems they employed. The Order of the Black Sun was a sovereign organization, using only the best to protect its interests, but Dave Perdue was a genius they could only fear. He was capable of improving any invention his engineers had created with little effort.
    
  He sat up in bed, then carefully slid down the side to slowly apply pressure to his sore soles. Wincing, Purdue tried to ignore the excruciating pain from his second-degree burns. He didn't want to be discovered while he still couldn't walk or run, or he would be finished.
    
  While Klaus was briefing his men before leaving, their captive was already limping through the vast labyrinth of corridors, mentally mapping out his escape. On the third floor, where he was being held captive, he crept along the north wall to find the end of the corridor, assuming there must be a flight of stairs there. He wasn't entirely surprised to see that the entire fortress was actually circular, and that the outer walls were composed of iron beams and trusses, reinforced with enormous sheets of bolted steel.
    
  "This looks like a fucking spaceship," he thought to himself, taking in the architecture of the Kazakh Black Sun Citadel. The center of the building was empty, a vast space where giant machines or aircraft could be stored or built. On all sides, the steel structure supported ten floors of offices, server stations, interrogation chambers, dining halls and living quarters, conference rooms, and laboratories. Purdue was delighted with the building's efficient electrical system and scientific infrastructure, but he had to keep moving.
    
  He made his way through the dark passages of abandoned furnaces and dusty workshops, searching for an exit or at least some working communication device he could use to summon help. To his relief, he discovered an old air traffic control room that appeared to have been unused for decades.
    
  "Probably part of some Cold War-era launcher," he said, frowning as he surveyed the equipment in the rectangular room. Keeping his eye on the old piece of mirror he'd taken from the empty lab, he began connecting the only device he recognized. "Looks like an electronic version of a Morse code transmitter," he guessed, crouching down to find a cable to plug into the wall outlet. The machine was designed only to broadcast numerical sequences, so he had to try to recall the training he'd received long before his time in Wolfenstein all those years ago.
    
  After getting the apparatus up and running and pointing its antennas toward what he believed to be north, Purdue found a transmitting device that worked like a telegraph machine but could connect to geostationary telecommunications satellites with the correct codes. With this machine, he could convert phrases into their numerical equivalents and use the Atbash cipher in combination with a mathematical encoding system. "Binary would be much faster," he fumed, as the outdated device continued to lose results due to brief, sporadic power outages caused by voltage fluctuations in the power lines.
    
  When Purdue finally provided Nina with the clues she needed to solve the problem on his home Enigma machine, he hacked the old system to establish a connection to the telecommunications channel. It wasn't easy trying to contact a phone number this way, but he had to try. It was the only way he could transmit the digit sequences to Nina within the twenty-second transmission window to her service provider, but surprisingly, he succeeded.
    
  It wasn't long before he heard Kemper's men running through the steel and concrete fortress, searching for him. His nerves were on edge, despite having managed to make an emergency call. He knew it would actually take days to find him, so he had agonizing hours ahead. Purdue feared that if they found him, the punishment would be one he'd never recover from.
    
  His body still aching, he took refuge in an abandoned underground pool of water behind locked iron doors, cobweb-covered and corroded with rust. It was clear no one had entered it for years, making it the perfect refuge for a wounded fugitive.
    
  Purdue was so well hidden, awaiting rescue, that he didn't even notice the citadel was attacked two days later. Nina contacted Chaim and Todd, Purdue's computer experts, to shut down the power grid in the area. She gave them the coordinates Detlef had received from Milla after tuning into the numbers station. Using this information, the two Scotsmen damaged the complex's power supply and primary communications system, jamming all devices, such as laptops and cell phones, within a two-mile radius of the Black Sun Fortress.
    
  Sam and Detlef entered the complex undetected through the main entrance, using a strategy they had prepared before flying into the deserted Kazakh steppe by helicopter. They enlisted the help of Purdue's Polish subsidiary, PoleTech Air & Transit Services. While the men breached the compound, Nina waited in the craft with a military-trained pilot, scanning the surrounding area with infrared imaging for any hostile movements.
    
  Detlef was armed with his Glock, two hunting knives, and one of his two expandable batons. He gave the other to Sam. The journalist, in turn, had grabbed his own Makarov pistol and four smoke bombs. They burst through the main entrance, expecting a hail of bullets in the darkness, but instead stumbled over several bodies strewn across the hallway floor.
    
  "What the hell is going on?" Sam whispered. "These people work here. Who could have killed them?"
    
  "From what I've heard, these Germans are killing their own for promotion," Detlef replied quietly, pointing his flashlight at the dead men on the floor. "There are about twenty of them. Listen!"
    
  Sam paused and listened. They could hear the chaos caused by the power outage on other floors of the building. They cautiously climbed the first flight of stairs. It was too dangerous to split up in a complex as large as this, unaware of the weapons or the number of its inhabitants. They walked carefully in single file, weapons at the ready, lighting the way with their torches.
    
  "Let's hope they don't immediately recognize us as intruders," Sam remarked.
    
  Detlef smiled. "Right. Let"s just keep moving."
    
  "Yeah," Sam said. They watched as the blinking lights of some of the passengers raced toward the generator room. "Oh shit! Detlef, they're going to turn on the generator!"
    
  "Move! Move!" Detlef ordered his assistant, grabbing him by the shirt. He dragged Sam along with him to intercept the security men before they could reach the generator room. Following the glowing orbs, Sam and Detlef cocked their weapons, bracing for the inevitable. As they ran, Detlef asked Sam, "Have you ever killed anyone?"
    
  "Yes, but never on purpose," Sam replied.
    
  "Okay, now you'll have to-with extreme prejudice!" the tall German declared. "No mercy. Or we'll never get out of there alive."
    
  "Roger that!" Sam promised as they came face to face with the first four men, no more than three feet from the door. The men didn't realize the two figures approaching from the other side were intruders until the first bullet shattered the first man's skull.
    
  Sam winced as hot sprays of brain matter and blood hit his face, but he aimed at the second man in line, who, without flinching, pulled the trigger, killing him. The dead man fell limply at Sam's feet as he crouched to pick up his pistol. He aimed at the approaching men, who began firing back, wounding two more. Detlef dropped six men with perfect center-mass shots before continuing the attack on Sam's two targets, putting a bullet through each of their skulls.
    
  "Great job, Sam," the German smiled. "You smoke, right?"
    
  "I believe it, why?" Sam asked, wiping the bloody mess from his face and ear. "Give me your lighter," his partner said from the doorway. He tossed Detlef his Zippo before they entered the generator room and ignited the fuel tanks. On the way back, they disabled the engines with a few well-placed bullets.
    
  Perdue heard the madness from his small refuge and headed for the main entrance, but only because it was the only way out he knew. Limping heavily, using his hand against the wall to navigate the darkness, Perdue slowly climbed the emergency stairwell into the first-floor foyer.
    
  The doors were wide open, and in the dim light that fell into the room, he carefully stepped over the bodies until he reached the welcoming breath of warm, dry air of the desert landscape outside. Crying with gratitude and fear, Perdue ran toward the helicopter, waving his arms, praying to God that it didn't belong to the enemy.
    
  Nina jumped out of the car and ran to him. "Purdue! Perdue! Are you okay? Come here!" she shouted, approaching him. Perdue looked up at the beautiful historian. She was shouting into her radio, letting Sam and Detlef know that she had Perdue. As Perdue fell into her arms, he collapsed, dragging her down with him onto the sand.
    
  "I couldn't wait to feel your touch again, Nina," he breathed. "You've been through this."
    
  "I always do this," she smiled, holding her exhausted friend in her arms until the others arrived. They boarded a helicopter and flew west, where they had comfortable accommodations on the shores of the Aral Sea.
    
    
  Chapter 19
    
    
  "We must find the Amber Room, or the Order will. It's imperative that we find it before they do, because this time they will overthrow the world's governments and unleash genocidal violence," Perdue insisted.
    
  They huddled around a fire in the backyard of the house Sam was renting in the Aral settlement. It was a semi-furnished three-bedroom shack, lacking half the amenities the group was accustomed to in the First World. But it was unassuming and quaint, and they could rest there, at least until Perdue felt better. Meanwhile, Sam had to keep a close eye on Detlef to make sure the widower didn't lash out and kill the billionaire before dealing with Gabi's death.
    
  "We'll get to it as soon as you feel better, Perdue," Sam said. "Right now, we're just laying low and resting."
    
  Nina's braided hair escaped from under her knit cap as she lit another cigarette. Purdue's warning, intended as foreshadowing, didn't seem like much of a problem to her because of how she'd been viewing the world lately. It wasn't so much the verbal exchange with the godlike entity within Sam's soul that had left her with such indifferent thoughts. She simply became more aware of humanity's recurring errors and the omnipresent inability to maintain balance throughout the world.
    
  Aral was a fishing port and harbor city before the mighty Aral Sea dried up almost completely, leaving behind only a barren desert. Nina was saddened that so many beautiful bodies of water had dried up and disappeared due to human contamination. Sometimes, when she felt particularly apathetic, she wondered if the world would be a better place if the human race hadn't killed everything in it, including itself.
    
  People reminded her of children abandoned to the care of an anthill. They simply lacked the wisdom or humility to realize that they were part of the world, not responsible for it. In arrogance and irresponsibility, they bred like cockroaches, oblivious to the fact that instead of destroying the planet to satisfy their numbers and needs, they should have curbed their own population growth. Nina was frustrated that humans, as a collective, refused to see that creating a smaller, more intelligent population would lead to a far more efficient world, without destroying all beauty for the sake of their greed and reckless existence.
    
  Lost in thought, Nina smoked a cigarette by the fireplace. Thoughts and ideologies she shouldn't have entertained entered her mind, where it was safe to bury forbidden topics. She pondered the Nazis' goals and discovered that some of these seemingly cruel ideas were actually viable solutions to the many problems that have brought the world to its knees in the current era.
    
  Naturally, she abhorred genocide, cruelty, and oppression. But ultimately, she agreed that, to some extent, eradicating the weak genetic makeup and implementing birth control through sterilization after two children was not so monstrous. This would reduce human numbers, thereby preserving forests and agricultural lands instead of constantly clearing forests to build more human habitats.
    
  As she looked at the earth below during their flight to the Aral Sea, Nina mentally mourned all these things. The magnificent landscapes, once full of life, had shriveled and withered beneath human feet.
    
  No, she didn't condone the actions of the Third Reich, but her skill and order were undeniable. "If only today there were people with such rigorous discipline and exceptional drive, willing to change the world for the better," she sighed, finishing her last cigarette. "Imagine a world where someone like that didn't oppress people, but stopped ruthless corporations. Where, instead of destroying cultures, they destroyed media brainwashing, and we'd all be better off. And by now, there'd be a fucking lake here to feed the people."
    
  She flicked the cigarette butt into the fire. Her eyes caught Purdue's gaze, but she pretended not to be bothered by his attention. Perhaps it was the flickering shadows cast by the fire that gave his haggard face such a menacing look, but she didn't like it.
    
  "How do you know where to start looking?" Detlef asked. "I read that the Amber Room was destroyed during the war. Do these people expect you to magically reappear something that no longer exists?"
    
  Perdue seemed agitated, but the others assumed it was due to his traumatic experience at the hands of Klaus Kemper. "They say it's still out there. And if we don't get ahead of them, they'll undoubtedly prevail against us forever."
    
  "Why?" Nina asked. "What"s so powerful about the Amber Room-if it even still exists?"
    
  "I don't know, Nina. They didn't go into detail, but they made it clear it possessed undeniable power," Purdue rambled. "What it contains or does, I have no idea. I just know it's very dangerous-as things of perfect beauty usually are."
    
  Sam could tell the phrase was directed at Nina, but Perdue's tone wasn't amorous or sentimental. If he wasn't mistaken, it sounded almost hostile. Sam wondered how Perdue really felt about Nina spending so much time with him, and it seemed to be a sore point for the usually cheerful billionaire.
    
  "Where was she last?" Detlef asked Nina. "You're a historian. Do you know where the Nazis might have taken her if she hadn't been destroyed?"
    
  "I only know what's written in the history books, Detlef," she admitted, "but sometimes there are facts hidden in the details that give us clues."
    
  "And what do your history books say?" he asked amiably, pretending to be very interested in Nina"s calling.
    
  She sighed and shrugged, recalling the legend of the Amber Room, as dictated by her textbooks. "The Amber Room was made in Prussia in the early 1700s, Detlef. It was made of amber panels and gold leaf-shaped inlays and carvings, with mirrors behind them to make it look even more magnificent when the light hit it."
    
  "Who did it belong to?" he asked, biting into a dry crust of homemade bread.
    
  "The king at the time was Friedrich Wilhelm I, but he gave the Amber Room to the Russian Tsar Peter the Great as a gift. But here's the cool thing," she said. "While it belonged to the Tsar, it was actually expanded several times! Imagine its value, even back then!"
    
  "From the king?" Sam asked her.
    
  "Yes. They say when he finished expanding the chamber, it contained six tons of amber. So, as always, the Russians earned their reputation for their penchant for size." She laughed. "But then it was looted by a Nazi unit during World War II."
    
  "Of course," Detlef lamented.
    
  "And where did they keep it?" Sam wanted to know. Nina shook her head.
    
  "What remained was transported to Königsberg for restoration and subsequently put on public display there. But... that"s not all," Nina continued, accepting a glass of red wine from Sam. "It is believed that it was destroyed there once and for all by Allied air attacks when the castle was bombed in 1944. Some records indicate that when the Third Reich fell in 1945 and the Red Army occupied Königsberg, the Nazis had already taken the remains of the Amber Room and smuggled them onto a passenger liner in Gdynia to be transported out of Königsberg."
    
  "And where did he go?" I asked. Purdue asked with keen interest. He already knew much of what Nina had relayed, but only up to the part about the Amber Room being destroyed by Allied airstrikes.
    
  Nina shrugged. "Nobody knows. Some sources say the ship was torpedoed by a Soviet submarine and the Amber Room was lost at sea. But the truth is, nobody really knows."
    
  "If you had to guess," Sam challenged her heartily, "based on what you know about the overall situation during the war, what do you think happened?"
    
  Nina had her own theory about what she was doing and what she didn't believe, judging by the recordings. "I really don't know, Sam. I just don't believe the torpedo story. It sounds too much like a cover story to stop everyone from looking for her. But then again," she sighed, "I have no idea what could have happened. I'll be honest; I believe the Russians intercepted the Nazis, but not like that." She chuckled awkwardly and shrugged again.
    
  Purdue's light blue eyes stared at the fire before him. He considered the possible consequences of Nina's story, as well as what he had learned about what had happened in the Gulf of Gdansk at the same time. He emerged from his frozen state.
    
  "I think we should take this on faith," he declared. "I suggest we start at the site where the ship is believed to have sunk, just to have a starting point. Who knows, maybe we'll even find some clues there."
    
  "You mean diving?" Detlef exclaimed.
    
  "That"s right," Perdue confirmed.
    
  Detlef shook his head: "I don"t dive. No, thank you!"
    
  "Come on, old man!" Sam smiled, clapping Detlef lightly on the back. "You can run into a living fire, but you can't swim with us?"
    
  "I hate water," the German admitted. "I can swim. I just don't know. Water makes me really uncomfortable."
    
  "Why? Did you have a bad experience?" Nina asked.
    
  "Not that I know of, but maybe I've forced myself to forget what made me despise swimming," he admitted.
    
  "It doesn't matter," Perdue interjected. "You can keep an eye on us, since we can't seem to get the necessary permits to dive there. Can we count on you to do that?"
    
  Detlef gave Purdue a long, hard look that made Sam and Nina anxious and ready to intervene, but he simply replied, "I can do that."
    
  It was just before midnight. They were waiting for the grilled meat and fish to finish cooking, and the soothing crackle of the fire lulled them to sleep, providing a sense of respite from their troubles.
    
  "David, tell me about the affair you had with Gabi Holzer," Detlef suddenly insisted, finally doing the inevitable.
    
  Perdue frowned, puzzled by the strange request from the stranger, whom he took to be a private security consultant. "What do you mean?" he asked the German.
    
  "Detlef," Sam warned softly, advising the widower to keep his cool. "You remember the deal, right?"
    
  Nina's heart leapt. She'd been anxiously awaiting this all night. Detlef had remained cool, as far as they could tell, but he repeated his question in a cold voice.
    
  "I want you to tell me about your relationship with Gabi Holzer at the British consulate in Berlin on the day of her death," he said in a calm tone that was deeply disturbing.
    
  "Why?" Perdue asked, infuriating Detlef with his obvious evasion.
    
  "Dave, this is Detlef Holzer," Sam said, hoping the introduction would explain the German's persistence. "He-no, was-Gabi Holzer's husband, and he was looking for you so you could tell him what happened that day." Sam deliberately phrased his words this way, reminding Detlef that Purdue was entitled to the presumption of innocence.
    
  "I'm so sorry for your loss!" Perdue replied almost immediately. "Oh my God, that was terrible!" It was clear Perdue wasn't pretending. His eyes filled with tears as he relived those final moments before he was kidnapped.
    
  "The media is saying she committed suicide," Detlef said. "I know my Gabi. She would never..."
    
  Purdue stared at the widower, his eyes wide. "She didn't commit suicide, Detlef. She was murdered right before my eyes!"
    
  "Who did this?" Detlef roared. He was emotional and unbalanced, so close to the revelation he'd been seeking all this time. "Who killed her?"
    
  Perdue thought for a moment and looked at the distraught man. "I-I can"t remember."
    
    
  Chapter 20
    
    
  After two days of recuperation in a small house, the group set off for the Polish coast. The issue between Perdue and Detlef seemed unresolved, but they got along relatively well. Perdue owed Detlef not only the revelation that Gabi's death wasn't her own fault, especially since Detlef still suspected Perdue's memory loss. Even Sam and Nina wondered if Perdue was unconsciously responsible for the diplomat's death, but they couldn't judge something they knew nothing about.
    
  Sam, for example, tried to gain a better understanding with his new ability to penetrate the minds of others, but he failed. He secretly hoped he had lost the unwanted gift bestowed upon him.
    
  They decided to follow through with their plan. Discovering the Amber Room would not only thwart the sinister Black Sun's efforts, but would also bring considerable financial gain. However, the urgency of finding the magnificent room was a mystery to them all. The Amber Room had to offer more than wealth or reputation. The Black Sun had plenty of that.
    
  Nina had a former university colleague who was now married to a wealthy businessman living in Warsaw.
    
  "With one phone call, guys," she boasted to the three men. "One! I got us a free four-day stay in Gdynia, and along with it, a decent fishing boat for our little, not-so-legal investigation."
    
  Sam playfully ruffled her hair. "You"re a magnificent animal, Dr. Gould! Do they have whiskey?"
    
  "I admit, I could kill for a little bourbon right now," Perdue smiled. "What's your poison, Mr. Holzer?"
    
  Detlef shrugged: "Anything that can be used in surgery."
    
  "Good man! Sam, we need to get some of this, buddy. Can you make it happen?" Perdue asked impatiently. "I"ll have my assistant wire some money in a few minutes so we can get what we need. The boat-does it belong to your friend?" he asked Nina.
    
  "It belongs to the old man we are staying with," she replied.
    
  "Will he suspect what we"re going to do there?" Sam was worried.
    
  "No. She says he's an old diver, fisherman, and marksman who moved to Gdynia from Novosibirsk right after World War II. Apparently, he never received a single gold star for good behavior," Nina laughed.
    
  "Good! Then he'll definitely fit in," Perdue chuckled.
    
  Having bought some food and plenty of alcohol to offer to their gracious host, the group drove to the place Nina had received from her former colleague. Detlef visited the local hardware store and purchased a small radio and some batteries. Such simple little radios were hard to come by in more modern cities, but he found one next to a fish bait shop on the last street before they arrived at their temporary shelter.
    
  The yard was roughly fenced with barbed wire tied to rickety posts. Beyond the fence, the yard consisted mostly of tall weeds and large, unkempt plants. A narrow path, draped with vines, led from the creaking iron gate to the steps leading to the deck, leading to a creepy little wooden shack. An old man waited for them on the porch, looking almost exactly as Nina had imagined. His large, dark eyes contrasted with his tousled gray hair and beard. He had a pot belly and a face littered with scars, making him look intimidating, but he was friendly.
    
  "Hello!" he called as they passed through the gate.
    
  "God, I hope he speaks English," Perdue muttered.
    
  "Or German," Detlef agreed.
    
  "Hello! We brought something for you," Nina smiled, handing him a bottle of vodka, and the old man clapped his hands joyfully.
    
  "I see we"ll get along very well!" he shouted cheerfully.
    
  "Are you Mr. Marinesko?" she asked.
    
  "Kirill! Please call me Kirill. And please come in. I don't have a big house or the best food, but it's warm and cozy here," he apologized. After they introduced themselves, he served them the vegetable soup he'd been making all day.
    
  "After dinner, I"ll take you to see the boat, okay?" Kirill suggested.
    
  "Excellent!" Perdue replied. "I"d like to see what you have in that boathouse."
    
  He served the soup with freshly baked bread, which quickly became Sam's favorite. He helped himself to slice after slice. "Did your wife make this?" he asked.
    
  "No, I did it. I"m a good baker, right?" Kirill laughed. "My wife taught me. Now she"s dead."
    
  "Me too," Detlef muttered. "It happened just recently."
    
  "I'm sorry to hear that," Kirill sympathized. "I don't think our wives ever leave us. They stay to give us trouble when we screw up."
    
  Nina was relieved to see Detlef smile at Kirill: "I think so too!"
    
  "Will you need my boat for the dive?" their host asked, changing the subject for his guest. He knew the pain such a tragedy could wreak on a person, and he couldn't dwell on that either.
    
  "Yes, we want to go diving, but it shouldn't take more than a day or two," Perdue told him.
    
  "In the Gulf of Gdansk? In what area?" Kirill pressed. It was his boat, and he installed them, so they couldn't deny him the details.
    
  "In the area where the Wilhelm Gustloff sank in 1945," Perdue said.
    
  Nina and Sam exchanged glances, hoping the old man wouldn't suspect anything. Detlef didn't care who knew. All he wanted was to find out what role the Amber Room had played in his wife's death and what was so important to these strange Nazis. A short, tense silence fell over the dinner table.
    
  Kirill looked them over, one by one. His eyes pierced their defenses and intentions as he studied them carefully with a smirk that could have meant anything. He cleared his throat.
    
  "Why?"
    
  The question of one word threw them all off balance. They'd expected a carefully crafted dissuasion or some local accent, but the simplicity was almost impossible to comprehend. Nina looked at Purdue and shrugged. "Tell him."
    
  "We're looking for the remains of an artifact that was on board the ship," Perdue told Kirill, using the broadest possible description.
    
  "The Amber Room?" he laughed, holding the spoon straight in his swinging hand. "You too?"
    
  "What do you mean?" Sam asked.
    
  "Oh, my boy! So many people have been looking for this damn thing for years, but they all come back disappointed!" he chuckled.
    
  "So you"re saying she doesn"t exist?" Sam asked.
    
  "Tell me, Mr. Purdue, Mr. Cleve, and my other friends here," Kirill smiled, "what do you want from the Amber Room, huh? Money? Fame? Go home. Some beautiful things just aren't worth damning."
    
  Perdue and Nina exchanged glances, struck by the similarity in wording between the old man's warning and Perdue's feelings.
    
  "A curse?" Nina asked.
    
  "Why are you looking for this?" he asked again. "What are you trying to achieve?"
    
  "My wife was killed for this," Detlef suddenly interjected. "If whoever was after this treasure was willing to kill her for it, I want to see it for myself." His eyes pinned Perdue in place.
    
  Kirill frowned. "What did your wife have to do with this?"
    
  "She investigated the murders in Berlin because she had reason to believe they were committed by a secret organization searching for the Amber Room. But she was killed before she could complete her investigation," the widower told Kirill.
    
  Wringing his hands, their owner sighed deeply. "So you don't want this for the money or the glory. Fine. Then I'll tell you where the Wilhelm Gustloff sank, and you can see for yourself, but I hope you'll stop this nonsense then."
    
  Without further words or explanations, he stood up and left the room.
    
  "What the hell was that?" Sam probed. "He knows more than he wants to admit. He's hiding something."
    
  "How do you know that?" Perdue asked.
    
  Sam looked a little embarrassed. "I just have a gut feeling." He glanced at Nina before rising to take the bowl of soup to the kitchen. She knew what his look meant. He must have read something in the old man's mind.
    
  "Excuse me," she said to Perdue and Detlef, and followed Sam. He stood in the doorway leading to the garden, watching Kirill go out to the boathouse to check the fuel. Nina put her hand on his shoulder. "Sam?"
    
  "Yes".
    
  "What did you see?" she asked curiously.
    
  "Nothing. He knows something very important, but it's just a journalist's instinct. I swear it has nothing to do with this new thing," he told her quietly. "I want to ask him directly, but I don't want to pressure him, you understand?"
    
  "I know. That"s why I"m going to ask him," she said confidently.
    
  "No! Nina! Get back here!" he shouted, but she was adamant. Knowing Nina, Sam knew he couldn't stop her now. Instead, he decided to go back inside to stop Detlef from killing Perdue. As he approached the dining room table, Sam felt a tense feeling, but found Perdue looking at photos on Detlef's phone.
    
  "Those were digital codes," Detlef explained. "Now look at this."
    
  Both men squinted as Detlef enlarged the photograph he'd taken from the diary page where he'd found Perdue's name. "Oh my God!" Perdue said, astonished. "Sam, come look at this."
    
  During the meeting between Perdue and Carrington, a recording was made referring to 'Kirill'.
    
  "Am I just finding ghosts everywhere, or could this all be one big conspiracy?" Detlef asked Sam.
    
  "I can't tell you for sure, Detlef, but I also have a feeling he knows about the Amber Room," Sam shared his suspicions with them. "Things we're not supposed to know."
    
  "Where is Nina?" Perdue asked.
    
  "I'm just chatting with the old man. Just making friends in case we need to know more," Sam reassured him. "If his name is in Gabi's diary, we need to know why."
    
  "I agree," agreed Detlef.
    
  Nina and Kirill entered the kitchen, laughing at something stupid he was telling her. Her three colleagues perked up to see if she'd received any more information, but to their disappointment, Nina quietly shook her head.
    
  "That's it," Sam announced. "I'll get him drunk. Let's see how much he hides when he takes off his tits."
    
  "Giving him Russian vodka won't get him drunk, Sam," Detlef smiled. "It'll only make him happy and rowdy. What time is it?"
    
  "It"s almost 9 p.m. What, you have a date?" Sam teased.
    
  "Actually, I do," he replied proudly. "Her name is Milla."
    
  Intrigued by Detlef's answer, Sam asked, "Want the three of us to do this?"
    
  "Milla?" Kirill suddenly shouted, turning pale. "How do you know Milla?"
    
    
  Chapter 21
    
    
  "You know Milla too?" Detlef gasped. "My wife spoke to her almost daily, and after my wife died, I found her radio room. That's where Milla spoke to me and told me how to find her using a shortwave radio."
    
  Nina, Perdue, and Sam sat listening to all this, having no idea what was going on between Kirill and Detlef. While they listened, they poured themselves some wine and vodka and waited.
    
  "Who was your wife?" Kirill asked impatiently.
    
  "Gabi Holzer," Detlef replied, his voice still shaking as he said her name.
    
  "Gabi! Gabi was my friend from Berlin!" the old man exclaimed. "She"s been working with us since her great-grandfather left the documents about Operation Hannibal! Oh God, how terrible! How sad, how wrong." The Russian raised his bottle and shouted, "To Gabi! Daughter of Germany and defender of freedom!"
    
  They all joined in and drank to the fallen heroine, but Detlef could barely get the words out. His eyes filled with tears, and his chest ached with grief for his wife. Words couldn't describe how much he missed her, but his wet cheeks said it all. Even Kirill's eyes were bloodshot as he paid tribute to his fallen ally. After several successive shots of vodka and a little Purdue bourbon, the Russian felt nostalgic as he told the widower, Gabi, how his wife and the old Russian had met.
    
  Nina felt a warm compassion for both men as she watched them share sweet stories about the special woman they both knew and adored. It made her wonder if Perdue and Sam would honor her memory so tenderly when she was gone.
    
  "My friends," Kirill roared in grief and intoxication, throwing his chair back as he stood up and slammed his hands on the table, spilling the remains of Detlef's soup, "I will tell you what you need to know. You," he stammered, "are allies in the fire of liberation. We cannot allow them to use this bug to oppress our children or ourselves!" He concluded this strange statement with a string of unintelligible Russian battle cries that sounded decidedly angry.
    
  "Tell us," Perdue urged Kirill, raising his glass. "Tell us how the Amber Room poses a threat to our freedom. Should we destroy it, or should we simply root out those who seek to obtain it for nefarious purposes?"
    
  "Leave it where it is!" Kirill shouted. "Ordinary people can't get there! Those panels-we knew how evil they were. Our fathers told us! Oh yes! Right from the start, they told us how this evil beauty forced them to kill their brothers, their friends. They told us how Mother Russia almost submitted to the will of the Nazi dogs, and we swore never to let it be found!"
    
  Sam began to worry about the Russian's mind, as it seemed to have condensed several stories into one. He focused on the tingling force coursing through his brain, gently evoking it, hoping it wouldn't take over as violently as it had before. Deliberately, he connected to the old man's mind and formed a mental tether while the others watched.
    
  Suddenly Sam said, "Kirill, tell us about Operation Hannibal."
    
  Nina, Perdue, and Detlef turned and looked at Sam in amazement. Sam's request instantly silenced the Russian. Not a minute after he stopped speaking, he sat down and folded his arms. "Operation Hannibal was about evacuating German troops by sea to get away from the Red Army, who would soon be there to kick their Nazi asses," the old man chuckled. "They boarded the Wilhelm Gustloff right here in Gdynia and headed to Kiel. They were told to load the panels from that damn Amber Room, too. Well, what was left of it. But!" he shouted, his torso swaying slightly as he continued, "But they secretly loaded it onto the Gustloff's escort vessel, the torpedo boat Löwe. You know why?"
    
  The group sat spellbound, responding only when asked. "No, why?"
    
  Kirill laughed heartily. "Because some of the 'Germans' in Gdynia port were Russian, just like the crew of the escort torpedo boat! They disguised themselves as Nazi soldiers and intercepted the Amber Room. But it gets even better!" He looked thrilled by every detail he recounted, while Sam kept him on that mental leash for as long as he could. "Did you know the Wilhelm Gustloff received a radio message when their idiot captain led them out into open water?"
    
  "What was written there?" Nina asked.
    
  "This alerted them that another German convoy was approaching, so the Gustloff's captain turned on the ship's navigation lights to avoid any collisions," he said.
    
  "And that would make them visible to enemy ships," Detlef concluded.
    
  The old man pointed at the German and smiled. "That's right! The Soviet submarine S-13 torpedoed the ship and sank it-without the Amber Room."
    
  "How do you know that? You're not old enough to be there, Kirill. Maybe you read some sensational story someone wrote," Perdue retorted. Nina frowned, giving Perdue an unspoken reprimand for overestimating the old man.
    
  "I know all this, Mr. Perdue, because the captain of the S-13 was Captain Alexander Marinesko," Kirill boasted. "My father!"
    
  Nina's jaw dropped.
    
  A smile appeared on her face, knowing the secrets of the Amber Room's location firsthand. It was a special moment for her-to be in the company of history. But Kirill was far from finished. "He wouldn't have seen the ship so easily if it hadn't been for that inexplicable radio message informing the captain of the approaching German convoy, right?"
    
  "But who sent that message? Did they ever find out?" Detlef asked.
    
  "Nobody ever found out. The only people who knew were the people involved in the secret plan," Kirill said. "Men like my father. This radio message came from his friends, Mr. Holzer, and our friends. This radio message was sent by Milla."
    
  "That's impossible!" Detlef dismissed the revelation that had stunned them all. "I spoke to Milla on the radio the night I found my wife's radio room. There's no way anyone who was active during World War II would still be alive, let alone broadcasting that numbers station."
    
  "You're right, Detlef, if Milla were human," Kirill insisted. Now he continued to reveal his secrets, much to the delight of Nina and her colleagues. But Sam was losing control of the Russian, exhausted by the enormous mental effort.
    
  "Then who is Milla?" Nina asked quickly, realizing Sam was about to lose control of the old man. But Kirill passed out before he could say more, and without Sam's spell on his brain, nothing could make the drunken old man speak. Nina sighed in disappointment, but Detlef wasn't bothered by the old man's words. He planned to listen to the broadcast later and hoped it would shed some light on the danger lurking in the Amber Room.
    
  Sam took a few deep breaths to regain his focus and energy, but Purdue met his gaze across the table. It was a look of obvious distrust that made Sam deeply uncomfortable. He didn't want Purdue to know he could manipulate people's minds. That would make him even more suspicious, and he didn't want that.
    
  "Are you tired, Sam?" Perdue asked without hostility or suspicion.
    
  "I"m dead tired," he replied. "And vodka doesn"t help either."
    
  "I'm going to bed too," Detlef announced. "I suppose there won't be any diving after all? That would be great!"
    
  "If we could wake our master, we might be able to find out what happened to the escort boat," Purdue chuckled. "But I think he's done for the rest of the night, at least."
    
  Detlef locked himself in his room at the far end of the hallway. It was the smallest of them all, adjacent to Nina's bedroom. Perdue and Sam were sharing another bedroom next to the living room, so Detlef wasn't going to disturb them.
    
  He turned on the transistor radio and slowly turned the dial, watching the frequency number beneath the moving needle. It was capable of FM, AM, and shortwave, but Detlef knew where to tune it. Ever since his wife's secret communications room had been discovered, he had come to love the crackling whistle of empty radio waves. Somehow, the possibilities opening before him calmed him. Subconsciously, it gave him the assurance that he was not alone; that the vast ether of the upper atmosphere held much life and many allies. It offered the possibility of everything imaginable, if only one were so inclined.
    
  A knock on the door made him jump. "Scheisse!" He reluctantly turned off the radio to open the door. It was Nina.
    
  "Sam and Perdue are drinking, and I can't sleep," she whispered. "Can I listen to Milla's show with you? I brought a pen and paper."
    
  Detlef was in high spirits. "Sure, come on in. I was just trying to find the right station. There are so many songs that sound almost the same, but I recognize the music."
    
  "Is there music here?" she asked. "Do they play songs?"
    
  He nodded. "Just one, at the beginning. It must be some kind of marker," he guessed. "I think the channel is used for different purposes, and when she broadcasts to people like Gabi, there's a special song that lets us know the numbers are meant for us."
    
  "Oh my God! It's a whole science," Nina marveled. "There's so much going on there that the world doesn't even know about! It's like an entire subuniverse, full of covert operations and hidden motives."
    
  He looked at her with dark eyes, but his voice was gentle. "Scary, isn"t it?"
    
  "Yes," she agreed. "And lonely."
    
  "Lonely, yes," Detlef repeated, sharing her feelings. He looked at the pretty historian with longing and admiration. She was nothing like Gabi. She was nothing like Gabi, but in her own way she seemed familiar. Perhaps it was because they shared the same view of the world, or perhaps simply because their souls were alone. Nina felt a little uneasy under his miserable gaze, but she was saved by a sudden crackle in the speaker, causing him to jump.
    
  "Listen, Nina!" he whispered. "It"s starting."
    
  Music began to play, hidden somewhere far away, in the void outside, drowned out by static and whistling modulation oscillations. Nina grinned, amused by the melody she recognized.
    
  "Metallica? Really?" she shook her head.
    
  Detlef was pleased to hear that she knew. "Yes! But what does that have to do with numbers? I"ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why they chose that song."
    
  Nina smiled. "The song is called "Sweet Amber," Detlef."
    
  "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Now it makes sense!"
    
  While they were still laughing at the song, Milla's broadcast began.
    
  "Average value: 85-45-98-12-74-55-68-16..."
    
  Nina wrote everything down.
    
  "Geneva 48-66-27-99-67-39..."
    
  "Jehovah 30-59-69-21-23..."
    
  "Widower..."
    
  "Widower! It's me! It's for me!" he whispered loudly, excitedly.
    
  Nina wrote down the following numbers: "87-46-88-37-68..."
    
  When the first 20-minute broadcast ended and the music concluded the segment, Nina handed Detlef the numbers she'd written down. "Do you have any ideas what to do with this?"
    
  "I don't know what they are or how they work. I just write them down and save them. We used them to find the location of the camp where Perdue was held, remember? But I still have no idea what any of this means," he complained.
    
  "We need to use Purdue's machine. I brought it. It's in my suitcase," Nina said. "If this message is specifically for you, we need to decode it right now."
    
    
  Chapter 22
    
    
  "This is bloody incredible!" Nina was thrilled with what she'd discovered. The men went out on the boat with Kirill, and she stayed behind to do some research, as she'd told them. In truth, Nina was busy deciphering the numbers Detlef had received from Milla the night before. The historian had a gut feeling that Milla knew Detlef's whereabouts well enough to provide him with valuable and relevant information, but for now, it had served them well.
    
  Half a day passed before the men returned with amusing fishing stories, but they all felt the urge to continue their journey as soon as they had something to do. Sam was unable to establish another connection with the old man's mind, but he didn't tell Nina that his strange ability had begun to fade recently.
    
  "What did you find?" Sam asked, removing his spray-soaked sweater and hat. Detlef and Perdue followed him in, looking exhausted. Kirill had made them earn their keep today, helping him with the nets and engine repairs, but they enjoyed listening to his entertaining stories. Unfortunately, none of them contained any historical secrets. He told them to go home while he delivered his catch to the local market a few miles from the docks.
    
  "You won't believe this!" she smiled, hovering over her laptop. "The Numbers station program Detlef and I listened to gave us something unique. I don't know how they do it, and I don't care," she continued as they gathered around her, "but they managed to turn the soundtrack into digital codes!"
    
  "What do you mean?" Purdue asked, impressed that she'd brought his Enigma computer with her in case they needed it. "It's a simple conversion. Like encryption? Like the data from an MP3 file, Nina," he smiled. "There's nothing new about using data to convert encoding into sound."
    
  "But numbers? Proper numbers, nothing more. No codes or gibberish like you do when you write software," she countered. "Look, I"m a complete noob when it comes to technology, but I"ve never heard of consecutive double-digit numbers making up a sound clip."
    
  "Me too," Sam admitted. "But then again, I'm not exactly a geek either."
    
  "That"s all great, but I think the most important part here is what the sound clip says," Detlef suggested.
    
  "It's a radio broadcast sent over Russian airwaves, I assume. In the clip, you'll hear a TV presenter interviewing a man, but I don't speak Russian..." She frowned. "Where's Kirill?"
    
  "On his way," Perdue said soothingly. "I assume we'll need him for translation."
    
  "Yes, the interview goes on for almost 15 minutes before it's interrupted by this beeping sound that nearly burst my eardrums," she said. "Detlef, Milla wanted you to hear this for some reason. We need to remember that. It could be crucial to locating the Amber Room."
    
  "That loud squeak," Kirill suddenly muttered, walking through the front door with two bags and a bottle of liquor tucked under his arm, "that's military intervention."
    
  "Just the man we want to see," Perdue smiled, coming over to help the old Russian with his bags. "Nina has a radio broadcast in Russian. Would you be so kind as to translate it for us?"
    
  "Of course! Of course," Kirill chuckled. "Let me listen. Oh, and pour me something to drink, please."
    
  While Perdue was fulfilling his request, Nina played the audio clip on her laptop. Due to the poor recording quality, it sounded very much like an old broadcast. She could discern two male voices, one asking questions and the other giving lengthy answers. The recording still contained crackling static, and the two men's voices would fade out occasionally, only to return louder than before.
    
  "This is not an interview, my friends," Kirill told the group within the first minute of listening. "It's an interrogation."
    
  Nina's heart skipped a beat. "Is this the original?"
    
  Sam gestured from behind Kirill for Nina to wait and say nothing. The old man listened intently to every word, his face darkening. From time to time, he shook his head very slowly, gloomily considering what he'd just heard. Purdue, Nina, and Sam were dying to know what the men were talking about.
    
  The anticipation for Kirill to finish listening had them all on edge, but they had to be quiet so he could hear over the hiss of the recording.
    
  "Guys, be careful with the screaming," Nina warned as she saw the timer approaching the end of the clip. They had all braced themselves for it, and rightly so. It shattered the atmosphere with a high-pitched scream that lasted for several seconds. Kirill's body jerked at the sound. He turned to look at the band.
    
  "There was a shot. Did you hear that?" he asked casually.
    
  "No. When?" Nina asked.
    
  "In this terrible noise, I heard a man's name and a gunshot. I have no idea if the screaming was meant to mask the gunshot or if it was just a coincidence, but it was definitely a gunshot," he said.
    
  "Wow, great ears," Perdue said. "None of us even heard that."
    
  "Bad hearing, Mr. Perdue. Trained hearing. My ears have been trained to hear hidden sounds and messages from years of working in radio," Kirill boasted, smiling and pointing to his ear.
    
  "But the shot would have been loud enough to be detected even by an untrained ear," Perdue suggested. "Again, it depends on what the conversation is about. That should tell us whether it's even relevant."
    
  "Yes, please tell us what they said, Kirill," Sam begged.
    
  Kirill drained his glass and cleared his throat. "This is an interrogation between a Red Army officer and a Gulag prisoner, so it must have been recorded just after the fall of the Third Reich. I hear a man's name called out from outside before the shot."
    
  "Gulag?" Detlef asked.
    
  "Prisoners of war. Stalin ordered Soviet soldiers captured by the Wehrmacht to commit suicide upon capture. Those who didn't commit suicide-like the man interrogated in your video-were considered traitors by the Red Army," he explained.
    
  "So, kill yourself, or will your own army?" Sam asked. "These guys can't catch a break."
    
  "Exactly," Kirill agreed. "No capitulation. This man, the investigator, he's a commander, and the Gulag, they say, is from the 4th Ukrainian Front. So, in this conversation, the Ukrainian soldier is one of three men who survived..." Kirill didn't know the word, but he spread his hands. "... an unexplained drowning off the coast of Latvia. He says they intercepted treasure that was supposed to be taken by the Nazi Kriegsmarine."
    
  "Treasure. Panels from the Amber Room, I believe," Perdue added.
    
  "It must be. He says the plates and panels crumbled?" Kirill spoke English with difficulty.
    
  "Fragile," Nina smiled. "I remember them saying the original panels had become brittle with age by 1944, when the German Nord Group had to dismantle them."
    
  "Yes," Kirill winked. "He talks about how they tricked the crew of the Wilhelm Gustloff and stole the amber panels to make sure the Germans wouldn't take them with them. But he says that during the trip to Latvia, where mobile units were waiting to pick them up, something went wrong. The crumbling amber released whatever had entered their heads-no, the captain's head."
    
  "Excuse me?" Perdue perked up. "What"s going through his head? Is he talking?"
    
  "It may not make sense to you, but he says there was something in the amber, locked there for centuries and centuries more. I think he's talking about an insect. That's what the captain heard. None of them could see it again because it was so, so small, like a fly," Kirill relayed the soldier's story.
    
  "Oh, God," Sam muttered.
    
  "This man says that when the captain made his eyes white, all the men did terrible things?"
    
  Kirill frowned, considering his words. Then he nodded, satisfied that his account of the soldier's strange statements was correct. Nina looked at Sam. He looked stunned, but said nothing.
    
  "He says what they did?" Nina asked.
    
  "They all started thinking like one person. They shared the same brain," he says. "When the captain told them to drown themselves, they all went out onto the ship's deck and, seemingly unfazed, jumped into the water and drowned near the shore."
    
  "Mind control," Sam confirmed. "That's why Hitler wanted the Amber Room returned to Germany during Operation Hannibal. With that kind of mind control, he could have subjugated the entire world without much effort!"
    
  "But how did he find out?" Detlef wanted to know.
    
  "How do you think the Third Reich managed to turn tens of thousands of normal, morally healthy German men and women into like-minded Nazi soldiers?" Nina challenged. "Have you ever wondered why those soldiers were so innately evil and irrefutably cruel when they wore those uniforms?" Her words echoed in the silent contemplation of her companions. "Think of the atrocities committed even against small children, Detlef. Thousands upon thousands of Nazis held the same opinion, the same level of cruelty, unquestioningly carrying out their despicable orders like brainwashed zombies. I bet Hitler and Himmler discovered this ancient organism during one of Himmler's experiments."
    
  The men agreed, looking shocked by the new development.
    
  "That makes a lot of sense," Detlef said, rubbing his chin and thinking about the moral decay of Nazi soldiers.
    
  "We always thought they were brainwashed by propaganda," Kirill told his guests, "but there was too much discipline there. That level of unity is unnatural. Why do you think I called the Amber Room a curse last night?"
    
  "Wait," Nina frowned, "you knew about this?"
    
  Kirill met her reproachful gaze with a fierce glare. "Yes! What do you think we've been doing with our digital stations all these years? We've been sending codes all over the world to warn our allies, sharing intelligence on anyone who might try to use them against humanity. We know about the bugs locked in amber because another Nazi bastard used it against my father and his company a year after the Gustloff disaster."
    
  "That's why you wanted to discourage us from looking for this," Perdue said. "Now I understand."
    
  "So, that"s all the soldier told the investigator?" Sam asked the old man.
    
  "They ask him how it was that he survived the captain"s order, and then he replies that the captain couldn"t get close to him, so he never heard the command," Kirill explained.
    
  "Why couldn't he approach him?" Perdue asked, jotting down facts in a small notebook.
    
  "He doesn't say. Only that the captain couldn't stand being in the same room with him. Maybe that's why they shoot at him before the session ends, maybe because of the man's name they shout. They think he's hiding information, so they kill him," Kirill shrugged. "I think it might have been the radiation."
    
  "Radiation from what? As far as I know, there was no nuclear activity in Russia at the time," Nina said, pouring Kirill more vodka and herself some wine. "Can I smoke here?"
    
  "Of course," he smiled. Then he answered her question. "The first lightning. You see, the first atomic bomb was detonated in the Kazakh steppe in 1949, but what no one tells you is that nuclear experiments have been going on since the late 1930s. I'm guessing this Ukrainian soldier lived in Kazakhstan before being conscripted into the Red Army, but," he shrugged indifferently, "I could be wrong."
    
  "What name are they shouting in the background before the soldier is killed?" Perdue asked out of the blue. It had just occurred to him that the shooter's identity was still a mystery.
    
  "Oh!" Kirill chuckled. "Yeah, you can hear someone screaming, like they're trying to stop it." He softly mimicked a scream. "Camper!"
    
    
  Chapter 23
    
    
  Perdue felt a wave of terror grip him at the sound of that name. He couldn't help it. "Sorry," he apologized and darted to the bathroom. Falling to his knees, Perdue vomited the contents of his stomach. This puzzled him. He hadn't felt nauseous before Kirill mentioned the familiar name, but now his entire body shook from the threatening sound.
    
  While others mocked Perdue's ability to hold his drink, he suffered from a terrible stomach ache, so severe that he sank into a new depression. Sweaty and feverish, he grabbed the toilet for the next inevitable cleaning.
    
  "Kirill, can you tell me about this?" Detlef asked. "I found this in Gabi's communications room with all her information about the Amber Room." He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a medal pinned to his vest. He removed it and handed it to Kirill, who looked impressed.
    
  "What the hell is this?" Nina smiled.
    
  "This is a special medal that was awarded to the soldiers who took part in the liberation of Prague, my friend," Kirill said nostalgically. "Did you take this from Gabi's things? It seems she knew a lot about the Amber Room and the Prague Offensive. That's a remarkable coincidence, huh?"
    
  "What's happened?"
    
  "The soldier shot in this audio clip took part in the Prague Offensive, hence this medal," he explained excitedly. "Because the unit he served in, the 4th Ukrainian Front, participated in the operation to liberate Prague from Nazi occupation."
    
  "For all we know, it could have come from that same soldier," Sam suggested.
    
  "That would be both nerve-wracking and amazing," Detlef admitted with a satisfied grin. "It doesn't have a title, does it?"
    
  "No, sorry," said their host. "Although it would be interesting if Gabi received a medal from this soldier's descendant when she investigated the disappearance of the Amber Room." He smiled sadly, remembering her fondly.
    
  "You called her a freedom fighter," Nina remarked absently, resting her head on her fist. "That's a good description of someone trying to expose an organization that's trying to take over the world."
    
  "Absolutely right, Nina," he replied.
    
  Sam went to see what was wrong with Purdue.
    
  "Hey, old cock. You okay?" he asked, looking down at Purdue's kneeling body. There was no response, and no sound of nausea came from the man hunched over the toilet. "Purdue?" Sam stepped forward and pulled Purdue back by the shoulder, but found him limp and unresponsive. At first, Sam thought his friend had passed out, but when Sam checked his vital signs, he discovered Purdue was in severe shock.
    
  Trying to wake him, Sam continued calling his name, but Perdue remained unresponsive in his arms. "Perdue," Sam called firmly and loudly, and felt a tingling sensation deep in his mind. Suddenly, energy flowed, and he felt energized. "Perdue, wake up," Sam commanded, establishing a connection with Perdue's mind, but he was unable to awaken him. He tried three times, each time increasing his concentration and intention, but to no avail. "I don't understand this. It should work when you feel like this!"
    
  "Detlef!" Sam called. "Could you help me out here, please?"
    
  The tall German ran down the corridor to where he heard Sam's screams.
    
  "Help me get him to bed," Sam groaned, trying to get Perdue to his feet. With Detlef's help, they got Perdue into bed and gathered to figure out what was wrong.
    
  "That"s weird," Nina said. "He wasn"t drunk. He didn"t look sick or anything. What happened?"
    
  "He just threw up," Sam shrugged. "But I couldn't wake him up at all," he told Nina, revealing that he'd even used his new ability, "no matter what I tried."
    
  "This is cause for concern," she confirmed his message.
    
  "He's all on fire. It looks like food poisoning," Detlef suggested, only to receive a nasty look from their host. "I'm sorry, Kirill. I didn't mean to insult your cooking. But his symptoms look something like this."
    
  Checking on Purdue every hour and trying to wake him yielded no results. They were baffled by the sudden onset of fever and nausea he was suffering from.
    
  "I think these might be late complications from whatever happened to him in that snake pit where he was tortured," Nina whispered to Sam as they sat on Purdue's bed. "We don't know what they did to him. What if they injected him with some kind of toxin or, God forbid, a deadly virus?"
    
  "They didn't know he was going to escape," Sam replied. "Why would they keep him in the infirmary if they wanted him to get sick?"
    
  "Maybe to infect us after we rescue him?" she whispered urgently, her large brown eyes full of panic. "It's a set of devious tools, Sam. Would you be surprised?"
    
  Sam agreed. There was nothing he wouldn't hear from these people. The Black Sun possessed a nearly limitless capacity for destruction and the necessary malicious intelligence to do so.
    
  Detlef was in his room, gathering information from Milla's telephone exchange. A woman's voice read out numbers monotonously, muffled by the poor reception outside Detlef's bedroom door down the hall from Sam and Nina. Kirill had to close his shed and park his car before starting dinner. His guests were supposed to leave tomorrow, but he still had to convince them not to continue searching for the Amber Room. Ultimately, there was nothing he could do if they, like so many others, insisted on searching for the remains of the deadly miracle.
    
  After wiping Purdue's forehead with a damp washcloth to ease his still-rising fever, Nina went to Detlef while Sam showered. She knocked softly.
    
  "Come in, Nina," Detlef replied.
    
  "How did you know it was me?" she asked with a cheerful smile.
    
  "No one finds this as interesting as you do, except me, of course," he said. "I got a message from a man at the station this evening. He told me we'll die if we keep looking for the Amber Room, Nina."
    
  "Are you sure you got the numbers right?" she asked.
    
  "No, not numbers. Look." He showed her his cell phone. A text message had been sent from an untraceable number with a link to the station. "I tuned the radio to this station, and it told me to quit-in plain English."
    
  "He threatened you?" She frowned. "Are you sure it"s not someone else bullying you?"
    
  "How would he send me a message on the station"s frequency and then talk to me there?" he countered.
    
  "No, that's not what I mean. How do you know it's from Milla? There are dozens of such stations scattered around the world, Detlef. Be careful who you associate with," she warned.
    
  "You're right. I didn't even think about it," he admitted. "I was trying so desperately to preserve what Gabi loved, what she was passionate about, you know? It made me blind to the danger, and sometimes... I don't care."
    
  "Well, you must care, widower. The world depends on you," Nina winked, patting his hand encouragingly.
    
  Detlef felt a surge of purpose at her words. "I like that," he chuckled.
    
  "What?" Nina asked.
    
  "That name is Widower. Sounds like a superhero, don't you think?" he boasted.
    
  "I think it's pretty cool, actually, even though the word connotes a sad state. It refers to something heartbreaking," she said.
    
  "That's true," he nodded, "but that's who I am now, you know? Being a widower means I'm still Gabi's husband, you know?"
    
  Nina liked Detlef's perspective. Even after going through the hell of his loss, he still managed to take his sad nickname and turn it into an ode. "That's pretty cool, widower."
    
  "Oh, by the way, these are numbers from a real station, from Milla today," he noted, handing Nina a piece of paper. "You'll decipher this. I'm terrible at anything that doesn't have a trigger."
    
  "Okay, but I think you should get rid of your phone," Nina advised. "If they have your number, they can track us, and I have a really bad feeling about that from that message you got. Let's not lead them to us, okay? I don't want to wake up dead."
    
  "You know people like that can find us without tracking our phones, right?" he retorted, earning a stern look from the handsome historian. "Fine. I'll throw it away."
    
  "So now we're getting threatened by text messages?" Perdue said, leaning casually against the doorway.
    
  "Purdue!" Nina cried out and rushed forward to hug him joyfully. "I'm so glad you're awake. What happened?"
    
  "You really should get rid of your phone, Detlef. The people who killed your wife could have been the ones contacting you," he told the widower. Nina felt a little put off by his seriousness. She quickly left. "Do as you please."
    
  "By the way, who are these people?" Detlef chuckled. Purdue wasn't his friend. He didn't appreciate being dictated to by someone he suspected of killing his wife. He still had no real answer to the question of who killed his wife, so as far as he was concerned, they were only getting along for Nina and Sam's sake-for now.
    
  "Where"s Sam?" Nina asked, interrupting the brewing cockfight.
    
  "In the shower," Purdue replied indifferently. Nina disliked his attitude, but she was used to being the center of testosterone-fueled peeing contests, though that didn't mean she enjoyed it. "This must be the longest shower he's ever had," she chuckled, pushing past Purdue to go out into the hallway. She went to the kitchen to make coffee to lighten the somber atmosphere. "Are you clean yet, Sam?" she teased, passing the bathroom, where she heard water pounding on the tiles. "This is going to cost the old man all his hot water." Nina intended to decipher the latest codes while enjoying the coffee she'd been craving for over an hour.
    
  "Jesus Christ!" she suddenly screamed. She recoiled against the wall and covered her mouth with her hand at the sight. Her knees buckled, and she slowly collapsed. Her eyes were frozen, she simply stared at the old Russian sitting in his favorite chair. His full glass of vodka sat on the table in front of him, awaiting its moment, and next to it rested his bloody hand, still clutching the shard of the broken mirror with which he had slit his throat.
    
  Perdue and Detlef ran out, ready for a fight. They were confronted by a horrific scene and stood stunned until Sam joined them from the bathroom.
    
  As the shock set in, Nina began shaking violently, sobbing over the disgusting incident that must have occurred while she was in Detlef's room. Sam, wearing only a towel, approached the old man curiously. He carefully examined the position of Kirill's hand and the direction of the deep wound in the upper part of his throat. The circumstances were consistent with suicide; he had to accept it. He looked at the other two men. There was no suspicion in his gaze, but there was a dark warning that prompted Nina to distract him.
    
  "Sam, once you"re dressed, could you help me get him ready?" she asked, sniffling as she rose to her feet.
    
  "Yes".
    
    
  Chapter 24
    
    
  After they had cared for Kirill's body and wrapped it in sheets on his bed, the atmosphere in the house was thick with tension and grief. Nina sat at the table, still shedding tears from time to time over the death of the sweet old Russian. In front of her were Purdue's computer and her laptop, on which she was slowly and halfheartedly deciphering Detlef's numerical sequences. Her coffee was cold, and even her pack of cigarettes remained untouched.
    
  Perdue approached her and gently pulled her into a sympathetic embrace. "I'm so sorry, love. I know you adored the old man." Nina said nothing. Perdue gently pressed his cheek to hers, and all she could think about was how quickly his temperature had returned to normal. Under the cover of her hair, he whispered, "Be careful with that German, please, love. He seems like a damn good actor, but he's German. See what I mean?"
    
  Nina gasped. Her eyes met Purdue's as he frowned, silently demanding an explanation. He sighed and looked around to make sure they were alone.
    
  "He's determined to keep his cell phone. You know nothing about him other than his involvement in the Berlin murder investigation. For all we know, he could be the key figure. He could have killed his wife when he realized she was playing for the enemy," he softly stated his theory.
    
  "Did you see him kill her?" At the embassy? Are you even listening to yourself?" she asked, her tone thick with indignation. "He helped save you, Perdue. If it weren't for him, Sam and I would never have known you were missing. If it weren't for Detlef, we would never have known where to find the Kazakh Black Sun hole to rescue you."
    
  Purdue smiled, his expression conveying victory. "That"s exactly what I"m trying to say, my dear. It"s a trap. Don"t just follow all his instructions. How do you know he wasn"t leading you and Sam to me? Maybe you were supposed to find me; you were supposed to get me out. Is this all part of a grand plan?"
    
  Nina didn't want to believe it. Here she was urging Detlef not to close his eyes to the danger out of nostalgia, but she was doing exactly the same thing! There was no doubt that Perdue was right, but she couldn't yet comprehend the potential betrayal.
    
  "Black Sun is predominantly German," Purdue continued to whisper, scanning the corridor. "They have their men everywhere. And who do they want to wipe out most? Me, you, and Sam. What better way to bring us all together in pursuit of the elusive treasure than by using a double agent, a Black Sun operative, as the victim? A victim with all the answers is more like... a villain."
    
  "Did you manage to decipher the information, Nina?" Detlef asked, entering from the street and brushing off his shirt.
    
  Perdue stared at her, stroking her hair one last time before heading to the kitchen for a drink. Nina had to keep her cool and play along until she could somehow figure out if Detlef was playing for the wrong team. "Almost there," she told him, hiding any doubts she harbored. "I just hope we get enough information to find something useful. What if this message isn't about the location of the Amber Room?"
    
  "Don't worry. If that's the case, we'll attack the Order head-on. To hell with the Amber Room," he said. He made it a point to stay away from Purdue, at least avoiding being alone with him. The two no longer got along. Sam was distant and spent most of his time alone in his room, leaving Nina feeling completely alone.
    
  "We'll have to leave soon," Nina suggested loudly, so everyone could hear. "I'm going to decipher this transmission, and then we need to get going before someone finds us. We'll contact the local authorities about Kirill's body as soon as we're far enough away from here."
    
  "I agree," Purdue said, standing by the door where he watched the sunset. "The sooner we get to the Amber Room, the better."
    
  "Provided we get the right information," Nina added, writing down the next line.
    
  "Where is Sam?" Perdue asked.
    
  "He went to his room after we cleaned up Kirill"s mess," Detlef replied.
    
  Perdue wanted to talk to Sam about his suspicions. While Nina was busy with Detlef, he might as well warn Sam. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Perdue knocked louder, to wake Sam in case he was sleeping. "Master Cleve! Now is not the time to delay. We need to get going!"
    
  "Got it," Nina exclaimed. Detlef came over to join her at the table, eager to hear what Milla would say.
    
  "What is she saying?" he asked, sitting down on a chair next to Nina.
    
  "Maybe these look like coordinates? See?" she suggested, handing him the piece of paper. As he stared at it, Nina wondered what he would do if he noticed she'd written a fake message, just to see if he already knew every step. She'd fabricated the message, expecting him to doubt her work. Then she'd know if he was directing the group with his numerical sequences.
    
  "Sam's gone!" Perdue shouted.
    
  "It can"t be!" Nina shouted back, waiting for Detlef"s answer.
    
  "No, he's really gone," Perdue croaked after searching the entire house. "I looked everywhere. I even checked outside. Sam's gone."
    
  Detlef's cell phone rang.
    
  "Put him on speakerphone, champ," Perdue insisted. With a vengeful grin, Detlef complied.
    
  "Holzer," he replied.
    
  They could hear someone passing a phone while men talked in the background. Nina was disappointed that she hadn't been able to finish her little German test.
    
  The real message from Milla, which she deciphered, contained more than just numbers or coordinates. It was far more disturbing. While she listened to the phone call, she hid the piece of paper with the original message in her slender fingers. It first read "Taifel ist gekommen," then "object shelter," and "contact required." The last part simply said "Pripyat, 1955."
    
  Through the phone speaker they heard a familiar voice confirming their worst fears.
    
  "Nina, don't pay attention to what they say! I can survive this!"
    
  "Sam!" she squealed.
    
  They heard a scuffle as the kidnappers physically punished Sam for his insolence. In the background, a man asked Sam to say what he was told.
    
  "The Amber Room is in a sarcophagus," Sam stammered, spitting out blood from the blow he'd just received. "You have 48 hours to return it, or they'll kill the German Chancellor. And... and," he choked, "take control of the EU."
    
  "Who? Sam, who?" Detlef asked quickly.
    
  "It"s no secret who, my friend," Nina told him bluntly.
    
  "Who are we going to hand this over to?" Perdue interjected. "Where and when?"
    
  "You'll get instructions later," the man said. "The German knows where to listen."
    
  The call ended abruptly. "Oh my God," Nina moaned through her hands, covering her face with her palms. "You were right, Purdue. Milla is behind all of this."
    
  They looked at Detlef.
    
  "Do you think I"m responsible for this?" he defended himself. "Are you crazy?"
    
  "You're the one who's been giving us all the orders so far, Mr. Holzer-based on Milla's transmissions, no less. Black Sun is about to send our instructions through the same channel. Do the damn thing!" Nina screamed, restrained by Perdue from attacking the large German.
    
  "I knew nothing about this! I swear! I was looking for Purdue to get an explanation for how my wife died, for God"s sake! My mission was simply to find my wife"s killer, not this! And he"s standing right there, my love, right there with you. You"re still covering for him, after all this time, and all this time you knew he killed Gabi," Detlef cried furiously. His face turned red, and his lips trembled with rage as he pointed his Glock at them, opening fire.
    
  Perdue grabbed Nina and pulled her onto the floor with him. "Into the bathroom, Nina! Go! Go!"
    
  "If you say I told you that, I swear I'll kill you!" she screamed at him as he pushed her forward, narrowly dodging a well-aimed bullet.
    
  "I won't, I promise. Just move! He's right here!" Purdue pleaded as they stepped into the bathroom. Detlef's shadow, massive against the hallway wall, quickly moved toward them. They slammed the bathroom door and locked it just as another shot rang out, hitting the steel door frame.
    
  "Oh, my God, he's going to kill us," Nina croaked, checking her first aid kit for anything sharp she could use when Detlef inevitably burst through the door. She found a pair of steel scissors and stuffed them into her back pocket.
    
  "Try the window," Perdue suggested, wiping his forehead.
    
  "What"s wrong?" she asked. Purdue looked ill again, sweating profusely and clutching the handle of the bathtub. "Oh God, not again."
    
  "That voice, Nina. The man on the phone. I think I recognized him. His name is Kemper. When they said the name on your recording, I felt the same way I feel now. And when I heard that man's voice on Sam's phone, that terrible nausea washed over me again," he admitted, breathing raggedly.
    
  "Do you think these spells are caused by someone"s voice?" she asked hastily, pressing her cheek to the floor to peer under the door.
    
  "I"m not sure, but I think so," Perdue replied, fighting off the overwhelming embrace of oblivion.
    
  "There"s someone standing at the door," she whispered. "Purdue, you have to stay alert. He"s at the door. We have to go through the window. Do you think you can handle it?"
    
  He shook his head. "I'm too tired," he snorted. "You need to g-get... uh, out of here..."
    
  Perdue spoke incoherently, stumbling toward the restroom with his arms outstretched.
    
  "I won't leave you here!" she protested. Purdue vomited until he was too weak to sit up. It was suspiciously quiet outside the door. Nina assumed the psychotic German would wait patiently for them to come out so he could shoot them. He was still outside the door, so she turned on the faucets in the bathtub to conceal her movements. She turned the faucets all the way on and then carefully opened the window. Nina patiently unscrewed the bars with a pair of scissors, one by one, until she was able to remove the contraption. It was hard. Nina groaned, twisting her torso to lower it, but found Purdue's hands raised to help her. He lowered the bars, looking like his old self again. She was completely stunned by these strange spells that made him feel terribly ill, but he was soon released.
    
  "Feeling better?" she asked. He nodded with relief, but Nina could see that the constant bouts of fever and vomiting were quickly dehydrating him. His eyes looked tired and his face was pale, but he acted and spoke as usual. Perdue helped Nina out the window, and she jumped down onto the grass outside. His tall body arched awkwardly in the rather narrow passage before he dropped to the ground next to her.
    
  Suddenly Detlef's shadow fell over them.
    
  Nina's heart nearly stopped when she looked at the giant threat. Without thinking, she jumped up and stabbed him in the groin with the scissors. Perdue knocked the Glock out of his hands and took it, but the slide was still cocked, indicating an empty magazine. The big man held Nina in his arms, laughing at Perdue's failed attempt to shoot him. Nina pulled out the scissors and stabbed him again. Detlef's eye exploded as she plunged the closed blades into his socket.
    
  "Come on, Nina!" Perdue shouted, throwing aside the useless weapon. "Before he gets up. He's still moving!"
    
  "Yes?" she chuckled. "I can change that!"
    
  But Perdue pulled her away and they ran towards the city, leaving their things behind.
    
    
  Chapter 25
    
    
  Sam stumbled behind the gaunt tyrant. Blood trickled down his face and stained his shirt from a jagged wound just under his right eyebrow. The bandits held him by the arms, dragging him toward a large boat bobbing on the waters of Gdynia Bay.
    
  "Mr. Cleve, I expect you to carry out all our orders, otherwise your friends will be blamed for the death of the German Chancellor," his captor informed him.
    
  "You have nothing to pin on them!" Sam argued. "Besides, if they play into your hands, we'll all end up dead anyway. We know how vile the Order's goals are."
    
  "And here I thought you knew the extent of the Order's genius and capabilities. How foolish of me. Please don't make me use your colleagues as an example to show you how serious we are," Klaus snapped sarcastically. He turned to his men. "Invite him aboard. We must go."
    
  Sam decided to wait a while before trying his new skills. He wanted to rest a bit first, to make sure it wouldn't fail him again. They roughly hauled him across the dock and pushed him onto the rickety vessel.
    
  "Bring him!" one of the men ordered.
    
  "See you when we reach our destination, Mr. Cleve," Klaus said good-naturedly.
    
  "Oh my God, here I am on a fucking Nazi ship again!" Sam lamented his fate, but his mood was hardly resigned. "This time I'm going to rip their brains apart and make them kill each other." Strangely, he felt stronger in his abilities when his emotions were negative. The darker his thoughts became, the stronger the tingling sensation in his brain became. "It's still there," he smiled.
    
  He had grown accustomed to the feeling of being a parasite. Knowing it was nothing more than an insect from the earth's youth meant nothing to Sam. It gave him immense mental power, perhaps tapping into some abilities long forgotten or yet to be developed in the distant future. Perhaps, he thought, it was an organism specifically adapted for killing, much like the instincts of a predator. Perhaps it diverted energy from certain parts of the modern brain, redirecting it to primal psychic drives; and since these drives served survival, they were directed not toward torment, but toward domination and killing.
    
  Before shoving the battered journalist into the cabin they'd reserved for their captive, the two men holding Sam stripped him naked. Unlike Dave Perdue, Sam didn't resist. Instead, he spent time in his mind, blocking out everything they were doing. Two German gorillas undressing him was strange, and judging by the little German he understood, they were betting on how long it would take the short Scottish man to break.
    
  "Silence is usually the negative part of the descent," the bald man smiled, pulling Sam's shorts down to his ankles.
    
  "My girlfriend does this just before she throws a tantrum," the skinny guy remarked. "100 euros, so by tomorrow he'll be crying like a bitch."
    
  The bald bandit glared at Sam, standing uncomfortably close. "You're in. I'm saying he's trying to escape before we get to Latvia."
    
  The two men chuckled as they left their captive naked, tattered, and seething beneath his impassive mask. After they closed the door, Sam remained motionless for a moment. He didn't know why. He simply didn't want to move, though his mind wasn't in chaos. Inside, he felt strong, capable, and powerful, but he stood there, motionless, simply assessing the situation. The only movement was his eyes, scanning the room where they'd left him.
    
  The cabin around him was far from the comfort he'd expected from its cold and calculating owners. Cream-colored steel walls met at four bolted corners with the cold, bare floor beneath his feet. There was no bed, no toilet, no window. Only a door, locked at the edges in the same manner as the walls. A single, solitary lightbulb dimly illuminated the squalid room, leaving him with little sensory stimulation.
    
  Sam didn't mind the deliberate lack of distraction, because what was supposed to be a torture method, courtesy of Kemper, was a welcome opportunity for his hostage to fully focus on his mental faculties. The steel was cold, and Sam was forced to either stand all night or freeze his buttocks. He sat up, not really considering his predicament, hardly impressed by the sudden coldness.
    
  "Screw it," he told himself. "I'm Scottish, you idiots. What do you think we carry under our kilts on a normal day?" The cold beneath his genitals was certainly unpleasant, but tolerable, and that was what was needed here. Sam wished there was a switch above him to turn off the light. The light was disturbing his meditation. As the boat rocked beneath him, he closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the throbbing headache and the burn on his knuckles where the skin had torn during the struggle with his captors.
    
  Gradually, one by one, Sam tuned out minor discomforts like pain and cold, slowly plunging into more intense cycles of thought until he felt the current in his skull intensify, like a restless worm awakening in the core of his skull. A familiar wave coursed through his brain, and some of it seeped into his spinal cord like rivulets of adrenaline. He felt his eyeballs warm as a mysterious lightning bolt filled his head. Sam smiled.
    
  A tether formed before his mind's eye as he tried to focus on Klaus Kemper. He didn't need to locate him on the ship as long as he spoke his name. It seemed like an hour had passed, but he still couldn't control the tyrant who loomed nearby, leaving Sam weak and sweating profusely. Frustration threatened his self-control, as well as his hopes of trying, but he kept trying. Eventually, he strained his mind so much that he lost consciousness.
    
  When Sam came to, the room was dark, leaving him unsure of his state. No matter how hard he strained his eyes, he couldn't see anything in the pitch darkness. Eventually, Sam began to doubt his sanity.
    
  "Am I dreaming?" he wondered, holding his hand out in front of him, his fingertips unsatisfied. "Am I under the influence of this monstrous thing right now?" But he couldn't be. After all, when the other took control, Sam usually watched through what seemed like a thin veil. Resuming his previous attempts, he stretched his mind like a searching tentacle into the darkness to find Klaus. Manipulation, it turned out, was an elusive endeavor. Nothing came of it, save for distant voices in a heated discussion and the loud laughter of the others.
    
  Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, his perception of his surroundings vanished, replaced by a vivid memory he'd never even suspected. Sam frowned, recalling lying on the table beneath the grimy lamps casting a meager light in the workshop. He recalled the intense heat he'd been exposed to in the small workspace, filled with tools and containers. Before he could see further, his memory recalled another sensation, one his mind had chosen to forget.
    
  An excruciating pain filled his inner ear as he lay in the dark, hot place. Above him, a drop of tree sap leaked from a barrel, narrowly missing his face. Beneath the barrel, a large fire crackled in the flickering visions of his memories. It was the source of the intense heat. Deep in his ear, a sharp sting made him cry out in pain as yellow syrup dripped onto the table next to his head.
    
  Sam's breath caught as realization crashed into his mind. 'Amber! The organism was trapped in amber, melted by that old bastard! Of course! When it melted, the bloody thing was free to escape. Although, after all this time, it should be dead. I mean, ancient tree sap hardly qualifies as cryogenic!' Sam argued with his logic. It had happened when he was half-conscious under a blanket in the workroom-Kalihasa's domain-while he was still recovering from his ordeal on the damned DKM Geheimnis, after it had thrown him outside.
    
  From there, with all the confusion and pain, everything turned dark. But Sam remembered the old man running in to stop the yellow sludge from spilling. He also remembered the old man asking him if he had been banished from hell and to whom he belonged. Sam immediately answered "Purdue" to the old man's question, more a subconscious reflex than actual coherence, and two days later, he found himself en route to some remote, secret facility.
    
  It was there that Sam underwent his gradual and arduous recovery under the care and medical guidance of a specially selected team of Purdue doctors until he was ready to join Purdue in Raichtisusis. To his delight, it was there that he was reunited with Nina, his lover and the object of his constant battles with Purdue for many years.
    
  The entire vision lasted only twenty seconds, but Sam felt as if he were reliving every detail in real time-if the concept of time even existed in this distorted sense of existence. Judging by the fading memories, Sam's reasoning had returned to an almost normal level. His senses shifted between the two worlds of mental wandering and physical reality, like levers adjusting to alternating currents.
    
  He was back in the room, his sensitive and feverish eyes assaulted by the feeble light of a bare electric bulb. Sam lay on his back, shivering from the cold floor beneath him. From shoulders to calves, his skin was numb from the unyielding heat of the steel. Footsteps approached the room he was in, but Sam decided to play possum, frustrated once again by his inability to summon the enraged entomo-god, as he called it.
    
  "Mr. Cleve, I'm trained enough to know when someone's faking. You're no more incompetent than I am," Klaus muttered indifferently. "However, I also know what you were trying to do, and I must say, I admire your courage."
    
  Sam was curious. Without moving, he asked, "Oh, tell me, old man." Klaus wasn't amused by the snide impersonation Sam Cleve used to mock his refined, almost feminine eloquence. His fists nearly clenched at the journalist's insolence, but he was an expert at self-control and kept his composure. "You were trying to manipulate my thoughts. Either that, or you were simply determined to remain in my thoughts, like an unpleasant memory of an ex-girlfriend."
    
  "Like you know what a girl is," Sam muttered cheerfully. He expected a punch to the ribs or a kick to the head, but nothing happened.
    
  Rejecting Sam's attempts to stoke his vengeance, Klaus explained, "I know you have Kalihasa, Mister Cleave. I'm flattered that you consider me a serious enough threat to use it against me, but I must implore you to resort to more soothing practices." Just before leaving, Klaus smiled at Sam, "Please save your special gift for... the hive."
    
    
  Chapter 26
    
    
  "You do realize it's about a fourteen-hour drive to Pripyat, right?" Nina informed Perdue as he crept toward Kirill's garage. "Not to mention the fact that Detlef could still be here, as you'd expect from the fact that his body doesn't occupy the exact spot where I dealt him the final blow, right?"
    
  "Nina, my dear," Purdue said quietly, "where's your faith? Better yet, where's that sassy sorceress you usually turn into when the going gets tough? Trust me. I know how to do it. How else are we going to save Sam?"
    
  "Is this about Sam? Are you sure it's not about the Amber Room?" she called out. Purdue didn't deserve an answer to her accusation.
    
  "I don't like this," she grumbled, crouching down next to Purdue, scanning the perimeter of the house and yard they'd barely escaped less than two hours earlier. "I have a bad feeling he's still out there."
    
  Purdue crept closer to Kirill's garage door, two rickety iron sheets barely held in place by wire and hinges. The doors were connected by a locked padlock on a thick, rusty chain, a few inches from the slightly crooked position of the right door. Beyond the gap, the shed was pitch dark. Purdue tried to see if he could break the padlock, but a terrifying creaking sound dissuaded him from attempting to avoid disturbing a certain widower-murderer.
    
  "This is a bad idea," Nina insisted, gradually losing patience with Purdue.
    
  "Noted," he said absently. Deep in thought, he placed his hand on her thigh to get her attention. "Nina, you're a very small woman."
    
  "Thanks for noticing," she muttered.
    
  "Do you think you can squeeze your body through the doors?" he asked sincerely. Raising one eyebrow, she stared at him, saying nothing. In truth, she was considering it, considering the time was pressing and they had a considerable distance to cover to reach their next destination. Finally, she exhaled, closing her eyes and adopting a proper air of preconceived regret for what she was about to do.
    
  "I knew I could count on you," he smiled.
    
  "Shut up!" she barked at him, her lips pursed in irritation and her concentration intense. Nina pushed forward through tall weeds and thorny bushes, their thorns poking through the thick fabric of her jeans. She winced, cursed, and muttered her way toward the double-door puzzle until she reached the bottom of the obstacle that stood between her and Kirill's battered Volvo. Nina measured the width of the dark gap between the doors with her eyes, shaking her head in Purdue's direction.
    
  "Go ahead! You'll fit right in," he mouthed, peering out from behind the weeds to watch Detlef. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the house, especially the bathroom window. However, this advantage was also a curse, as it meant no one could watch them from the house. Detlef could see them as easily as they could see him, and that was the reason for the urgency.
    
  "Oh, God," Nina whispered, pushing her arms and shoulders between the doors, cringing at the rough edge of the slanted door that chafed her back as she made her way through. "Jesus, I'm glad I didn't go the other way," she muttered softly. "That can of tuna would have skinned me like something awful, damn it!" Her frown deepened as her thigh dragged across the tiny, jagged stones, following her equally damaged palms.
    
  Perdue's penetrating gaze remained fixed on the house, but he heard or saw nothing to alarm him-yet. His heart pounded at the thought of a deadly gunman emerging from the back door of the shack, but he trusted Nina to get them out of their predicament. On the other hand, he dreaded the possibility that Kirill's car keys wouldn't be in the ignition. When he heard the rattling clank of the chain, he saw Nina's thighs and knees slip through the gap, and then her boots vanish into the darkness. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who heard the noise.
    
  "Great job, darling," he whispered, smiling.
    
  Once inside, Nina was relieved that the car door she tried to open was unlocked, but she was soon devastated to discover that the keys were not in any of the locations suggested by the numerous gunmen she had seen.
    
  "Damn," she hissed, rummaging through fishing tackle, beer cans, and a few other items whose purpose she didn't even want to consider. "Where the hell are your keys, Kirill? Where do crazy old Russian soldiers keep their damn car keys-other than in their pockets?"
    
  Outside, Perdue heard the kitchen door click shut. As he'd feared, Detlef had emerged from around the corner. Perdue lay prostrate on the grass, hoping Detlef had gone outside for something trivial. But the German giant continued toward the garage, where Nina was apparently having trouble finding her car keys. His head was wrapped in some bloody cloth, covering his eye, which Nina had pierced with scissors. Knowing Detlef was hostile toward him, Perdue decided to distract him from Nina.
    
  "I hope he doesn't have that damn gun," Perdue muttered as he leaped into view and headed toward the boathouse, which was some distance away. Shortly after, he heard gunshots, felt a hot jolt in his shoulder, and another whistle past his ear. "Damn!" he yelped as he stumbled, but he got up and kept going.
    
  Nina heard gunshots. Trying hard not to panic, she grabbed a small carving knife lying on the floor behind the passenger seat, where her fishing gear was stashed.
    
  "I hope none of those shots killed my ex-boyfriend Detlef, or I'm going to rip the skin off your ass with this tiny lock pick," she chuckled, turning on the car's roof lights and bending down to access the wiring under the steering wheel. She had no intention of rekindling her past romance with Dave Perdue, but he was one of her two best friends, and she adored him, despite the fact that he always got her into life-threatening situations.
    
  Before reaching the boathouse, Perdue realized his hand was on fire. A warm trickle of blood ran down his elbow and hand as he ran for the shelter of the building, but when he finally managed to look back, another nasty surprise awaited him. Detlef wasn't pursuing him at all. No longer considering himself a risk, Detlef holstered his Glock and headed for the rickety garage.
    
  "Oh no!" Perdue gasped. However, he knew Detlef wouldn't be able to reach Nina through the narrow gap between the chain-locked doors. His impressive size had its drawbacks, and it was a blessing for the petite and feisty Nina, who was inside, wiring the car with sweaty hands and almost no light.
    
  Frustrated and hurt, Perdue watched helplessly as Detlef checked the lock and chain to see if anyone could have broken into it. 'He probably thinks I'm alone here. God, I hope so,' Perdue thought. While the German fiddled with the garage door, Perdue slipped into the house to grab as many of their belongings as he could carry. Nina's laptop bag also contained her passport, and he found Sam's passport in the journalist's room on a chair next to the bed. From the German's wallet, Perdue took cash and a gold AMEX credit card.
    
  If Detlef believed Perdue had left Nina in town and would return to finish the battle with him, that would be great, the billionaire hoped, watching the German ponder the situation from the kitchen window. Perdue felt his hand go numb all the way down to his fingers, and the loss of blood was making him dizzy, so he used his remaining strength to sneak back to the boathouse.
    
  "Hurry up, Nina," he whispered, removing his glasses to clean them and wipe the sweat from his face with his shirt. To Purdue's relief, the German decided against a futile attempt to break into the garage, mainly because he didn't have a key for the padlock. As he put his glasses back on, he saw Detlef heading his way. "He'll come to make sure I'm dead!"
    
  The sound of the ignition, which had been echoing throughout the evening, echoed from behind the large widower. Detlef turned and hurried back into the garage, drawing his gun. Purdue was determined to keep Detlef away from Nina, even if it cost him his life. He emerged from the grass again and screamed, but Detlef ignored him as the car tried to start again.
    
  "Don't flood her, Nina!" was all Purdue could shout as Detlef's massive hands closed on the chain and began to push the doors apart. He wouldn't give up the chain. It was handy and thick, far more secure than the flimsy iron doors. Behind the doors, the engine roared again, but died a moment later. Now the only sound in the afternoon air was the sound of doors slamming under the furious force of the German bell. The metal tear squealed as Detlef disassembled the entire installation, tearing the doors from their flimsy hinges.
    
  "Oh, my God!" Purdue groaned, desperately trying to save his beloved Nina, but he lacked the strength to run. He watched the doors fly apart like leaves falling from a tree as the engine roared once more. The Volvo, gaining momentum, screeched under Nina's foot and lurched forward as Detlef flung the other door aside.
    
  "Thanks, buddy!" Nina said, pressing the accelerator and releasing the clutch.
    
  Perdue saw only Detlef's frame shatter as the old car slammed into him at full speed, throwing his body several feet sideways with its momentum. The boxy, ugly brown sedan skidded across the muddy grass, heading toward where Perdue had stopped it. Nina opened the passenger door just as the car was about to stop, just long enough for Perdue to throw himself into the seat before it slid out into the street.
    
  "Are you okay? Purdue! Are you okay? Where did he hit you?" she continued to scream, over the roaring engine.
    
  "I'll be fine, my dear," Perdue smiled sheepishly, squeezing his hand. "It's damn luck the second bullet missed my skull."
    
  "It's a stroke of luck that I learned to start a car to impress a hot Glasgow hooligan when I was seventeen!" she added proudly. "Purdue!"
    
  "Just keep driving, Nina," he replied. "Just get us across the border into Ukraine as quickly as possible."
    
  "Assuming Kirill's old clunker can handle the trip," she sighed, checking the fuel gauge, which threatened to exceed the reserve mark. Perdue showed Detlef's credit card and smiled through his pain as Nina burst into triumphant laughter.
    
  "Give me that!" she smiled. "And get some rest. I'll buy you a bandage as soon as we reach the next town. From there, we won't stop until we're within striking distance of the Devil's Cauldron and have Sam back."
    
  Perdue didn't understand the last part. He had already fallen asleep.
    
    
  Chapter 27
    
    
  In Riga, Latvia, Klaus and his small crew docked for the next leg of their journey. There was little time to prepare for the acquisition and transport of the Amber Room panels. There was no time to waste, and Kemper was a very impatient man. He barked orders at the deck, while Sam listened from his steel prison. Kemper's choice of words haunted Sam immensely-a hive of thought-and it made him shudder, but even more so because he didn't know what Kemper was planning, and that was enough to cause him emotional turmoil.
    
  Sam had to give in; he was afraid. Plain and simple, casting aside all image and self-respect, he was terrified of what was coming. Based on the little information he'd been given, he already felt that this time he was destined to escape. Many times before, he'd escaped what he feared was certain death, but this time it was different.
    
  "You can't give up, Cleve," he scolded himself, emerging from a pit of depression and hopelessness. "This defeatist bullshit isn't for the likes of you. What harm could possibly surpass the hell aboard that teleporter ship you were trapped on? Do they have any idea what you had to endure while she made her hellish journey through the same physical traps over and over again?" But when Sam reflected a bit on his own training, he soon realized he couldn't remember what had happened on DKM Geheimnis during his detention there. What he did remember was the profound despair it had engendered deep within his soul, the only remnant of the whole affair he could still consciously feel.
    
  Above him, he could hear men unloading heavy equipment onto what must have been some kind of large, heavy-duty vehicle. If Sam hadn't known better, he would have assumed it was a tank. Quick footsteps approached the door of his room.
    
  "Now or never," he told himself, gathering his courage to attempt an escape. If he could manipulate those who had come for him, he could leave the boat unnoticed. The locks clicked outside. His heart pounded as he prepared to leap. When the door opened, there stood Klaus Kemper himself, smiling. Sam rushed forward to grab the vile kidnapper. Klaus said, "24-58-68-91."
    
  Sam's attack instantly stopped, and he fell to the floor at his target's feet. Confusion and rage flickered across Sam's brow, but try as he might, he couldn't move a muscle. All he could hear over his naked and bruised body was the triumphant chuckle of a very dangerous man who held deadly information.
    
  "Tell you what, Mr. Cleve," Kemper said, his tone gratingly calm. "Since you've shown such determination, I'll tell you what just happened. But!" he said patronizingly, like a prospective teacher granting mercy to an errant student. "But... you must agree to give me no further cause for concern about your relentless and ridiculous attempts to escape my company. Let's just call it... professional courtesy. You'll cease your childish behavior, and in return, I'll grant you an interview for the ages."
    
  "I'm sorry. I don't interview pigs," Sam retorted. "You'll never get any publicity from me, so fuck off."
    
  "And again, here I'll give you another chance to reconsider your counterproductive behavior," Klaus repeated with a sigh. "To put it simply, I'll trade your consent for information that only I possess. Don't you journalists crave... what do you call it? A scoop?"
    
  Sam held his tongue, not because he was stubborn, but because he'd considered the offer for a moment. 'What harm could it do to make this idiot believe you were being decent? He plans to kill you anyway. You might as well learn more about that mystery you've been dying to solve,' he decided. 'Besides, it's better than walking around with your bagpipes on display while getting beaten up by the enemy. Take it. Just take it for now.'
    
  "If I get my clothes back, you've got a deal. While I think you deserve to be punished for looking at something you clearly don't have much of, I really prefer wearing pants in this cold," Sam mimicked.
    
  Klaus had grown accustomed to the journalist's constant insults, so he wasn't so easily offended anymore. Once he'd noticed that verbal abuse was Sam Cleve's defense mechanism, it was easy to let it slide if it wasn't reciprocated. "Of course. I'll let you blame it on the cold," he retorted, gesturing to Sam's clearly shy genitals.
    
  Not appreciating the impact of his counterattack, Kemper turned and demanded Sam's clothes back. He was allowed to freshen up, get dressed, and join Kemper in his SUV. From Riga, they were to cross two borders toward Ukraine, followed by a massive military tactical vehicle carrying a container specifically designed to carry the valuable remaining panels of the Amber Room, which were to be recovered by Sam's assistants.
    
  "Impressive," Sam said to Kemper as he joined the Black Sun's captain at the local boat launch. Kemper watched as a large plexiglass container, controlled by two hydraulic levers, was moved from the sloping deck of a Polish ocean-going vessel onto a massive cargo truck. "What kind of vehicle is that?" he asked, examining the massive hybrid truck as he walked along its side.
    
  "This is a prototype by Enrik Hübsch, a talented engineer in our ranks," Kemper boasted, accompanying Sam. "We modeled it after the American-made Ford XM656 truck from the late 1960s. However, in true German fashion, we significantly improved upon it, expanding the original design by increasing the platform area by 10 meters and using reinforced steel welded along the axles, see?"
    
  Kemper proudly pointed to the structure above the heavy-duty tires, arranged in pairs along the entire length of the vehicle. "The spacing between the wheels is expertly calculated to support the precise weight of the container, while also taking into account design features that eliminate the inevitable shaking caused by the oscillating water tank, thus stabilizing the truck while driving."
    
  "What's the giant aquarium for, exactly?" Sam asked as they watched a massive crate of water being hoisted onto the back of a military-grade cargo monster. The thick, bulletproof plexiglass exterior was joined at each of the four corners by curved copper plates. Water flowed freely through twelve narrow compartments, also lined with copper.
    
  Slots running across the cube's width were designed to accommodate a single amber panel, each one stored separately from the next. While Kemper explained the intricate device and its purpose, Sam couldn't help but wonder about the incident that had occurred at the door of his cabin on the ship an hour earlier. He was eager to remind Kemper to reveal what he had promised, but for now he played along with their turbulent relationship.
    
  "Is there some kind of chemical compound in the water?" he asked Kemper.
    
  "No, just water," the German commander answered bluntly.
    
  Sam shrugged. "So what"s this plain water for? What"s it doing to the Amber Room panels?"
    
  Kemper smiled. "Think of it as a deterrent."
    
  Sam met his gaze and asked casually, "To contain, say, a swarm from a kind of hive?"
    
  "How melodramatic," Kemper replied, crossing his arms confidently as the men secured the container with cable and cloth. "But you're not entirely wrong, Mr. Cleave. It's simply a precaution. I don't take risks unless I have serious alternatives."
    
  "Noted," Sam nodded affably.
    
  Together they watched as Kemper's men completed the loading process, neither of them engaging in conversation. Deep down, Sam wished he could penetrate Kemper's thoughts, but not only was he incapable of reading minds, but the Nazi PR man already knew Sam's secret-and apparently something else besides. Surreptitious peeking would have been unnecessary. Something unusual struck Sam about the way the small team worked. There was no designated foreman, but each person moved as if directed by specific teams, ensuring their respective tasks were carried out smoothly and completed at the same time. It was uncanny how they moved quickly, efficiently, and without a single word.
    
  "Come on, Mr. Cleve," Kemper insisted. "It's time to go. We have two countries to cross and very little time. With such a delicate cargo, we can't cross the Latvian and Belarusian landscapes in less than 16 hours."
    
  "Holy crap! How bored are we going to be?" Sam exclaimed, already weary at the prospect. "I don't even have a journal. In fact, on such a long journey, I could probably read the entire Bible!"
    
  Kemper laughed, clapping his hands cheerfully as they climbed into the beige SUV. "Reading that now would be a colossal waste of time. It would be like reading modern fiction to determine the history of the Mayan civilization!"
    
  They moved into the rear of a vehicle waiting ahead of a truck to direct it along a secondary route to the Latvian-Belarusian border. As they set off at a snail's pace, the luxurious interior of the car began to fill with cool air, mitigating the midday heat, accompanied by soft classical music.
    
  "I hope you don"t mind Mozart," Kemper said, out of politeness.
    
  "Not at all," Sam said formally. "Although I'm more of an ABBA fan myself."
    
  Once again, Kemper was greatly amused by Sam's comical indifference. "Really? You're playing!"
    
  "I don't know," Sam insisted. "You know, there's something irresistible about Swedish retro pop with impending death on the menu."
    
  "If you say so," Kemper shrugged. He understood the hint, but was in no hurry to satisfy Sam Cleve's curiosity about the matter at hand. He knew full well the journalist was shocked by his body's involuntary reaction to the attack. Another fact he had concealed from Sam was information concerning Kalihasa and the fate that awaited him.
    
  As they traveled through the rest of Latvia, the two men barely spoke. Kemper opened his laptop, mapping strategic locations for unknown targets that Sam couldn't observe from his position. But he knew it had to be nefarious-and it had to involve his role in the sinister commander's devious plans. For his part, Sam refrained from asking about the pressing matters occupying his mind, opting to spend the time relaxing. After all, he was almost certain he wouldn't have the chance to do so again anytime soon.
    
  After crossing the border into Belarus, everything changed. Kemper offered Sam his first drink since leaving Riga, testing the stamina and will of the investigative journalist so highly regarded in the UK. Sam readily accepted, handed a sealed can of Coke. Kemper drank one too, reassuring Sam that he'd been tricked into drinking a sugar-laced drink.
    
  "Simple!" Sam said, before downing a quarter of the can in one long gulp, savoring the fizzy taste of the drink. Of course, Kemper drank his constantly, always maintaining his exquisite composure. "Klaus," Sam suddenly addressed his captor. Now that his thirst had been quenched, he gathered his courage. "The numbers are deceiving, if you will."
    
  Kemper knew he had to explain it to Sam. After all, the Scottish journalist wasn't planning on living to see another day anyway, and he'd been behaving quite well. It was a shame he'd planned to end his life by suicide.
    
    
  Chapter 28
    
    
  On the way to Pripyat, Nina drove for several hours after filling up her Volvo in Włocławek. She used Detlef's credit card to buy Perdue a first aid kit to treat the wound on his hand. Finding a pharmacy in an unfamiliar city was a roundabout, but necessary, endeavor.
    
  Even though Sam's captors had directed her and Perdue to the sarcophagus in Chernobyl-the burial vault of the ill-fated Reactor 4-she remembered Milla's radio message. It mentioned "Pripyat 1955," a term that simply hadn't softened since she'd written it down. Somehow, it stood out among the other phrases, as if glowing with promise. It was meant to be revealed, and so Nina had spent the last few hours trying to decipher its meaning.
    
  She knew nothing important about 1955, about the ghost town located in the Exclusion Zone and evacuated after the reactor accident. In fact, she doubted Pripyat had ever been involved in anything important before its infamous evacuation in 1986. These words haunted the historian until she checked her watch to determine how long she had been driving and realized that 1955 might refer to a time, not a date.
    
  At first, she thought this might be the limit of her reach, but it was all she had. If she reached Pripyat by 8 p.m., she was unlikely to have enough time for a good night's sleep, a very dangerous prospect given the fatigue she was already experiencing.
    
  It was terrifying and lonely on the dark road through Belarus, while Perdue snored in an anti-dol-induced sleep in the passenger seat next to her. What kept her going was the hope that she could still save Sam if she didn't falter now. The small digital clock on the dashboard of Kirill's old car showed the time in an eerie green.
    
  02:14
    
  Her body ached and she was exhausted, but she put a cigarette in her mouth, lit it, and took a few deep breaths to fill her lungs with the slow death. It was one of her favorite sensations. Rolling down the window had been a good idea. The fierce blast of cold night air somewhat revived her, though she wished she had a flask of strong caffeine to keep her going.
    
  From the surrounding land, hidden in the darkness on either side of the deserted road, she could smell the earth. The car hummed a melancholy dirge with its worn rubber tires over the pale concrete winding toward the border between Poland and Ukraine.
    
  "God, this feels like purgatory," she complained, tossing her spent cigarette butt into the beckoning oblivion outside. "I hope your radio works, Kirill."
    
  At Nina's command, the knob turned with a click, and a faint glow signaled that the radio was alive. "Hell yeah!" she smiled, her tired eyes never leaving the road as she turned the dial, searching for a suitable station to listen to. There was an FM station, broadcast through the car's only speaker, the one mounted in her door. But Nina wasn't picky tonight. She desperately needed company, any company, to soothe her rapidly growing sullenness.
    
  Purdue was unconscious most of the time, leaving her to make decisions. They were heading to Chelm, a town 25 kilometers from the Ukrainian border, and had a short nap in a small house. By the time they reached the border by 2:00 PM, Nina was confident they would be in Pripyat by the appointed time. Her only concern was how to get into the ghost town, with its guarded checkpoints throughout the Exclusion Zone surrounding Chernobyl, but she had no idea that Milla had friends even in the harshest camps of the forgotten.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  After a few hours' sleep at a quaint family-run motel in Chelm, a refreshed Nina and a cheerful Perdue set off across the border from Poland, heading into Ukraine. It was just after 1:00 PM when they reached Kovel, about a five-hour drive from their destination.
    
  "Look, I know I've been out of my mind for most of the trip, but are you sure we shouldn't just head to that Sarcophagus instead of chasing our tails in Pripyat?" Perdue asked Nina.
    
  "I understand your concern, but I have a strong feeling that this message was important. Don't ask me to explain it or give it meaning," she replied, "but we need to understand why Milla mentioned it."
    
  Perdue looked stunned. "You do realize Milla's transmissions are coming directly from the Order, right?" He couldn't believe Nina would play into the enemy's hands. As much as he trusted her, he couldn't understand her logic in this endeavor.
    
  She looked at him sharply. "I told you I can"t explain it. Just..." she hesitated, doubting her own guess, "...trust me. If we run into trouble, I"ll be the first to admit I screwed up, but something about the timing of this broadcast feels different."
    
  "Women's intuition, right?" he chuckled. "I might as well have let Detlef shoot me in the head back in Gdynia."
    
  "Jesus, Perdue, could you be a little more kind?" she frowned. "Don't forget how we got into this in the first place. Sam and I had to come to your aid again the hundredth time you got into a fight with those bastards!"
    
  "I had nothing to do with this, my dear!" he taunted her. "That bitch and her hackers ambushed me while I was minding my own business, trying to vacation in Copenhagen, for God's sake!"
    
  Nina couldn't believe her ears. Purdue was beside himself, acting like a nervous stranger she'd never met before. Sure, he'd been drawn into the Amber Room case by agents beyond his control, but he'd never exploded like this before. Disgusted by the tense silence, Nina turned on the radio and turned down the volume to ensure a third, more cheerful presence in the car. After that, she said nothing, leaving Purdue to fume as she tried to make sense of her own ridiculous decision.
    
  They had just passed the small town of Sarny when the music on the radio began to fade in and out. Perdue ignored the sudden change, staring out the window at the unremarkable landscape. Normally, such static would irritate Nina, but she didn't dare turn off the radio and immerse herself in Perdue's silence. As it continued, it grew louder until it became impossible to ignore. A familiar melody, last heard on shortwave in Gdynia, emanated from a battered speaker next to her, identifying the broadcast.
    
  "Milla?" Nina muttered, half scared, half excited.
    
  Even Perdue's stony face brightened as he listened with surprise and apprehension to the slowly fading melody. They exchanged suspicious glances as static interrupted the airwaves. Nina checked the frequency. "It's not on his normal frequency," she declared.
    
  "What do you mean?" he asked, sounding much more like himself. "Isn't this where you usually tune it?" he asked, pointing to the needle, located quite far from where Detlef usually tuned it to the numbers station. Nina shook her head, further intriguing Purdue.
    
  "Why should they be different...?" she wanted to ask, but the explanation came to her when Perdue replied, "Because they"re hiding."
    
  "Yes, that"s what I think. But why?" she wondered.
    
  "Listen," he croaked excitedly, perking up to hear.
    
  The woman's voice was insistent but even. "Widower."
    
  "It's Detlef!" Nina told Perdue. "They're handing it over to Detlef."
    
  After a brief pause, the fuzzy voice continued, "Woodpecker, eight-thirty." A loud click erupted from the speaker, and in place of the completed transmission, only white noise and static remained. Stunned, Nina and Perdue considered what had just happened, apparently by accident, while the radio waves hissed with the current broadcast of the local station.
    
  "What the hell is Woodpecker? I guess they want us there at half past eight," Perdue suggested.
    
  "Yes, the message about going to Pripyat was at 7:55, so they moved the location and adjusted the timeframe to get there. It's not much later now than before, so from what I understand, Woodpecker is near Pripyat," Nina ventured.
    
  "God, I wish I had a phone! Do you have your own phone?" he asked.
    
  "I could-if it's still in my laptop bag, you stole it from Kirill's house," she replied, glancing at the zipped case on the backseat. Purdue reached back and rummaged through the front pocket of her bag, rummaging between her notebook, pens, and glasses.
    
  "Got it!" he smiled. "Now, I hope it"s charged."
    
  "That should be it," she said, peeking in to take a look. "That should last for at least the next two hours. Go on. Find our Woodpecker, old man."
    
  "On it," he replied, searching the internet for anything with a similar nickname nearby. They were rapidly approaching Pripyat as the afternoon sun illuminated the light brown-gray flat landscape, transforming it into the eerie black giants of the guard pylons.
    
  "This is such a foreboding feeling," Nina remarked, her eyes taking in the landscape. "Look, Purdue, this is a graveyard of Soviet science. You can almost feel the lost aurora in the atmosphere."
    
  "That must be the radiation talking, Nina," he joked, drawing a chuckle from the historian, who was happy to have the old Perdue back. "I figured it out."
    
  "Where are we going?" she asked.
    
  "South of Pripyat, toward Chernobyl," he pointed out casually. Nina raised an eyebrow, revealing her reluctance to visit such a destructive and dangerous stretch of Ukrainian soil. But ultimately, she knew they had to go. After all, they were already there-contaminated by the remnants of radioactive material left there after 1986. Purdue checked the map on her phone. "Continue directly from Pripyat. The so-called 'Russian woodpecker' is in the surrounding forest," he informed her, leaning forward in his seat to look up. "Night will be coming soon, my love. It will be cold, too."
    
  "What's a Russian woodpecker? Am I going to look for a big bird patching up holes in local roads or something?" she chuckled.
    
  "It's actually a relic of the Cold War. The nickname comes from... you'll appreciate it... the mysterious radio interference that disrupted broadcasts across Europe in the 1980s," he shared.
    
  "Radio phantoms again," she remarked, shaking her head. "It makes me wonder if we're being programmed daily by hidden frequencies, fraught with ideologies and propaganda, you know? Without any idea that our opinions can be shaped by subliminal messages..."
    
  "There!" he suddenly exclaimed. "A secret military base from which the Soviet military broadcast about 30 years ago. It was called Duga-3, a state-of-the-art radar signal they used to detect potential ballistic missile attacks."
    
  From Pripyat, a terrifying vision, both mesmerizing and grotesque, was clearly visible. Rising silently above the treetops of the irradiated forests, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, a row of identical steel towers lined the abandoned military base. "Perhaps you're right, Nina. Look at its enormous size. The transmitters here could easily manipulate radio waves to alter minds," he hypothesized, in awe of the eerie wall of steel bars.
    
  Nina looked at her digital clock. "Almost time."
    
    
  Chapter 29
    
    
  Throughout the Red Forest, pine trees grew predominantly, growing from the very soil that covered the graves of the former forest. Following the Chernobyl disaster, the former vegetation was bulldozed and buried. The rusty-red pine skeletons beneath a thick layer of earth gave birth to a new generation, planted by the authorities. The Volvo's single headlight, the high beam on the right, illuminated the sepulchral rustling trunks of the Red Forest trees as Nina approached the dilapidated steel gates at the entrance to the abandoned complex. Painted green and adorned with Soviet stars, the two gates leaned crooked, barely held in place by the crumbling wooden fence around the perimeter.
    
  "Good God, this is depressing!" Nina remarked, leaning on the steering wheel to get a better look at the barely visible surroundings.
    
  "I wonder where we're supposed to go," Perdue said, looking for signs of life. The only signs of life, however, came in the form of surprisingly abundant wildlife, such as deer and beavers, which Perdue spotted along the way to the entrance.
    
  "Let's just go in and wait. I'll give them 30 minutes tops, then we'll get the hell out of this death trap," Nina declared. The car moved very slowly, creeping along the dilapidated walls where fading Soviet-era propaganda stood apart from the crumbling stonework. The only sound in the lifeless night at the Duga-3 military base was the screech of tires.
    
  "Nina," Perdue said quietly.
    
  "Yes?" she replied, fascinated by the abandoned Willys Jeep.
    
  "Nina!" he said louder, looking ahead. She slammed on the brakes.
    
  "Holy shit!" she shrieked as the car's grille stopped inches from a tall, thin Balkan beauty dressed in boots and a white dress. "What is she doing in the middle of the road?" The woman's light blue eyes pierced Nina's dark gaze through the headlights. With a slight wave of her hand, she beckoned them over, turning to show them the way.
    
  "I don"t trust her," Nina whispered.
    
  "Nina, we"re here. They"re waiting for us. We"re already in deep. Let"s not keep the lady waiting," he smiled, seeing the pretty historian pout. "Come on. It was your idea." He gave her an encouraging wink and got out of the car. Nina slung her laptop bag over her shoulder and followed Purdue. The young blonde said nothing as they followed, occasionally glancing at each other for support. Finally, Nina gave in and asked, "Are you Milla?"
    
  "No," the woman replied casually, without turning around. They climbed two flights of stairs into a room reminiscent of a cafeteria from a bygone era, where a blinding white light fell through the doorway. She opened the door and held it for Nina and Perdue, who reluctantly entered, keeping their eyes on her.
    
  "This is Milla," she informed her Scottish guests, stepping aside to reveal five men and two women sitting in a circle with laptops. "This stands for Leonid Leopoldt Military Index Alpha."
    
  Each with their own style and purpose, they took turns commanding the sole control panel for their broadcasts. "I'm Elena. These are my partners," she explained in a thick Serbian accent. "Are you a widower?"
    
  "Yes, that"s him," Nina replied before Perdue could. "I"m his colleague, Dr. Gould. You can call me Nina, and this is Dave."
    
  "We were hoping you'd come. We have a warning to give you," said one of the men in the circle.
    
  "About what?" Nina said under her breath.
    
  One of the women sat in an isolated booth at the control panel and couldn't hear their conversation. "No, we won't interfere with her transmission. Don't worry," Elena smiled. "This is Yuri. He's from Kyiv."
    
  Yuri raised his hand in greeting but continued his work. They were all under 35, but they all had the same tattoo-the star Nina and Perdue had seen on the gate outside, with Russian inscription underneath.
    
  "Nice ink," Nina said approvingly, pointing to the one on Elena's neck. "What does that say?"
    
  "Oh, it says Red Army 1985... um, 'Red Army' and my birth date. We all have our birth year next to our stars," she smiled shyly. Her voice was like silk, accentuating the articulation of her words, making her even more appealing than just her physical beauty.
    
  "That"s the name in Milla"s abbreviation," Nina asked, "who is Leonid...?"
    
  Elena quickly responded. "Leonid Leopoldt was a Ukrainian operative of German descent during World War II who survived a mass suicide by drowning off the coast of Latvia. Leonid killed the captain and radioed the submarine's commander, Alexander Marinesko."
    
  Perdue nudged Nina with his elbow: "Marinesco was Kirill"s father, remember?"
    
  Nina nodded, wanting to hear more from Elena.
    
  "Marinesko's people took the fragments of the Amber Room and hid them while Leonid was being sent to the Gulag. While he was in the Red Army interrogation room, he was shot by that SS pig Karl Kemper. That Nazi scum shouldn't have been in a Red Army facility!" Elena seethed in her noble manner, looking upset.
    
  "Oh my God, Perdue!" Nina whispered. "Leonid was the soldier on the tape! Detlef has a medal pinned to his chest."
    
  "So you're not affiliated with the Order of the Black Sun?" Perdue asked sincerely. Under very hostile glances, the entire group reprimanded and cursed him. He didn't speak in tongues, but it was clear their reaction was not favorable.
    
  "Widower doesn't mean he's offended," Nina interjected. "Um, an unknown agent told him your radio transmissions were coming from Black Sun High Command. But we've been lied to by a lot of people, so we don't really know what's going on. You see, we don't know who serves what."
    
  Nina's words were met with approving nods from the Milla group. They instantly accepted her explanation, so she dared to ask the pressing question. "But wasn't the Red Army disbanded in the early 1990s? Or was it simply to show their loyalty?"
    
  A striking man of about thirty-five answered Nina's question. "Didn't the Order of the Black Sun disband after that asshole Hitler committed suicide?"
    
  "No, the next generations of followers are still active," Perdue replied.
    
  "So there you have it," the man said. "The Red Army is still fighting the Nazis; only these are a new generation of operatives fighting an old war. Red versus Black."
    
  "This is Misha," Elena intervened out of politeness to the strangers.
    
  "We all had military training, like our fathers and their fathers, but we fight with the most dangerous weapon of the new world-information technology," Misha preached. He was clearly the leader. "Milla is the new Tsar Bomba, baby!"
    
  A cheer of triumph erupted from the group. Surprised and confused, Perdue looked at Nina, smiling, and whispered, "What is 'Tsar Bomba,' may I ask?"
    
  "In all of human history, only the most powerful nuclear weapon has ever exploded," she winked. "The hydrogen bomb; I believe it was tested sometime in the sixties."
    
  "These are the good guys," Perdue remarked playfully, making sure to keep his voice down. Nina chuckled and nodded. "I'm just glad we're not behind enemy lines here."
    
  After the group calmed down, Elena offered Perdue and Nina black coffee, which they both gratefully accepted. It had been an exceptionally long drive, not to mention the emotional strain of what they were still facing.
    
  "Elena, we have a few questions about Milla and her connection to the Amber Room relic," Perdue inquired respectfully. "We must find the artwork, or what remains of it, by tomorrow night."
    
  "No! Oh, no, no!" Misha openly protested. He ordered Elena to step aside on the sofa and sat down across from the misinformed visitors. "No one will remove the Amber Room from its tomb! Never! If you want to do that, we'll have to resort to harsh measures against you."
    
  Elena tried to calm him down as the others stood up and surrounded the small space where Misha and the strangers were sitting. Nina took Perdue's hand as they all drew their weapons. The terrifying clicks of hammers being pulled back proved just how serious Milla was.
    
  "Okay, relax. Let's discuss an alternative, no matter what," Perdue suggested.
    
  Elena's soft voice was the first to respond. "Listen, the last time someone stole part of this masterpiece, the Third Reich nearly destroyed everyone's freedom."
    
  "How?" Perdue asked. He had an idea, of course, but he couldn't yet grasp the true threat it posed. All Nina wanted was to holster the bulky pistols so she could relax, but the Milla members didn't budge.
    
  Before Misha could launch into another tirade, Elena begged him to wait with one of those mesmerizing hand gestures. She sighed and continued, "The amber used to make the original Amber Room came from the Balkan region."
    
  "We know about an ancient organism-Kalihas-that was inside the amber," Nina interrupted softly.
    
  "And you know what she does?" Misha couldn"t resist.
    
  "Yes," Nina confirmed.
    
  "Then why the hell do you want to give it to them? Are you crazy? You people are crazy! You, the West, and your greed! Money whores, all of you!" Misha barked at Nina and Perdue in uncontrollable rage. "Shoot them," he told his group.
    
  Nina threw up her hands in horror. "No! Please, listen! We want to destroy the amber panels once and for all, but we just don"t know how. Listen, Misha," she turned to him, pleading for his attention, "our colleague... our friend... is being held by the Order, and they"ll kill him if we don"t deliver the Amber Room by tomorrow. So, the Widower and I are in deep, deep shit! Do you understand?"
    
  Perdue cringed at Nina's trademark ferocity toward the hot-tempered Misha.
    
  "Nina, may I remind you that the guy you"re yelling at pretty much has our proverbial balls in his grip," Perdue said, gently tugging at Nina"s shirt.
    
  "No, Perdue!" She resisted, pushing his hand aside. "Here we are in the middle. We are not the Red Army or the Black Sun, but we are threatened from both sides, and we are forced to be their bitches, do their dirty work, and try not to get killed!"
    
  Elena sat, silently nodding in agreement, waiting for Misha to grasp the strangers' predicament. The woman who had been broadcasting the entire time emerged from the booth and stared at the strangers sitting in the cafeteria and the rest of her group, her weapon at the ready. At over six feet three inches tall, the dark-haired Ukrainian was more than a little intimidating. Her dreadlocks spilled over her shoulders as she gracefully strode toward them. Elena casually introduced her to Nina and Perdue: "This is our explosives expert, Natasha. She's a former special forces soldier and a direct descendant of Leonid Leopold."
    
  "Who is this?" Natasha asked firmly.
    
  "A widower," Misha replied, pacing back and forth, pondering Nina"s recent statement.
    
  "Ah, the widower. Gabi was our friend," she replied, shaking her head. "Her death was a great loss to world freedom."
    
  "Yes, that was it," Perdue agreed, unable to take his eyes off the newcomer. Elena told Natasha about the visitors' predicament, to which the Amazon-like woman replied, "Misha, we have to help them."
    
  "We are fighting a war with data, with information, not with firepower," Misha reminded her.
    
  "Was it information and data that stopped that American intelligence officer who tried to help Black Sun get the Amber Room in the late Cold War?" she asked him. "No, Soviet firepower stopped him in West Germany."
    
  "We are hackers, not terrorists!" he protested.
    
  "Was it hackers who destroyed the Chernobyl threat in Kalihas in 1986? No, Misha, it was terrorists!" she countered. "Now we have this problem again, and we"ll have it as long as the Amber Room exists. What will you do when Black Sun succeeds? Are you going to send out number sequences to deprogram the minds of the few who will still listen to the radio for the rest of their lives, while the fucking Nazis take over the world with mass hypnosis and mind control?"
    
  "The Chernobyl disaster wasn't an accident?" Perdue casually asked, but the sharp, warning glances from the Milla members silenced him. Even Nina couldn't believe his inappropriate question. Apparently, Nina and Perdue had just stirred up the deadliest hornet's nest in history, and Black Sun was about to find out why red is the color of blood.
    
    
  Chapter 30
    
    
  Sam thought about Nina as he waited for Kemper to return to the car. The bodyguard who had driven them remained behind the wheel, leaving the engine running. Even if Sam had managed to escape the gorilla in the black suit, there was truly nowhere to run. In all directions, stretching as far as the eye could see, the landscape resembled a very familiar sight. In fact, it was more like a familiar vision.
    
  Eerily similar to Sam's hypnotic hallucination during his sessions with Dr. Helberg, the flat, featureless landscape with its colorless meadows unsettled him. It was a good thing Kemper had left him alone for a while, allowing him to process the surreal event until it no longer frightened him. But the more he observed, comprehended, and absorbed the landscape to adjust to it, the more Sam realized it frightened him no less.
    
  Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he couldn't help but recall the dream of the well and the barren landscape before the destructive impulse that lit up the sky and destroyed nations. The significance of what had once been nothing more than a subconscious manifestation of the chaos witnessed turned out, to Sam's horror, to be a prophecy.
    
  "A prophecy? Me?" He considered the absurdity of the idea. But then another memory wedged itself into his consciousness like another piece of a puzzle. His mind revealed the words he had written down while in the grip of his seizure, back in the island village; the words Nina's attacker had screamed at her.
    
  "Take your evil prophet out of here!"
    
  "Take your evil prophet out of here!"
    
  "Take your evil prophet out of here!"
    
  Sam was scared.
    
  "Holy shit! How could I not have heard that at the time?" he racked his brain, forgetting to consider that such was the very nature of the mind and all its wondrous abilities. "He called me a prophet?" He swallowed hard, turning pale as it all came together-the vision of a precise location and the destruction of an entire race under an amber sky. But what troubled him most was the pulsation he saw in his vision, like a nuclear explosion.
    
  The camper startled Sam as he opened the door to return. The sudden click of the central lock, followed by the loud click of the handle, came just as Sam remembered the all-consuming impulse that had rippled across the country.
    
  "Entschuldigung, Herr Cleve," Kemper apologized as Sam jerked back in alarm, clutching his chest. Nevertheless, this elicited a chuckle from the tyrant. "Why are you so nervous?"
    
  "I"m just nervous about my friends," Sam shrugged.
    
  "I"m sure they won"t let you down," Klaus tried to be cordial.
    
  "Problem with the cargo?" Sam asked.
    
  "Just a minor problem with the gas gauge, but it's fixed now," Kemper replied seriously. "So, you wanted to know how the number sequences thwarted your attack on me, right?"
    
  "Yes. It was amazing, but even more impressive was the fact that it only affected me. The men who were with you showed no signs of manipulation," Sam admired, indulging Klaus's ego as if he were a great admirer. It was a tactic Sam Cleve had used many times before, conducting his investigations to expose criminals.
    
  "Here's the secret," Klaus smiled smugly, slowly wringing his hands, brimming with self-satisfaction. "It's not so much the numbers, but the combination of numbers. Mathematics, as you know, is the language of Creation itself. Numbers govern everything in existence, be it at the cellular level, geometrically, in physics, chemical compounds, or anywhere else. They are the key to transforming all data-like a computer inside a specific part of your brain, you understand?"
    
  Sam nodded. He thought for a moment and replied, "So it's some kind of cipher for a biological enigma machine."
    
  Kemper applauded. Literally. "That's a remarkably accurate analogy, Mr. Cleave! I couldn't explain it better myself. That's exactly how it works. By applying specific chains of combinations, it's entirely possible to expand the field of influence, essentially short-circuiting the brain's receptors. Now, if you add an electrical current to this," Kemper reveled in his superiority, "it will amplify the effect of the thought form tenfold."
    
  "So, using electricity, you could actually increase the amount of data it can absorb? Or is it to enhance the manipulator's ability to control more than one person at a time?" Sam asked.
    
  "Keep talking, Dobber," Sam thought, his charade masterfully executed. "And the award goes to... Samson Cleave for his performance as the charmed journalist, charmed by the clever man!" Sam, no less exceptional in his performance, registered every detail the German narcissist spewed.
    
  "What do you think was the first thing Adolf Hitler did when he took power over the inactive Wehrmacht personnel in 1935?" he asked Sam rhetorically. "He implemented mass discipline, combat effectiveness, and unwavering loyalty to enforce SS ideology using subconscious programming."
    
  With great delicacy, Sam asked the question that had popped into his head almost immediately after Kemper's statement. "Did Hitler have a Kalihasa?"
    
  "After the Amber Room was housed in the Berlin City Palace, a German craftsman from Bavaria..." Kemper chuckled, trying to recall the man's name. "Uh, no, I don't remember-he was invited to join Russian craftsmen to restore the artifact after it was gifted to Peter the Great, you see?"
    
  "Yes," Sam answered readily.
    
  "According to legend, when he was working on the new design for the restored room in the Catherine Palace, he 'demanded' three pieces of amber, you know, for his troubles," Kemper winked at Sam.
    
  "You can"t really blame him," Sam noted.
    
  "No, how can anyone blame him for that? I agree. In any case, he sold one item. The other two, it was feared, were deceived by his wife and also sold. However, this was apparently untrue, and the wife in question turned out to be an early matriarchal representative of the bloodline who met the impressionable Hitler many centuries later."
    
  Kemper was clearly enjoying his own narrative, killing time on the way to Sam's murder, but the journalist nonetheless paid attention to how the story unfolded. "She passed on the remaining two pieces of amber from the original Amber Room to her descendants, and they ended up with none other than Johann Dietrich Eckart! How could that be a coincidence?"
    
  "Sorry, Klaus," Sam apologized sheepishly, "but my knowledge of German history is embarrassing. That's exactly why I keep Nina."
    
  "Huh! Just for historical information?" Klaus teased. "I doubt it. But let me clarify. Eckart, an extremely learned man and a metaphysical poet, was directly responsible for Hitler's fascination with the occult. We suspect it was Eckart who discovered the power of Kalihasa and then exploited this phenomenon when he assembled the first members of Black Sun. And, of course, the most prominent member, who was able to actively exploit the undeniable potential to change people's worldviews..."
    
  "...was Adolf Hitler. Now I understand," Sam filled in the blanks, feigning charm to fool his captor. "Calijasa gave Hitler the ability to turn people into, well, drones. It explains why the masses in Nazi Germany generally shared the same opinion... the synchronized movements and that obscenely visceral, inhuman level of cruelty."
    
  Klaus smiled tenderly at Sam. "Indecently instinctive... I like it."
    
  "I thought you could," Sam sighed. "It's all quite fascinating, you know? But how did you find out about all this?"
    
  "My father," Kemper replied matter-of-factly. He struck Sam as a potential celebrity with his feigned shyness. "Karl Kemper."
    
  "Kemper-that was the name that came up in Nina's audio clip," Sam remembered. "He was responsible for the death of a Red Army soldier in an interrogation room. Now the puzzle comes together." He stared into the eyes of the monster in the small frame standing before him. "I can't wait to watch you choke," Sam thought, giving the Black Sun commander all the attention he craved. "I can't believe I'm drinking with a genocidal bastard. How I would dance on your ashes, you Nazi scum!" The images that materialized in Sam's soul seemed alien and detached from his own personality, and it unsettled him. The Kalihasa in his mind was at work again, filling his thoughts with negativity and primal violence, but he had to admit that the terrible things he was thinking weren't entirely exaggerated.
    
  "Tell me, Klaus, what was the purpose behind the murders in Berlin?" Sam continued the so-called special interview over a glass of fine whiskey. "Fear? Public anxiety? I always thought it was your way of simply preparing the masses for the coming introduction of a new system of order and discipline. How close I was! I should have made the bet."
    
  Kemper looked less than stellar upon hearing of the investigative journalist's new route, but he had nothing to lose by revealing his motives to the walking dead.
    
  "It's actually a very simple program," he replied. "Since we have the German Chancellor in our power, we have leverage. The assassinations of high-ranking citizens, primarily those responsible for the country's political and financial well-being, prove that we are aware of this and, of course, will carry out our threats without hesitation."
    
  "So you chose them based on their elite status?" Sam simply asked.
    
  "That too, Mr. Cleve. But each of our targets had a deeper investment in our world than just money and power," Kemper explained, though he seemed reluctant to share exactly what those investments were. It wasn't until Sam feigned disinterest, simply nodding, and began looking out the window at the moving landscape outside that Kemper felt compelled to tell him. "Each of these seemingly random targets were actually Germans, assisting our modern-day comrades in the Red Army in concealing the location and existence of the Amber Room, the single most effective obstacle to Black Sun's search for the original masterpiece. My father learned firsthand from Leopold-a Russian traitor-that the relic was intercepted by the Red Army and did not sink with Wilhelm Gustloff, who was Milla, as legend has it. Since then, some Black Sun members, having changed their minds about world domination, have left our ranks. Can you believe it? Descendants of the Aryans, powerful and intellectually superior, have decided to break with the Order. But the greatest betrayal was helping the Soviet bastards conceal the Amber Room, even financing a secret operation in 1986 to destroy six of the ten remaining amber slabs containing Kalihasu!"
    
  Sam perked up. "Wait, wait. What are you talking about in 1986? Half the Amber Room was destroyed?"
    
  "Yes, thanks to our recently deceased elite members of society who financed Milla for Operation Rodina, Chernobyl is now the grave of half a magnificent relic," Kemper chuckled, clenching his fists. "But this time, we're going to destroy them-make them disappear, along with their compatriots and anyone else who questions us."
    
  "How?" Sam asked.
    
  Kemper laughed, surprised that someone as perceptive as Sam Cleave didn't understand what was really going on. "Well, we have you, Mr. Cleave. You're the new Black Sun Hitler... with this special creature that feeds on your brain."
    
  "Excuse me?" Sam gasped. "How do you expect me to serve your purpose?"
    
  "Your mind has the power to manipulate the masses, my friend. Like Führer, you'll be able to subjugate Milla and all other similar agencies-even governments. They'll do the rest," Kemper chuckled.
    
  "What about my friends?" Sam asked, alarmed by the prospects that were opening up.
    
  "It won't matter. By the time you project Kalihasa's power over the world, the organism will have absorbed most of your brain," Kemper explained, as Sam stared at him in undisguised horror. "Either that, or the abnormal increase in electrical activity will fry your brain. Either way, you'll go down in history as a hero of the Order."
    
    
  Chapter 31
    
    
  "Give them the fucking gold. Gold will soon be worthless if they can't find a way to turn vanity and density into real survival paradigms," Natasha sneered at her colleagues. Milla's visitors sat around a large table with a group of militant hackers, who, Purdue now discovered, were the people behind Gabi's mysterious message to air traffic control. It was Marco, one of Milla's quieter members, who had bypassed Copenhagen air traffic control and told Purdue's pilots to divert to Berlin, but Purdue wasn't about to blow his cover-Detlev's nickname, "Widower"-to reveal his true identity-not yet.
    
  "I have no idea what gold has to do with the plan," Nina Perdue muttered in the midst of a spat with the Russians.
    
  "Most of the amber sheets that still exist still have the gold inlays and frames in place, Dr. Gould," Elena explained, making Nina feel stupid for complaining too loudly about it.
    
  "Yes!" Misha interjected. "This gold is worth a lot to the right people."
    
  "Are you a capitalist pig now?" Yuri asked. "Money is useless. Value only information, knowledge, and practical things. We give them gold. Who cares? We need the gold to deceive them and make them believe Gabi's friends aren't up to something."
    
  "Even better," Elena suggested, "we use gold thread to house the isotope. All we need is a catalyst and enough electricity to heat the pot."
    
  "Isotope? Are you a scientist, Elena?" Purdue is fascinated.
    
  "Nuclear physicist, class of 2014," Natasha boasted with a smile about her pleasant friend.
    
  "Damn!" Nina was delighted, impressed by the intelligence hidden within the beautiful woman. She looked at Perdue and nudged him. "This place is a sapiosexual's Valhalla, huh?"
    
  Perdue raised his eyebrows coquettishly at Nina's precise guess. Suddenly, the heated discussion between the Red Army hackers was interrupted by a loud crackling sound, causing them all to freeze in anticipation. They listened intently, waiting. From the wall speakers of the broadcast center, the howl of an incoming signal announced something ominous.
    
  "Guten Tag, meine Kameraden."
    
  "Oh God, it"s Kemper again," Natasha hissed.
    
  Perdue felt a sick feeling in his stomach. The sound of the man's voice made him dizzy, but he held it in for the sake of the group.
    
  "We'll arrive in Chernobyl in two hours," Kemper announced. "This is your first and only warning that we expect our ETA to remove the Amber Room from its sarcophagus. Failure to comply will result in..." he chuckled to himself and decided to dispense with formalities, "...well, the death of the German Chancellor and Sam Cleave, after which we will release nerve gas in Moscow, London, and Seoul simultaneously. David Perdue will be implicated in our extensive network of political media representatives, so don't try to challenge us. Zwei Stunden. Wiedersehen."
    
  A click cut through the static, and silence descended on the cafeteria like a blanket of defeat.
    
  "That's why we had to change locations. They've been hacking our broadcast frequencies for a month now. By sending out sequences of numbers different from ours, they're forcing people to kill themselves and others through subliminal suggestion. Now we'll have to squat on the ghost site of Duga-3," Natasha chuckled.
    
  Perdue swallowed hard as his temperature spiked. Trying not to interrupt the meeting, he placed his cold, clammy hands on the seat at his sides. Nina immediately knew something was wrong.
    
  "Purdue?" she asked. "Are you sick again?"
    
  He smiled weakly and waved it off, shaking his head.
    
  "He doesn't look well," Misha noted. "Infection? How long have you been here? More than a day?"
    
  "No," Nina replied. "Just for a few hours. But he's been sick for two days."
    
  "Don't worry, people," Perdue slurred, still maintaining a cheerful expression. "It'll pass."
    
  "After what?" Elena asked.
    
  Purdue jumped up, his face pale as he tried to pull himself together, but he pushed his lanky body toward the door, racing against the overwhelming urge to vomit.
    
  "After that," Nina sighed.
    
  "The men's room is downstairs," Marco said casually, watching his guest hurry down the stairs. "Drink or nerves?" he asked Nina.
    
  "Both. Black Sun tortured him for days before our friend Sam went to rescue him. I think the trauma is still affecting him," she explained. "They kept him in their fortress in the Kazakh steppe and tortured him without rest."
    
  The women looked as indifferent as the men. Apparently, torture was so deeply ingrained in their cultural past of war and tragedy that it was a matter of course in the conversation. Immediately, Misha's blank expression brightened and animated his features. "Dr. Gould, do you have the coordinates for this place? This... fortress in Kazakhstan?"
    
  "Yes," Nina replied. "That"s how we found him in the first place."
    
  The temperamental man extended his hand, and Nina quickly rummaged through her front zippered bag, searching for the paper she'd sketched in Dr. Helberg's office that day. She handed Misha the numbers and information she'd written down.
    
  "So the first messages Detlef brought us to Edinburgh weren't sent by Milla. Otherwise they would have known the location of the complex," Nina thought, but kept that to herself. "On the other hand, Milla had dubbed him 'The Widower.' They, too, had immediately recognized this man as Gabi's husband." Her hands rested in her dark, tousled hair as she propped her head up and her elbows on the table like a bored schoolgirl. It occurred to her that Gabi-and by extension Detlef-had also been misled by the Order's interference with the broadcasts, just like the people affected by Maleficent's number sequences. "My God, I owe Detlef an apology. I'm sure he survived the little incident with the Volvo. I hope so?"
    
  Purdue had been gone for a long time, but it was more important to come up with a plan before their time ran out. She watched the Russian geniuses discuss something heatedly in their own language, but she didn't mind. It sounded beautiful to her, and from their tone, she guessed Misha's idea was sound.
    
  Just as she was beginning to worry about Sam's fate again, Misha and Elena met with her to explain the plan. The other participants followed Natasha out of the room, and Nina heard them thundering down the iron steps, like during a fire drill.
    
  "I take it you have a plan. Please tell me you have a plan. Our time is almost up, and I don't think I can take it anymore. If they kill Sam, I swear to God, I'll dedicate my life to wasting them all," she moaned in despair.
    
  "It"s a red mood," Elena smiled.
    
  "And yes, we have a plan. A good plan," Misha declared. He seemed almost happy.
    
  "Great!" Nina smiled, though she still looked tense. "What"s the plan?"
    
  Misha boldly declared: "We are giving them the Amber Room."
    
  Nina's smile faded.
    
  "Come again?" She blinked rapidly, half in rage, half eager to hear his explanation. "Should I hope for more, tied to your conclusion? Because if this is your plan, I've lost all faith in my dwindling admiration for Soviet ingenuity."
    
  They laughed absentmindedly. It was clear they didn't care what the Westerner thought; not even enough to rush to dispel her doubts. Nina folded her arms. The thought of Perdue's constant illness and Sam's constant subordination and absence only further angered the brash historian. Elena sensed her disappointment and boldly took her hand.
    
  "We won't interfere with Black Sun's actual, um, claims to the Amber Room or the collection, but we will provide you with everything you need to fight them. Okay?" she said to Nina.
    
  "You're not going to help us get Sam back?" Nina gasped. She wanted to burst into tears. After all this, the only allies she thought they had against Kemper had turned her down. Perhaps the Red Army wasn't as powerful as their reputation suggested, she thought with bitter disappointment. "Then what the hell are you actually going to help us with?" she seethed.
    
  Misha's eyes darkened with impatience. "Look, we don't have to help you. We're broadcasting information, not fighting your battles."
    
  "That"s obvious," she chuckled. "So what happens now?"
    
  "You and the Widower are to retrieve the remaining parts of the Amber Room. Yuri will hire someone with a heavy cart and blocks for you," Elena tried to sound more proactive. "Natasha and Marco are currently in the reactor sector of the Medvedka sublevel. I'm going to help Marco with the poison soon."
    
  "Poison?" Nina winced.
    
  Misha pointed at Elena. "That's what they call the chemicals they put in bombs. I think they're trying to be funny. For example, by poisoning a body with wine, they're poisoning objects with chemicals or something else."
    
  Elena kissed him and excused herself to join the others in the secret basement of the fast neutron reactor, a section of a massive military base once used for equipment storage. Duga-3 was one of three locations Milla periodically migrated to each year to avoid capture or detection, and the group had secretly converted each of their locations into fully functional bases of operations.
    
  "When the poison is ready, we will give you the materials, but you must prepare your own weapons at the Shelter facility," Misha explained.
    
  "Is this a sarcophagus?" she asked.
    
  "Yes."
    
  "But the radiation there will kill me," Nina protested.
    
  "You won't be in the Shelter facility. In 1996, my uncle and grandfather moved the plates from the Amber Room to an old well next to the Shelter facility, but where the well is, there's dirt, lots of dirt. It's not connected to Reactor 4 at all, so you should be fine," he explained.
    
  "Oh, my God, this is going to tear me apart," she muttered, seriously considering abandoning the whole venture and leaving Perdue and Sam to their fate. Misha laughed at the pampered Western woman's paranoia and shook his head. "Who's going to show me how to cook this?" Nina finally asked, deciding she didn't want the Russians to think the Scots were weaklings.
    
  "Natasha is an explosives expert. Elena is a chemical hazards expert. They'll tell you how to turn the Amber Room into a coffin," Misha smiled. "One thing, Dr. Gould," he continued in a hushed tone, uncharacteristic of his authoritarian nature. "Please handle the metal with protective gear and try not to breathe without covering your mouth. And after you give them the relic, stay away. A good distance, understand?"
    
  "Okay," Nina replied, grateful for his concern. This was a side of him she hadn't had the pleasure of seeing before. He was mature. "Misha?"
    
  "Yes?"
    
  In all seriousness, she begged to know, "What kind of weapon am I making here?"
    
  He didn't answer, so she probed a little more.
    
  "How far should I be after I give Kemper the Amber Room?" she wanted to determine.
    
  Misha blinked several times, looking deeply into the attractive woman's dark eyes. He cleared his throat and advised, "Leave the country."
    
    
  Chapter 32
    
    
  When Perdue woke up on the bathroom floor, his shirt was stained with bile and saliva. Embarrassed, he did his best to wash it off with hand soap and cold water in the sink. After some scrubbing, he inspected the fabric in the mirror. "It's like it was never there," he smiled, pleased with his efforts.
    
  When he entered the cafeteria, he found Nina being dressed by Elena and Misha.
    
  "Your turn," Nina chuckled. "I see you've had another bout of illness."
    
  "It was nothing but violence," he said. "What's going on?"
    
  "We'll be stuffing Dr. Gould's clothes with radiation-resistant materials when you two go down to the Amber Room," Elena informed him.
    
  "This is ridiculous, Nina," he complained. "I refuse to wear any of this. As if our task isn't already hampered by deadlines, now you have to resort to absurd and time-consuming measures to delay us even longer?"
    
  Nina frowned. It seemed Purdue had reverted to the whiny bitch she'd argued with in the car, and she wasn't about to tolerate his childish tantrums. "Would you like your balls to fall off by tomorrow?" she quipped. "Otherwise, you'd better get a cup; a lead one."
    
  "Grow up, Dr. Gould," he countered.
    
  "Radiation levels are close to lethal for this little expedition, Dave. I hope you have a large collection of baseball caps in case of the inevitable hair loss you'll be suffering from in a few weeks."
    
  The Soviets silently laughed at Nina's patronizing tirade as they adjusted the last of her lead-reinforced devices. Elena gave her a surgical mask to cover her mouth while descending into the well, and a climbing helmet, just in case.
    
  After a moment of sulking, Perdue allowed them to dress him like this before accompanying Nina to where Natasha was ready to arm them for battle. Marco had collected for them several elegant cutting tools, the size of pencil cases, as well as instructions on how to coat amber with a thin glass prototype he had created just for this occasion.
    
  "Are you guys confident that we can pull off this highly specialized endeavor in such a short timeframe?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Dr. Gould says you're an inventor," Marco replied. "Just like working with electronics. Use tools to access and adjust. Place pieces of metal on a sheet of amber to conceal them like gold inlay, and cover it with covers. Use clamps at the corners, and BOOM! The Amber Room, enhanced by death, so they can take it home."
    
  "I still don't quite understand what this all means," Nina complained. "Why are we doing this? Misha hinted to me that we must be far away, which means it's a bomb, right?"
    
  "That"s right," Natasha confirmed.
    
  "But it's just a collection of dirty silver metal frames and rings. It looks like something my mechanic grandfather kept in the junkyard," she groaned. The first time Purdue showed any interest in their mission was when he saw the junk, which looked like tarnished steel or silver.
    
  "Mary, Mother of God! Nina!" he breathed out reverently, casting a look of condemnation and surprise at Natasha. "You people are crazy!"
    
  "What? What is this?" she asked. They all returned his gaze, unfazed by his panicked judgment. Purdue"s mouth remained open in disbelief as he turned to Nina with an object in his hand. "This is weapons-grade plutonium. They"re sending us to turn the Amber Room into a nuclear bomb!"
    
  They didn't deny his statement or appear intimidated. Nina was speechless.
    
  "Is it true?" she asked. Elena looked down, and Natasha nodded proudly.
    
  "It can't explode as long as you're holding it, Nina," Natasha explained calmly. "Just make it look like a piece of art and cover the panels with Marco's glass. Then give it to Kemper."
    
  "Plutonium ignites when exposed to moist air or water," Pardue swallowed, thinking about all the properties of the element. "If the coating chips off or becomes exposed, there could be dire consequences."
    
  "So don't screw up," Natasha growled cheerfully. "Now let's go, you have less than two hours to show our guests your find."
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Just over twenty minutes later, Perdue and Nina were lowered into a hidden stone well, decades overgrown with radioactive grass and shrubs. The stonework had crumbled just like the former Iron Curtain, a testament to a bygone era of advanced technology and innovation, abandoned and left to decay due to the aftermath of Chernobyl.
    
  "You're far from the Vault facility," Elena reminded Nina. "But breathe through your nose. Yuri and his cousin will be waiting here while you retrieve the relic."
    
  "How are we going to get this to the well entrance? Each panel weighs more than your car!" Perdue declared.
    
  "There's a railway system here," Misha shouted down into the dark pit. "The tracks lead to the Amber Room, where my grandfather and uncle moved the fragments to a secret location. You can simply lower them with ropes onto a mine cart and roll them down here, where Yuri will take them up."
    
  Nina gave them a thumbs up, checking her radio for the frequency Misha had given her to contact any of them if she had any questions while under the dreaded Chernobyl power plant.
    
  "Right! Let's get this over with, Nina," Perdue urged.
    
  They set out into the dank darkness with flashlights attached to their helmets. The black mass in the darkness turned out to be the mining machine Misha had mentioned, and they lifted Marco's sheets onto it with tools, pushing the machine as it moved.
    
  "A little uncooperative," Perdue remarked. "But I'd be the same way if I'd been rusting in the dark for over twenty years."
    
  Their beams of light weakened just a few meters ahead, immersed in dense darkness. Myriads of tiny particles hovered in the air, dancing before the beams in the silent oblivion of the underground canal.
    
  "What if we come back and they close the well?" Nina said suddenly.
    
  "We'll find a way out. We've been through worse than this before," he assured.
    
  "It's so eerily quiet here," she persisted in her somber mood. "There used to be water down here. I wonder how many people drowned in this well or died from radiation while seeking refuge down here."
    
  "Nina," was all he said to shake her from her recklessness.
    
  "I"m sorry," Nina whispered. "I"m scared as hell."
    
  "That's not like you," Perdue said in the thick atmosphere, which robbed his voice of any echo. "You're only afraid of contamination or the effects of radiation poisoning, which lead to a slow death. That's why you find this place terrifying."
    
  Nina stared at him in the dim light of her lamp. "Thank you, David."
    
  After a few steps, his expression changed. He was looking at something to her right, but Nina remained adamant, not wanting to know what it was. When Perdue stopped, Nina was overwhelmed by all sorts of terrifying scenarios.
    
  "Look," he smiled, taking her hand to turn her toward the magnificent treasure hidden beneath years of dust and debris. "It's no less magnificent than when the King of Prussia owned it."
    
  As soon as Nina illuminated the yellow slabs, gold and amber merged to become exquisite mirrors of the lost beauty of centuries past. The intricate carvings adorning the frames and mirror shards emphasized the purity of the amber.
    
  "To think that an evil god is slumbering right here," she whispered.
    
  "A speck of what appears to be an inclusion, Nina, look," Perdue pointed out. "The specimen, so small it was almost invisible, came under the scrutiny of Perdue's glasses, magnifying it."
    
  "Good God, aren't you a grotesque little bastard," he said. "It looks like a crab or a tick, but its head has a humanoid face."
    
  "Oh, God, that sounds disgusting," Nina shuddered at the thought.
    
  "Come see," Perdue invited, bracing himself for her reaction. He placed the left magnifying lens of his glasses on another dirty spot on the pristine gilded amber. Nina leaned over to look at it.
    
  "What in the name of Jupiter's gonads is that thing?" she gasped in horror, a look of bewilderment on her face. "I swear, I'll shoot myself if that horrible thing gets into my brain. My God, can you imagine if Sam knew what his Kalihasa looked like?"
    
  "Speaking of Sam, I think we should hurry up and hand this treasure over to the Nazis. What do you say?" Perdue persisted.
    
  "Yes".
    
  Once they had finished painstakingly reinforcing the giant slabs with metal and carefully sealing them behind protective film as instructed, Perdue and Nina rolled the panels one by one to the bottom of the wellhead.
    
  "Look, see? They're all gone. There's no one up there," she complained.
    
  "At least they didn't block the entrance," he smiled. "We can't expect them to stay there all day, can we?"
    
  "I guess not," she sighed. "I'm just glad we made it to the well. Trust me, I've had enough of these damn catacombs."
    
  In the distance, they could hear the loud roar of an engine. Vehicles, slowly crawling along the nearby road, were approaching the well area. Yuri and his cousin began lifting the slabs. Even with the ship's convenient cargo net, it still took a long time. Two Russians and four locals helped Perdue stretch the net over each slab; he hoped it was designed to lift over 400 kg at a time.
    
  "Unbelievable," Nina muttered. She stood at a safe distance, deep in the tunnel. Her claustrophobia was creeping up on her, but she didn't want to interfere. While the men shouted out sentences and counted down the time, her two-way radio picked up a transmission.
    
  "Nina, come in. It's over," Elena said through the low crackling sound Nina had grown accustomed to.
    
  "This is Nina's office. It's over," she replied.
    
  "Nina, we'll leave once the Amber Room is cleared out, okay?" Elena warned. "I need you not to worry and think we just escaped, but we have to leave before they get to Duga-3."
    
  "No!" Nina screamed. "Why?"
    
  "It'll be a bloodbath if we meet on the same soil. You know that," Misha replied. "Don't worry now. We'll be in touch. Be careful and have a safe journey."
    
  Nina's heart sank. "Please don't go." Never in her life had she heard a lonelier phrase.
    
  "Again and again".
    
  She heard the flapping sound of Purdue dusting his clothes and running his hands down his pants to wipe away the dirt. He glanced around for Nina, and when his eyes found her, he gave her a warm, satisfied smile.
    
  "Done, Dr. Gould!" he exulted.
    
  Suddenly, gunshots rang out above them, sending Perdue diving into the darkness. Nina screamed for his safety, but he crawled further toward the opposite side of the tunnel, leaving her relieved he was okay.
    
  "Yuri and his assistants have been executed!" they heard Kemper"s voice at the well.
    
  "Where is Sam?" Nina screamed as the light fell on the tunnel floor like a celestial hell.
    
  "Mr. Cleve had a bit too much to drink... but... thank you so much for your cooperation, David! Oh, and Dr. Gould, please accept my sincere condolences on what will be your last agonizing moments on this earth. Greetings!"
    
  "Fuck you!" Nina screamed. "See you soon, you bastard! Soon!"
    
  While she was venting her verbal fury on the smiling German, his men began to seal the well opening with a thick concrete slab, gradually darkening the tunnel. Nina could hear Klaus Kemper calmly reciting a sequence of numbers in a low voice, almost identical to the one he used to speak during radio broadcasts.
    
  As the shadow gradually dissipated, she looked at Perdue, and to her horror, his frozen eyes stared at Kemper, clearly captivated. In the last rays of the fading light, Nina saw Perdue's face contort into a lustful, malicious grin, looking directly at her.
    
    
  Chapter 33
    
    
  As soon as Kemper secured his rogue treasure, he ordered his men to Kazakhstan. They returned to Black Sun territory with their first real prospect of world domination, their plan almost complete.
    
  "Are all six of us in the water?" he asked his workers.
    
  "Yes, sir."
    
  "This is ancient amber resin. It's quite fragile, so if it crumbles, the samples trapped inside will escape, and then we'll be in big trouble. They need to stay underwater until we reach the complex, gentlemen!" Kemper shouted before heading off to his luxury car.
    
  "Why water, Commander?" asked one of his men.
    
  "Because they hate water. They can't exert any influence there, and they hate it, turning this place into a perfect prison where they can be held without any fear," he explained. With that, he got into the car, and the two vehicles slowly pulled away, leaving Chernobyl even more deserted than it already was.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Sam was still under the influence of the powder, which left a white residue at the bottom of his empty whiskey glass. Kemper ignored him. In his new, exciting position as the owner of not only a former wonder of the world but also standing on the threshold of ruling the coming new world, he barely noticed the journalist. Nina's screams still echoed in his thoughts, like sweet music to his rotten heart.
    
  It seemed that using Perdue as bait had finally paid off. For a while, Kemper wasn't sure the brainwashing methods had worked, but when Perdue successfully used the communication devices Kemper had left for him to search, he knew Cleve and Gould would soon be caught in the net. The betrayal of not letting Cleve go to Nina after all her hard work was positively delicious to Kemper. Now he had a tie-up, something no other Black Sun commander had managed.
    
  Dave Perdue, the traitor Renatus, was now left to rot beneath the godforsaken soil of the damned Chernobyl, having soon killed the annoying little bitch who had always inspired Perdue to destroy the Order. And Sam Cleave...
    
  Kemper looked at Cleve. He was heading for water himself. And once Kemper had him ready, he would play a valuable role as the Order's ideal media spokesperson. After all, how could the world find fault with anything presented by a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist who had single-handedly exposed weapons rings and brought down crime syndicates? With Sam as his media puppet, Kemper could announce whatever he wanted to the world, while simultaneously cultivating his own Kalihasa to exert mass control over entire continents. And when this little god's power faded, he would send several others into safekeeping to replace him.
    
  Things were looking up for Kemper and his Order. Finally, the Scottish obstacles were cleared, and the path was clear for him to make the necessary changes that Himmler had failed to achieve. Even so, Kemper couldn't help but wonder how things were going with the sexy little historian and her former lover.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Nina could hear her heartbeat, and it wasn't difficult, judging by the way it thundered within her body, while her hearing was strained for even the slightest noise. Perdue was quiet, and she had no idea where he might be, but she moved as quickly as she could in the opposite direction, keeping the lights off so he couldn't see her. He did the same.
    
  "Oh, sweet Jesus, where is he?" she thought, crouching next to where the Amber Room had been. Her mouth was dry and she longed for relief, but now was not the time to seek comfort or sustenance. A few feet away, she heard the crunch of several small pebbles, causing her to gasp loudly. "Damn!" Nina wanted to dissuade him, but judging by his glassy eyes, she doubted anything she said would get through. "He's heading my way. I hear the sounds getting closer each time!"
    
  They'd been underground near Reactor 4 for over three hours, and she was beginning to feel the effects. She was starting to feel nauseous, while a migraine had practically rendered her unable to concentrate. But danger had been looming over the historian in many forms lately. Now she was the target of a brainwashed being, programmed by an even more brainwashed mind to kill her. Being killed by her own friend would be far worse than running from a deranged stranger or a mercenary on a mission. It was Dave! Dave Purdue, her longtime friend and former lover.
    
  Without warning, her body convulsed, and she fell to her knees on the cold, hard ground, vomiting. With each convulsion, the vomit grew more intense until she began to cry. Nina had no way to do it quietly, and she was convinced Purdue would easily track her by the noise she was making. She was sweating profusely, and the flashlight strap around her head was causing an irritating itch, so she yanked it out of her hair. In a fit of panic, she pointed the light down a few inches from the ground and turned it on. The beam spread across a small radius on the ground, and she assessed her surroundings.
    
  Purdue was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, a large steel rod darted toward her face from the darkness ahead. It struck her on the shoulder, eliciting a scream of agony. "Purdue! Stop! Jesus Christ! Are you going to kill me because of this Nazi idiot? Wake up, motherfucker!"
    
  Nina turned off the light, breathing heavily like an exhausted hound. Kneeling, she tried to ignore the throbbing migraine that was splitting her skull while she suppressed another bout of belching. Purdue's footsteps approached her in the darkness, indifferent to her quiet sobs. Nina's numb fingers fiddled with the two-way radio attached to her.
    
  "Leave it here. Turn it up to noise level, then run in the other direction," she suggested to herself, but another voice inside her was against it. "Idiot, you can't give up your last chance at outside communication. Find something you can use as a weapon where the debris was."
    
  The latter was the more feasible idea. She grabbed a handful of rocks and waited for a sign of his location. The darkness enveloped her like a thick blanket, but what infuriated her was the dust that stung her nose as she breathed. Deep in the darkness, she heard something move. Nina threw a handful of rocks in front of her to dislodge him before darting left, slamming straight into a jutting rock that slammed into her like a truck. With a strangled sigh, she fell limply to the floor.
    
  As her state of consciousness threatened her life, she felt a surge of energy and crawled across the floor on her knees and elbows. Like a bad flu, the radiation began to affect her body. Goosebumps ran across her skin, her head felt heavy as lead. Her forehead ached from the impact as she tried to regain her balance.
    
  "Hello, Nina," he whispered, inches from her trembling body, making her heart leap with terror. Purdue's bright light momentarily blinded her as he shone it in her face. "I found you."
    
    
  30 Hours Later - Shalkar, Kazakhstan
    
    
  Sam was furious, but he didn't dare cause trouble until his escape plan was in place. When he awoke and found himself still in the clutches of Kemper and the Order, the vehicle ahead of them was crawling steadily along a miserable, deserted stretch of road. By then, they had already passed Saratov and crossed the border into Kazakhstan. It was too late for him to escape. They had traveled nearly a day from where Nina and Purdue were, making it impossible for him to simply jump out and run back to Chernobyl or Pripyat.
    
  "Breakfast, Mr. Cleve," Kemper suggested. "We need to keep you strong."
    
  "No, thanks," Sam snapped. "I've had my fill of drugs this week."
    
  "Oh, come on!" Kemper replied calmly. "You"re like a whiny teenager throwing a tantrum. And I thought PMS was a girl problem. I had to drug you, otherwise you would have run off with your friends and gotten killed. You should be grateful you"re alive." He held out a wrapped sandwich, bought at a convenience store in one of the towns they passed through.
    
  "Did you kill them?" Sam asked.
    
  "Sir, we need to refuel the truck in Shalkar soon," the driver announced.
    
  "That"s great, Dirk. How long?" he asked the driver.
    
  "Ten minutes until we get there," he told Kemper.
    
  "Okay." He looked at Sam, a wicked smile appearing on his face. "You should have been there!" Kemper laughed gleefully. "Oh, I know you were there, but I mean, you should have seen it!"
    
  Sam grew increasingly frustrated with every word the German bastard spat out. Every muscle on Kemper's face fueled Sam's hatred, and every hand gesture drove the journalist to a state of genuine anger. 'Wait. Just wait a little longer.'
    
  "Your Nina is rotting under the highly radioactive reactor 4 ground zero right now," Kemper recounted with no small amount of relish. "Her sexy little ass is blistered and rotting as we speak. Who knows what Purdue did to her! But even if they survive each other, starvation and radiation sickness will finish them off."
    
  Wait! No need. Not yet.
    
  Sam knew Kemper could shield his thoughts from Sam's influence, and that trying to dominate him would not only waste his energy but also be utterly futile. They approached Shalkar, a small town adjacent to a lake in the middle of a flat, desert landscape. A gas station on the side of the main road housed the vehicles.
    
  - Now.
    
  Sam knew that while he couldn't manipulate Kemper's mind, the skinny commander would be easily subdued physically. Sam's dark eyes quickly scanned the front seatbacks, the footrest, and the items lying on the seat within Kemper's reach. The only threat to Sam was the stun gun next to Kemper, but the Highland Ferry Boxing Club had taught a teenage Sam Cleve that surprise and speed trump defense.
    
  He took a deep breath and began to pick at the driver's thoughts. The big gorilla had physical prowess, but his mind was like cotton candy compared to the battery Sam had packed into his skull. It didn't take a minute for Sam to gain complete control of Dirk's mind and decide to rebel. The suited thug got out of the car.
    
  "Where the f... are you?" Kemper began, but his effeminate face was obliterated by a crushing blow from a well-trained fist aimed for freedom. Before he could even think about grabbing a stun gun, Klaus Kemper received another blow from the hammer-and several more-until his face was a mass of swollen bruises and blood.
    
  At Sam's command, the driver pulled out a pistol and began firing at the workers in the giant truck. Sam grabbed Kemper's phone and slipped out of the backseat, heading for a secluded spot near a lake they'd passed on their way into town. In the ensuing chaos, local police quickly arrived to arrest the shooter. When they found a beaten man in the backseat, they assumed Dirk was behind it. As they tried to apprehend Dirk, he fired one last shot into the sky.
    
  Sam scrolled through the tyrant's contact list, determined to make a quick call before throwing away his cell phone to avoid being traced. The name he was looking for appeared on the list, and he couldn't help but use an air fist to get it. He dialed the number and waited anxiously, lighting a cigarette, until the call was answered.
    
  "Detlef! It's Sam."
    
    
  Chapter 34
    
    
  Nina hadn't seen Purdue since she'd hit him in the temple with her two-way radio the day before. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she knew from her aggravated state that some time had passed. Tiny blisters had formed on her skin, and her inflamed nerve endings prevented her from touching anything. She'd tried several times over the past day to contact Milla, but that idiot Purdue had misplaced the wiring and left her with a device that could only emit white noise.
    
  "Just one! Just give me one channel, you piece of shit," she wailed softly in despair, repeatedly pressing the talk button. Only the hiss of white noise continued. "My batteries are going to die," she muttered. "Milla, come in. Please. Anyone? Please, please, come in!" Her throat burned and her tongue was swollen, but she held on. "Oh, God, the only people I can contact with white noise are ghosts!" she screamed in desperation, tearing her throat out. But Nina no longer cared.
    
  The smell of ammonia, coal, and death reminded her that hell was closer than her last breath. "Come on! Dead people! Dead... fucking Ukrainians... dead people of Russia! Red Dead, come in! The end!"
    
  Hopelessly lost in the depths of Chernobyl, her hysterical cackling echoed through an underground system the world had forgotten decades ago. Everything in her head was meaningless. Memories flashed and faded, along with her future plans, turning into lucid nightmares. Nina was losing her mind faster than she was losing her life, so she simply continued laughing.
    
  "Haven"t I killed you yet?" she heard the familiar threat in the pitch darkness.
    
  "Purdue?" she snorted.
    
  "Yes".
    
  She could hear him lunge, but she'd lost all feeling in her legs. Moving or running was no longer an option, so Nina closed her eyes and welcomed the end of her pain. A steel pipe descended on her head, but the migraine had numbed her skull, so the warm blood only tickled her face. Another blow awaited her, but it never came. Nina's eyelids grew heavy, but for a moment she saw the maddening swirl of lights and heard the sounds of violence.
    
  She lay there, waiting to die, but she heard Perdue scurry into the darkness like a cockroach, getting away from the man standing just out of reach of his light. He leaned over Nina, gently lifting her into his arms. His touch hurt her blistered skin, but she didn't care. Half awake, half lifeless, Nina felt him carry her toward the bright light above. It reminded her of stories of dying people seeing a white light from the heavens, but in the harsh white of daylight outside the well's mouth, Nina recognized her savior.
    
  "Widower," she sighed.
    
  "Hello, sweetheart," he smiled. Her tattered hand caressed his empty eye socket where she"d stabbed him, and she began to sob. "Don"t worry," he said. "I"ve lost the love of my life. An eye is nothing compared to this."
    
  As he gave her fresh water outside, he explained that Sam had called him, unaware that he was no longer with her and Perdue. Sam was safe, but he asked Detlef to find her and Perdue. Detlef used his security and surveillance training to triangulate radio signals from Nina's cell phone in the Volvo until he was able to pinpoint her location in Chernobyl.
    
  "Milla came back online, and I used Kirill's BW to let them know Sam is safe away from Kemper and his base," he told her as she cradled him in her arms. Nina smiled through chapped lips, her dusty face covered in bruises, blisters, and tears.
    
  "Widower," she drawled with her swollen tongue.
    
  "Yes?"
    
  Nina was about to faint, but she forced herself to apologize. "I'm so sorry I used your credit cards."
    
    
  Kazakh steppe - 24 hours later
    
    
  Kemper still cherished his disfigured face, but he hardly cried over it. The Amber Room, beautifully transformed into an aquarium, with decorative gold carvings and stunning bright yellow amber over wooden patterns. It was an impressive aquarium right in the middle of his desert fortress, some 50 meters in diameter and 70 meters high, compared to the aquarium where Purdue had been kept during his stay there. Well-dressed as always, the sophisticated monster sipped champagne as he waited for his research staff to isolate the first organism to be implanted in his brain.
    
  For the second day, a storm raged over the Black Sun settlement. It was a strange thunderstorm, unusual for this time of year, but the occasional lightning strikes were majestic and powerful. Kemper looked up at the sky and smiled. "Now I am God."
    
  In the distance, Misha Svechin's Il-76-MD cargo plane appeared through the raging clouds. The 93-ton aircraft hurtled through turbulence and shifting currents. Sam Cleave and Marco Strenski were on board to keep Misha company. Hidden within the plane's interior were thirty barrels of metallic sodium, coated in oil to prevent contact with air or water-for now. This highly volatile element, used in reactors as a heat conductor and coolant, had two unpleasant properties. It ignited on contact with air. It exploded on contact with water.
    
  "There! Down there. You can't miss it," Sam said to Misha as the Black Sun complex came into view. "Even if his aquarium is out of reach, this rain will do the rest for us."
    
  "That's right, comrade!" Marco laughed. "I've never seen this done on a large scale before. Only in a lab, with a small amount of sodium, the size of a pea, in a beaker. This will be shown on YouTube." Marco always filmed everything he liked. In fact, he had a questionable number of video clips on his hard drive, all recorded in his bedroom.
    
  They circled the fortress. Sam winced at every flash of lightning, hoping it wouldn't hit the plane, but the crazy Soviets seemed fearless and cheerful. "Will the drums penetrate this steel roof?" he asked Marco, but Misha only rolled his eyes.
    
  In the next scene, Sam and Marco detach the drums one by one, quickly pushing them out of the plane so they fall hard and fast through the roof of the complex. It would take just a few seconds for the volatile metal to ignite and explode upon contact with water, destroying the protective coating over the Amber Room's plates and exposing the plutonium to the heat of the explosion.
    
  As soon as they dropped the first ten barrels, the roof in the middle of the UFO-shaped fortress collapsed, revealing a reservoir in the middle of the circle.
    
  "That's it! Get the rest of us on the tank, and then we need to get the hell out of here fast!" Misha shouted. He looked down at the fleeing men and heard Sam say, "I wish I could see Kemper's face one last time."
    
  Marco laughed as the sodium began to dissolve. "This is for Yuri, you Nazi bitch!"
    
  Misha flew the giant steel beast as far as he could in the short time they had, so they could land a few hundred miles north of the impact zone. He didn't want to be in the air when the bomb exploded. They landed a little over 20 minutes later in Kazaly. From the firm Kazakh ground, they gazed at the horizon, beer in hand.
    
  Sam hoped Nina was still alive. He hoped Detlef had managed to find her and that he had refrained from killing Purdue after Sam explained that Carrington had shot Gabi while under Kemper's mind-control hypnosis.
    
  The sky above the Kazakh landscape was yellow as Sam gazed upon the barren, wind-swept landscape, just as in his vision. He had no idea the well he'd seen Perdue in was significant, just not for the Kazakh part of Sam's experience. Finally, the final prophecy had come true.
    
  Lightning struck the water in the Amber Room's reservoir, igniting everything within. The force of the thermonuclear explosion destroyed everything within its radius, rendering Kalihas's body extinct-forever. As the bright flash turned into a heaven-shaking pulse, Misha, Sam, and Marco watched as the mushroom cloud, in terrifying beauty, reached for the gods of the cosmos.
    
  Sam raised his beer. "Dedicated to Nina."
    
    
  END
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
  Preston W. Child
  King Solomon's Diamonds
    
    
  Also by Preston William Child
    
    
  Ice Station Wolfenstein
    
  Deep sea
    
  The black sun rises
    
  The Search for Valhalla
    
  Nazi gold
    
  The Black Sun Conspiracy
    
  The Atlantis Scrolls
    
  Library of Forbidden Books
    
  Odin's Tomb
    
  Tesla's experiment
    
  The Seventh Secret
    
  Medusa Stone
    
  The Amber Room
    
  Babylonian mask
    
  Fountain of Youth
    
  Vault of Hercules
    
  The Hunt for Lost Treasure
    
    
  Poem
    
    
    
  Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
    
  How I wonder who you are!
    
  So high above the world,
    
  Like a diamond in the sky.
    
    
  When the scorching sun sets,
    
  When nothing shines on it,
    
  Then you show your little light,
    
  Twinkle, twinkle all night long.
    
    
  Then the traveler in the dark
    
  Thank you for your tiny spark,
    
  How could he see where to go,
    
  If you didn't flicker so much?
    
    
  In the dark blue sky you hold,
    
  Often they look through my curtains,
    
  Never close my eyes for you,
    
  Until the sun rises in the sky.
    
    
  Like your bright and tiny spark
    
  Illuminates the traveler in the darkness,
    
  Even though I don't know who you are,
    
  Twinkle, twinkle, little star."
    
    
  - Jane Taylor (No The Star, 1806)
    
    
  1
  Lost to the Lighthouse
    
    
  Reichtisus was even more radiant than Dave Perdue could remember. The majestic towers of the mansion where he had lived for more than two decades, three in number, reached toward the unearthly Edinburgh sky, as if connecting the estate to the heavens. Perdue's white crown of hair stirred in the quiet breath of evening as he closed the car door and slowly walked the rest of the driveway to his front door.
    
  Ignoring the company he was in or the luggage he was carrying, his eyes fell upon his residence once again. Too many months had passed since he had been forced to abandon its protection. Their safety.
    
  "Hmm, you didn"t get rid of my staff either, did you, Patrick?" he asked sincerely.
    
  Beside him, Special Agent Patrick Smith, a former Purdue hunter and a reborn ally of the British Secret Service, sighed and gestured for his men to close the estate gates for the night. "We kept them to ourselves, David. Don't worry," he replied in a calm, deep tone. "But they denied any knowledge or involvement in your activities. I hope they didn't interfere with our chief's investigation into the storage of religious and priceless relics on your property."
    
  "Absolutely," Perdue agreed firmly. "These people are my housekeepers, not my colleagues. Even they aren't allowed to know what I'm working on, where my pending patents are, or where I go when I'm away on business."
    
  "Yes, yes, we've confirmed that. Look, David, since I've been tracking your movements and putting people on your trail..." he began, but Purdue shot him a sharp look.
    
  "Since you turned Sam against me?" he snapped at Patrick.
    
  Patrick's breath caught, unable to formulate an apologetic response worthy of what had happened between them. "I'm afraid he placed more importance on our friendship than I realized. I never wanted things to fall apart between you and Sam because of this. You have to believe me," Patrick explained.
    
  It was his decision to distance himself from his childhood friend, Sam Cleave, for the safety of his family. The separation was painful and necessary for Patrick, whom Sam affectionately called Paddy, but Sam's connection to Dave Purdue inexorably drew the MI6 agent's family into the dangerous world of post-Third Reich relic hunting and real-life threats. Sam was subsequently forced to renounce his favor with Purdue's company in exchange for Patrick's consent once again, turning Sam into the mole who sealed Purdue's fate during their excursion to find the Vault of Hercules. But Sam ultimately proved his loyalty to Purdue by helping the billionaire fake his own death to prevent capture by Patrick and MI6, maintaining Patrick's passion for helping locate Purdue.
    
  After revealing his status to Patrick Smith in exchange for rescue from the Order of the Black Sun, Perdue agreed to stand trial for archaeological crimes brought by the Ethiopian government for the theft of a replica of the Ark of the Covenant from Axum. What MI6 wanted with Perdue's property was beyond even Patrick Smith's understanding, as the government agency took custody of Raichtishusis shortly after his owner's apparent death.
    
  It was only during a brief preliminary hearing in preparation for the main trial that Perdue was able to piece together the corruption he had confided to Patrick at the very moment he was confronted with the ugly truth.
    
  "Are you sure MI6 is controlled by the Order of the Black Sun, David?" Patrick asked in a low voice, making sure his men couldn"t hear.
    
  "I'll stake my reputation, my fortune, and my life on it, Patrick," Perdue replied in the same tone. "I swear to God, your agency is being monitored by a madman."
    
  As they climbed the steps of the Purdue House's main facade, the front door opened. The Purdue House staff stood there, their faces a mixture of joy and bittersweet, welcoming their master's return. They politely ignored the horrific deterioration in Purdue's appearance after a week of starvation in the Black Sun matriarch's torture chamber, and they kept their surprise a secret, safely tucked beneath their skin.
    
  "We raided the storeroom, sir. And your bar was looted too while we were toasting your good fortune," said Johnny, one of Purdue's gardeners and an Irishman to the core.
    
  "I wouldn't have it any other way, Johnny." Perdue smiled as he walked inside amid the rapturous cheers of his people. "Let's hope I can replenish those supplies immediately."
    
  Greeting his staff took only a moment, as they were few in number, but their devotion was like the piercing sweetness emanating from jasmine flowers. The handful of people in his employ were like family, all like-minded, and they shared Purdue's admiration for his courage and constant pursuit of knowledge. But the man he most wanted to see was not there.
    
  "Oh, Lily, where's Charles?" Perdue asked Lillian, his cook and inner gossip monger. "Please don't tell me he resigned."
    
  Purdue could never have revealed to Patrick that his butler, Charles, was the one responsible for indirectly warning Purdue that MI6 was planning to capture him. This would have clearly undermined the belief that no one at Wrichtishousis was involved in Purdue's business. Hardy Butler was also responsible for arranging the release of a man held captive by the Sicilian Mafia during the Hercules expedition, a testament to Charles's ability to go beyond the call of duty. He proved to Purdue, Sam, and Dr. Nina Gould that he was useful in much more than simply ironing shirts with military precision and memorizing every appointment on Purdue's calendar.
    
  "He was missing for a few days, sir," Lily explained with a grim face.
    
  "Did he call the police?" Perdue asked seriously. "I told him to come and live at the estate. Where does he live?"
    
  "You can't go out, David," Patrick reminded him. "Remember, you're still under house arrest until the meeting on Monday. I'll see if I can stop by his place on the way home, okay?"
    
  "Thank you, Patrick," Perdue nodded. "Lillian will give you his address. I"m sure she can tell you everything you need to know, right down to his shoe size," he said, winking at Lily. "Good night, everyone. I think I"ll retire early. I missed my own bed."
    
  A tall, haggard Master Raichtisusis ascended to the third floor. He showed no signs of excitement at being back in his own home, but MI6 and his staff chalked it up to fatigue after a particularly tough month for his body and mind. But as Purdue closed his bedroom door and headed for the balcony doors on the other side of the bed, his knees buckled. Barely able to see through the tears streaming down his cheeks, he reached for the handles, the right one-the rusty nuisance he always had to fiddle with.
    
  Perdue threw open the doors and gasped at the cool Scottish air, filling him with life, real life; a life that only the land of his ancestors could provide. Admiring the vast garden with its perfect lawns, ancient outbuildings, and distant sea, Perdue wept loudly to the oaks, firs, and pines that guarded his immediate yard. His quiet sobs and ragged breaths dissolved in the rustling of their treetops as the wind swayed them.
    
  He sank to his knees, letting the hell in his heart, the hellish torment he'd recently endured, consume him. Trembling, he pressed his hands to his chest as it all poured out, muted only to avoid drawing attention. He thought of nothing, not even Nina. He said nothing, considered nothing, made no plans, or wondered. Under the wide-open roof of the vast old estate, its owner shook and wailed for a good hour, simply feeling. Purdue cast aside all rational arguments and chose only his feelings. Everything went on as usual, erasing the last few weeks from his life.
    
  His light blue eyes finally opened with difficulty from beneath swollen lids; he had long since removed his glasses. This delicious numbness after the stifling cleaning caressed him as his sobs diminished and became more muffled. The clouds above him forgave him a few quiet glimpses of brightness. But the moisture in his eyes, as he gazed at the night sky, transformed every star into a blinding glimmer, their long rays intersecting at points as the tears in his eyes stretched them unnaturally.
    
  A shooting star caught his attention. They streaked across the sky in silent chaos, plummeting to an unknown destination, to be forgotten forever. Purdue was struck by the sight. Though he'd seen it so many times before, this was the first time he truly noticed the strange manner in which a star died. But it wasn't necessarily a star, was it? He imagined that fury and a fiery fall were Lucifer's fate-how he burned and screamed on his way down, destroying without creating, and ultimately dying alone, where those who watched indifferently took it as another silent death.
    
  His eyes followed him as he descended into some amorphous chamber in the North Sea, until his tail left the sky uncolored, returning to its usual, static state. Feeling a tinge of deep melancholy, Perdue knew what the gods were telling him. He, too, had fallen from the pinnacle of mighty men, turning to dust after mistakenly believing his happiness to be eternal. Never before had he been the man he had become, a man who was nothing like the Dave Perdue he knew. He was a stranger in his own body, once a shining star but reduced to a silent void he no longer recognized. All he could hope for was the respect of the few who deigned to look up to the sky to watch him fall, to spare just a moment of their lives to greet his fall.
    
  "How I wonder who you are," he said softly, involuntarily, and closed his eyes.
    
    
  2
  Stepping on snakes
    
    
  "I can do that, but I'll need some very specific and very rare material," Abdul Raya told his brand. "And I'll need it within the next four days; otherwise, I'll have to terminate our agreement. You see, madam, I have other clients waiting."
    
  "Are they offering a fee close to mine?" the lady asked Abdul. "Because that kind of abundance is not easy to beat or afford, you know."
    
  "If you allow me to be so bold, madam," smiled the dark-skinned charlatan, "your fee will seem like a reward in comparison."
    
  The woman slapped him, leaving him even more satisfied that she would be forced to submit. He knew her misbehavior was a good sign, and it would leave her ego sufficiently bruised to get what he wanted, while he deceived her into believing he had higher-paying clients awaiting his arrival in Belgium. But Abdul wasn't entirely deluded by his abilities when he boasted about them, for the talents he concealed from his grades were a far more damaging concept to comprehend. He would keep these close to his chest, behind his heart, until the time came to reveal himself.
    
  He didn't leave after her outburst in the dimly lit living room of her luxurious home, but remained as if nothing had happened, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece in the deep red setting, broken only by oil paintings in gold frames and two tall, carved antique tables of oak and pine at the entrance to the room. The fire beneath his cloak crackled with zeal, but Abdul ignored the unbearable heat scorching his leg.
    
  "So, which ones do you need?" the woman sneered, returning shortly after leaving the room, seething with anger. In her jeweled hand, she held a luxurious notebook, ready to record the alchemist's requests. She was one of only two people he had successfully approached. Unfortunately for Abdul, most high-class Europeans possessed keen character assessment skills and quickly sent him packing. On the other hand, people like Madame Chantal were easy prey because of the one quality people like him needed in their victims-a quality common to those who always found themselves on the edge of quicksand: desperation.
    
  To her, he was simply a master smith of precious metals, a purveyor of beautiful and unique gold and silver pieces, their precious stones crafted with exquisite smithcraft. Madame Chantal had no idea that he was also a master forger, but her insatiable taste for luxury and extravagance blinded her to any revelations he might have inadvertently allowed to slip through his mask.
    
  With a very skillful leftward tilt, he wrote down the gems he needed to complete the task she had hired him for. He wrote with a calligrapher's hand, but his spelling was atrocious. Nevertheless, in her desperate desire to surpass her peers, Madame Chantal would do everything in her power to achieve what was on his list. After he finished, she reviewed the list. Frowning even deeper in the noticeable shadows cast by the fireplace, Madame Chantal took a deep breath and looked at the tall man, who reminded her of a yogi or some secret cult guru.
    
  "By what date do you need it?" she asked sharply. "And my husband mustn't know. We must meet here again, because he's reluctant to come down to this part of the estate."
    
  "I must be in Belgium in less than a week, madam, and by then I must fulfill your order. We have little time, which means I will need these diamonds as soon as you can put them in your purse," he smiled softly. His empty eyes were fixed on her, while his lips whispered sweetly. Madame Chantal couldn't help but associate him with a desert viper, clicking its tongue while her face remained stony.
    
  Repulsion-compulsion. That's what it was called. She hated this exotic master, who also claimed to be an exquisite magician, but for some reason she couldn't resist him. The French aristocrat couldn't take her eyes off Abdul when he wasn't looking, even though he disgusted her in every way. Somehow, his repulsive nature, his bestial grunts, and his unnatural, claw-like fingers captivated her to the point of obsession.
    
  He stood in the firelight, casting a grotesque shadow not far from his own portrait on the wall. His crooked nose on his bony face gave him the appearance of a bird-perhaps a small vulture. Abdul's narrow-set dark eyes were hidden beneath nearly hairless brows, deep indentations that only made his cheekbones appear more prominent. His coarse, greasy black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a single, small hoop earring adorned his left earlobe.
    
  He smelled of incense and spices, and when he spoke or smiled, his dark lips were broken by terrifyingly perfect teeth. Madame Chantal found his scent overwhelming; she couldn't tell whether he was the Pharaoh or the Phantasm. One thing she was certain of: the magician and alchemist possessed an incredible presence, without even raising his voice or making a movement with his hand. This frightened her and intensified the strange revulsion she felt toward him.
    
  "Celeste?" she gasped, reading the familiar title on the paper he handed her. Her expression betrayed the anxiety she felt about obtaining the gem. Glittering like magnificent emeralds in the fireplace light, Madame Chantal looked Abdul in the eyes. "Mr. Raya, I can't. My husband has agreed to give 'Celeste' to the Louvre." Trying to correct her mistake, even suggesting she could get him what he wanted, she looked down and said, "I can handle the other two, of course, but not this one."
    
  Abdul showed no sign of concern about the disruption. Slowly running his hand over her face, he smiled serenely. "I do hope you'll reconsider, madam. It is the privilege of women such as you to hold the deeds of great men in the palm of your hands." As his gracefully curved fingers cast a shadow over her fair skin, the noblewoman felt an icy rush of pressure pierce her face. Quickly wiping the chill from her face, she cleared her throat and steeled herself. If she faltered now, she would lose him in a sea of strangers.
    
  "Come back in two days. Meet me here in the living room. My assistant knows you and will be expecting you," she ordered, still shaken by the terrible feeling that briefly crossed her face. "I'll have Celeste, Mr. Raya, but you better be worth the trouble."
    
  Abdul said nothing more. He didn't need to.
    
    
  3
  A touch of tenderness
    
    
  When Perdue woke up the next day, he felt like crap-plain and simple. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd truly cried, and although he felt lighter after the cleanse, his eyes were puffy and burning. To make sure no one knew what had caused his condition, Perdue drank three-quarters of a bottle of Southern Moonshine, which he kept between his horror books on a shelf by the window.
    
  "My God, old man, you look just like a tramp," Purdue groaned, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "How did this all happen? Don"t tell me, don"t," he sighed. As he moved away from the mirror to turn on the shower faucets, he continued to mumble like a decrepit old man. Appropriate, since his body seemed to have aged a century overnight. "I know. I know how it happened. You ate the wrong foods, hoping your stomach would get used to the poison, but instead you got poisoned."
    
  His clothes fell from him as if they didn't recognize his body, clinging to his legs before he extricated himself from the pile of fabric his wardrobe had become since losing all that weight in the dungeon of "Mother's House." Under the lukewarm stream of water, Purdue prayed without religion, with gratitude without faith, and with deep compassion for all those who lacked the luxury of indoor plumbing. Baptized in the shower, he cleared his mind, banishing the burdens that reminded him that his ordeal at the hands of Joseph Karsten was far from over, even if he played his cards slowly and carefully. Oblivion, he believed, was underrated because it was such a magnificent refuge in difficult times, and he wanted to feel that nothingness descend upon him.
    
  True to his recent misfortune, Purdue, however, did not enjoy it for long before a knock at the door interrupted his promising therapy.
    
  "What is this?" he called over the hissing water.
    
  "Your breakfast, sir," he heard from the other side of the door. Purdue perked up and abandoned his silent indignation at the caller.
    
  "Charles?" he asked.
    
  "Yes, sir?" Charles replied.
    
  Purdue smiled, delighted to hear his butler's familiar voice again, a voice he'd sorely missed as he contemplated his dying hour in the dungeon; a voice he'd thought he'd never hear again. Without thinking, the dejected billionaire rushed out from outside his shower and yanked the door open. The butler, completely bewildered, stood there, his face awestruck, as his naked boss embraced him.
    
  "My God, old man, I thought you'd disappeared!" Purdue smiled, letting go of the man to shake his hand. Fortunately, Charles was painfully professional, ignoring Purdue's rants and maintaining that businesslike demeanor the British always boasted.
    
  "Just a little out of sorts, sir. All right now, thank you," Charles Purdue assured. "Would you like to eat in your room or downstairs with," he winced slightly, "the MI6 people?"
    
  "Definitely up here. Thank you, Charles," Perdue replied, realizing he was still shaking hands with the man with the crown jewels on display.
    
  Charles nodded. "Very well, sir."
    
  As Purdue returned to the bathroom to shave and remove the dreaded bags under his eyes, the butler emerged from the master bedroom, secretly chuckling at the memory of his cheerful, naked employer's reaction. It was always nice to be missed, he thought, even to this extent.
    
  "What did he say?" Lily asked as Charles entered the kitchen. The place smelled of freshly baked bread and scrambled eggs, slightly interrupted by the aroma of strained coffee. The charming but curious head cook wrung her hands under a tea towel and looked impatiently at the butler, awaiting an answer.
    
  "Lillian," he grumbled at first, irritated, as usual, by her curiosity. But then he realized she, too, had missed the master of the house and had every right to wonder what the man's first words to Charles had been. This quick mental review softened his gaze.
    
  "He"s very happy to be here again," Charles replied formally.
    
  "Is that what he said?" she asked tenderly.
    
  Charles seized the moment. "Not many words, though his gestures and body language conveyed his delight quite well." He tried desperately not to laugh at his own words, elegantly phrased to convey both truth and whimsy.
    
  "Oh, that"s wonderful," she smiled, heading to the buffet to get a plate for Perdue. "Eggs and sausage, then?"
    
  Uncharacteristically, the butler burst into laughter, a welcome change from his usual stern demeanor. Slightly confused, but smiling at his unusual reaction, she stood waiting for confirmation that breakfast was being served when the butler burst into laughter.
    
  "I"ll take that as a yes," she giggled. "Oh my god, my boy, something really funny must have happened for you to let go of your stance." She pulled out a plate and set it on the table. "Look at you! You"re just letting it all hang out."
    
  Charles doubled over laughing, leaning against the tiled alcove next to the iron coal stove that adorned the corner of the back door. "I'm so sorry, Lillian, but I can't tell you what happened. It would be simply inappropriate, you understand."
    
  "I know," she smiled, arranging sausages and scrambled eggs next to a soft piece of Perdue toast. "Of course, I'm dying to know what happened, but for once, I'll just settle for seeing you laugh. That's enough to make my day."
    
  Relieved that the old lady had softened this time in her pursuit of information, Charles patted her on the shoulder and composed himself. He brought a tray and arranged the food on it, helped her with coffee, and finally picked up the newspaper to take upstairs to Purdue. Desperate to prolong Charles's anomaly of humanity, Lily had to refrain from mentioning again what had so incriminated him as he left the kitchen. She was afraid he would drop the tray, and she was right. With the image still vivid in his mind, Charles would have left a mess on the floor if she had reminded him.
    
  Throughout the first floor of the building, secret service pawns filled Raichtisusis with their presence. Charles had nothing against people who worked for the intelligence service in general, but the fact that they were stationed there made them nothing more than illegal intruders, financed by a false kingdom. They had no right to be there, and although they were merely following orders, the staff couldn't tolerate their petty and sporadic power plays when they were stationed to keep an eye on a billionaire researcher, acting as if they were common thieves.
    
  I still can't understand how military intelligence could annex this house when there's no international military threat living here, Charles thought as he carried the tray into Perdue's room. And yet, he knew that for all this to be government-approved, there had to be some sinister reason-an even more frightening notion. There had to be something else, and he was going to get to the bottom of it, even if he had to get information from his brother-in-law again. Charles had saved Perdue the last time he took his brother-in-law at his word. He supposed his brother-in-law might supply the butler with a few more if it meant finding out what all this meant.
    
  "Hey, Charlie, is he up yet?" one of the operatives asked cheerfully.
    
  Charles ignored him. If he had to answer to anyone, it would be none other than Special Agent Smith. By now, he was certain his boss had established a strong personal bond with the supervising agent. As he approached Purdue's door, all humor left him-he returned to his usual stern and obedient demeanor.
    
  "Your breakfast, sir," he said at the door.
    
  Purdue opened the door looking completely different. Dressed fully in chinos, Moschino loafers, and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he opened the door for his butler. As Charles entered, he heard Purdue quickly close the door behind him.
    
  "I need to talk to you, Charles," he insisted in a low voice. "Did anyone follow you here?"
    
  "No, sir, not that I know of," Charles answered honestly, placing the tray on Purdue's oak desk, where he sometimes enjoyed a brandy in the evenings. He straightened his jacket and folded his hands in front of him. "What can I do for you, sir?"
    
  Purdue's eyes were wild, though his body language suggested he was composed and persuasive. No matter how hard he tried to appear polite and confident, he failed to fool his butler. Charles had known Purdue for ages. Over the years, he had seen him in many ways, from his insane rage over the obstacles to science to his cheerfulness and courtesy in the arms of many wealthy women. He could tell something was bothering Purdue, something more than just the impending hearing.
    
  "I know it was you who told Dr. Gould that the Secret Service was going to arrest me, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for warning her, but I must know, Charles," he insisted, his voice a firm whisper. "I must know how you found out about this, because there's more to it than that. There's much more to it, and I need to know everything, anything, that MI6 is planning to do next."
    
  Charles understood the fervor of his employer's request, but at the same time, he felt terribly inept about it. "I see," he said, noticeably embarrassed. "Well, I only heard about it by chance. During a visit to Vivian, my sister, her husband just sort of... admitted it. He knew I was in Reichtisus's employ, but apparently he overheard a colleague in one of the British government's branches mention that MI6 had been given full permission to pursue you, sir. In fact, I don't think he even thought much of it at the time."
    
  "Of course he didn't. It's bloody ridiculous. I'm Scottish, damn it. Even if I were involved in military matters, MI5 would be pulling the strings. International relations in this are rightfully burdensome, I tell you, and it worries me," Purdue mused. "Charles, I need you to contact your brother-in-law for me."
    
  "With all due respect, sir," Charles quickly replied, "if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to involve my family in this. I regret the decision I've made, sir, but frankly, I'm afraid for my sister. I'm beginning to worry that she's married to someone connected to the Secret Service, and he's just an administrator. To drag them into an international fiasco like this..." He shrugged guiltily, feeling terrible about his own honesty. He hoped Purdue still appreciated his abilities as a butler and wouldn't fire him for some flimsy form of insubordination.
    
  "I understand," Purdue replied weakly, moving away from Charles to look out the balcony doors at the beautiful serenity of the Edinburgh morning.
    
  "I"m sorry, Mr. Perdue," Charles said.
    
  "No, Charles, I truly understand. I believe you, believe me. How many terrible things have happened to my close friends because they were involved in my activities? I fully understand the consequences of working for me," Purdue explained, sounding utterly hopeless, with no intention of evoking pity. He genuinely felt the burden of guilt. Trying to be cordial, when respectfully rebuffed, Purdue turned and smiled. "Really, Charles. I truly understand. Please let me know when Special Agent Smith arrives."
    
  "Of course, sir," Charles replied, his chin hanging sharply. He left the room feeling like a traitor, and judging by the looks the officers and agents in the lobby gave him, they considered him one.
    
    
  4
  Doctor in
    
    
  Special Agent Patrick Smith visited Purdue later that day for what Smith told his superiors was a doctor's appointment. Considering his ordeal in the home of the Nazi matriarch known as "The Mother," the judicial board authorized Purdue to receive medical care while under the temporary custody of the Secret Intelligence Service.
    
  There were three men on duty that shift, not counting the two outside at the gate, and Charles was busy with housework, nursing his frustration with them. However, he was more lenient in his politeness toward Smith because of his assistance with Purdue. Charles opened the door for the doctor when the doorbell rang.
    
  "Even a poor doctor has to be searched," Purdue sighed, standing at the top of the stairs and leaning heavily on the railing for support.
    
  "The guy looks weak, doesn't he?" one of the men whispered to the other. "Look how puffy his eyes are!"
    
  "And red ones," added another, shaking his head. "I don't think he'll recover."
    
  "Guys, please hurry," Special Agent Smith said sharply, reminding them of their task. "The doctor only has an hour with Mr. Purdue, so get on with it."
    
  "Yes, sir," they chorused, completing the search of the medical worker.
    
  When they finished with the doctor, Patrick escorted him upstairs, where Purdue and his butler were waiting. There, Patrick took up his post as sentry at the top of the stairs.
    
  "Is there anything else, sir?" Charles asked as the doctor opened the door to Purdue"s room for him.
    
  "No, thank you, Charles. You can go," Perdue replied loudly before Charles closed the door. Charles still felt terribly guilty for brushing off his boss, but it seemed Perdue was sincere in his understanding.
    
  In Purdue's private office, she and the doctor waited a moment, speechless and motionless, listening for any disturbances beyond the door. There was no sound of movement, and through one of the hidden peepholes in Purdue's wall, they could see that no one was eavesdropping.
    
  "I think I should refrain from making childish references to medical puns to enhance your humor, old man, if only to stay in character. Let it be known, it's a terrible interference with my dramatic abilities," the doctor said, setting his medicine chest down on the floor. "Do you know how I fought to get Dr. Beach to lend me his old suitcase?"
    
  "Get over it, Sam," Perdue said, smiling cheerfully as the reporter squinted behind black-rimmed glasses that didn't belong to him. "It was your idea to disguise yourself as Dr. Beach. By the way, how's my savior doing?"
    
  Purdue's rescue team consisted of two people who knew his beloved Dr. Nina Gould, a Catholic priest and general practitioner from Oban, Scotland. These two dared to save Purdue from a brutal end in the basement of the evil Yvette Wolf, a first-level member of the Order of the Black Sun, known to her fascist consorts as "The Mother."
    
  "He's doing well, although he's a little bitter after his ordeal with you and Father Harper in that hellish house. I'm sure whatever made him like this would make him extremely newsworthy, but he refuses to shed any light on it," Sam shrugged. "The Minister's thrilled about it too, and it just makes my balls itch, you know."
    
  Perdue chuckled. "I"m sure it is. Trust me, Sam, what we left in that hidden old house is best left undiscovered. How"s Nina?"
    
  "She's in Alexandria, helping the museum catalog some of the treasures we've discovered. They want to name this particular exhibit after Alexander the Great-something like the Gould/Earle Find, in honor of Nina and Joanna's hard work in discovering the Olympias Letter and such. Of course, they left out your esteemed name. Pricks."
    
  "I see our girl has big plans," Perdue said, smiling softly and delighted to hear that the sassy, smart, and handsome historian was finally getting the recognition she deserved from the academic world.
    
  "Yeah, and she still asks me how we can get you out of this predicament once and for all, to which I usually have to change the subject because... well, I honestly don"t know the extent of it," Sam said, turning the conversation to a more serious note.
    
  "Well, that's why you're here, old man," Purdue sighed. "And I don't have much time to fill you in, so sit down and have a whiskey."
    
  Sam gasped, "But sir, I'm a doctor on call. How dare you?" He held out his glass to Purdue to tint with grouse. "Don't be stingy, now."
    
  It was a pleasure to be tormented once again by Sam Cleave's humor, and Purdue took great pleasure in once again suffering from the journalist's youthful folly. He knew full well that he could trust Cleave with his life, and that when it mattered most, his friend could instantly and brilliantly assume the role of a professional colleague. Sam could instantly transform from a dimwitted Scotsman into a dynamic enforcer-an invaluable asset in the dangerous world of occult relics and science geeks.
    
  The two men sat on the threshold of the balcony doors, just inside, so that the thick white lace curtains could shield their conversation from prying eyes peering out over the lawns. They spoke in low voices.
    
  "Long story short," Perdue said, "the son of a bitch who orchestrated my kidnapping, and Nina's kidnapping for that matter, is a Black Sun member named Joseph Karsten."
    
  Sam wrote the name down in a tattered notebook he kept in his jacket pocket. "Is he dead yet?" Sam asked matter-of-factly. In fact, his tone was so matter-of-fact that Purdue wasn't sure whether to be worried or elated by the answer.
    
  "No, he"s very much alive," Perdue replied.
    
  Sam looked up at his silver-haired friend. "But we want him dead, right?"
    
  "Sam, this has to be a subtle move. Murder is for short people," Perdue told him.
    
  "Really? Tell that to the wizened old bitch who did this to you," Sam growled, pointing at Perdue"s body. "The Order of the Black Sun was supposed to die with Nazi Germany, my friend, and I"m going to make damn sure they"re gone before I lay down in my coffin."
    
  "I know," Perdue consoled him, "and I appreciate your zeal to put an end to my detractors' record. I really do. But wait until you hear the whole story. Then tell me what I'm planning isn't the best pesticide."
    
  "Okay," Sam agreed, somewhat weakening his urge to end the seemingly eternal problem posed by those who still perpetuated the corruption of the SS elite. "Go on, tell me the rest."
    
  "You'll appreciate this twist, as disconcerting as it is for me," Perdue admitted. "Joseph Karsten is none other than Joe Carter, the current head of the Secret Intelligence Service."
    
  "Jesus!" Sam exclaimed in amazement. "You can't be serious! This man is as British as afternoon tea and Austin Powers."
    
  "That's the part that stumps me, Sam," came Perdue's reply. "Do you understand where I'm going with this?"
    
  "MI6 is misappropriating your property," Sam replied slowly, his mind and wandering gaze sifting through all the possible connections. "The British Secret Service is run by a member of the Black Sun organization, and no one knows anything, even after this legal scam." His dark eyes darted around as his wheels turned to address all sides of the issue. "Purdue, why does he need your house?"
    
  Purdue bothered Sam. He seemed almost indifferent, as if numb with the relief of sharing his knowledge. In a soft, weary voice, he shrugged and gestured with open palms: "From what I thought I overheard in that infernal cafeteria, they think Reichtisusis holds all the relics Himmler and Hitler were after."
    
  "Not entirely untrue," Sam remarked, making notes for his own reference.
    
  "Yes, but Sam, what they think I've hidden here is vastly overpriced. Not only that. What I have here must never," he gripped Sam's forearm tightly, "ever fall into the hands of Joseph Karsten! Not as Military Intelligence 6 or the Order of the Black Sun. That man could overthrow governments with just half the patents stored in my labs!" Purdue's eyes were wet, his old hand trembling on Sam's skin as he pleaded with his only trust.
    
  "Okay, old cock," Sam said, hoping to soften the mania on Purdue"s face.
    
  "Look, Sam, no one knows what I do," the billionaire continued. "No one on our side of the front lines knows a fucking Nazi is in charge of Britain's security. I need you, the great investigative journalist, the Pulitzer Prize-winning celebrity reporter... to unzip this bastard's parachute, okay?"
    
  Sam got the message, loud and clear. He could see cracks appearing in the ever-pleasant and collected Dave Perdue's façade. Clearly, this new development had made a much deeper cut with a much sharper blade, and it was cutting its way along Perdue's jawline. Sam knew he had to deal with this before Karsten's knife drew a red crescent around Perdue's throat and ended him forever. His friend was in serious trouble, and his life was in clear danger, more than ever before.
    
  "Who else knows his true identity? Does Paddy know?" Sam asked, clarifying who was involved so he could decide where to start. If Patrick Smith knew Carter was Joseph Karsten, he could find himself in danger again.
    
  "No, at the hearing, he understood that something was bothering me, but I decided to keep such a big thing very close to my chest. At this point, he's in the dark about it," Perdue confirmed.
    
  "I think it's best this way," Sam admitted. "Let's see how much we can prevent serious consequences while we figure out how to kick this charlatan into the hawk's mouth."
    
  Still determined to follow Joan Earle's advice from their conversation in the muddy ice of Newfoundland during the discovery of the Alexander the Great, Perdue turned to Sam. "Just please, Sam, let us do this my way. I have a reason for all this."
    
  "I promise we can do it your way, but if things get out of hand, Perdue, I'll call in the renegade brigade to back us up. This Karsten guy has power we can't fight alone. There's usually a relatively impenetrable shield in the upper echelons of military intelligence, if you know what I mean," Sam warned. "These people are as powerful as the queen's word, Perdue. This bastard could do absolutely disgusting things to us and cover it up like he's a cat that took a crap in the litter box. No one would ever know. And anyone who makes a claim could be quickly expunged."
    
  "Yes, I know. Believe me, I fully understand the damage he could cause," Perdue admitted. "But I don't want him dead unless I have no other choice. For now, I'll use Patrick and my legal team to keep Karsten at bay for as long as I can."
    
  "Okay, let me look into some history, property deeds, tax records, and all that. The more we learn about this bastard, the more we'll have to trap him." Now Sam had all his records in order, and now that he knew the extent of the trouble Purdue was in, he was adamant about using his cunning to counteract it.
    
  "Good man," Perdue breathed, relieved to have told someone like Sam, someone he could rely on to step on the right rake with expert precision. "Now, I suppose the vultures outside this door need to see you and Patrick complete my medical exam."
    
  With Sam in his Dr. Beach guise and Patrick Smith using his ruse, Perdue said goodbye to his bedroom door. Sam glanced back. "Hemorrhoids are common with this kind of sexual practice, Mr. Perdue. I've seen it mostly in politicians and... intelligence agents... but it's nothing to worry about. Stay healthy, and I'll see you soon."
    
  Perdue disappeared into his room to laugh, while Sam received a few hurt glances on his way to the front door. With a polite nod, he left the estate with his childhood friend in tow. Patrick was used to Sam's outbursts, but on this day, he was having a hell of a time maintaining his stern professional demeanor, at least until they climbed into his Volvo and left the estate-in stitches.
    
    
  5
  Grief within the walls of the Villa d'Chantal
    
    
    
  Antrevo - two days later
    
    
  The warm evening barely warmed Madame Chantal's feet as she pulled on another pair of stockings over her silk tights. It was autumn, but for her, the winter chill was already everywhere she went.
    
  "I'm afraid something's wrong with you, dear," her husband suggested, adjusting his tie for the hundredth time. "Are you sure you can't just put up with your cold tonight and come with me? You know, if people keep seeing me attending banquets alone, they might start to suspect something's wrong between us."
    
  He looked at her with concern. "They can't know we're practically bankrupt, you understand? Your absence there with me could spark gossip and draw attention to us. The wrong people might investigate our situation just to satisfy their curiosity. You know I'm terribly worried and that I must maintain the goodwill of the minister and his shareholders, or we're finished."
    
  "Yes, of course I do. Just trust me when I say that soon we won't have to worry about keeping the property," she assured him weakly.
    
  "What does this mean? I told you-I don't sell diamonds. They're the only remaining proof of our status!" he said firmly, though his words were more out of concern than anger. "Come with me tonight and wear something extravagant, just to help me look worthy of the role I must play as a truly successful businessman."
    
  "Henri, I promise I'll be with you on the next one. I just don't feel like I can maintain a cheerful expression for much longer while I'm fighting off a bout of fever and pain." Chantal walked slowly toward her husband, smiling. She straightened his tie and kissed him on the cheek. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check her temperature, then visibly pulled back.
    
  "What?" she asked.
    
  "My God, Chantal. I don't know what kind of fever you have, but it seems to be the opposite. You're cold as... a corpse," he finally managed to squeeze out the ugly comparison.
    
  "I told you," she replied nonchalantly, "I'm not feeling well enough to adorn your side as befits a baron's wife. Now hurry up, you might be late, and that's completely unacceptable."
    
  "Yes, my lady," Henri smiled, but his heart was still pounding from the shock of feeling his wife's skin, so cold that he couldn't understand why her cheeks and lips still glowed. The Baron was good at hiding his emotions. It was a requirement of his title and the proper course of business. He left soon after, desperately wanting to look back at his wife waving goodbye from the open front door of their Belle Époque chateau, but he decided to maintain appearances.
    
  Under the temperate sky of an April evening, Baron de Martin reluctantly left his home, but his wife was only too glad for the solitude. However, this wasn't for the sake of being alone. She hastily prepared to receive her guest, first removing three diamonds from her husband's safe. Celeste was magnificent, so breathtaking that she didn't want to part with her, but what she wanted from the alchemist was far more important.
    
  "Tonight I will save us, my dear Henri," she whispered, laying the diamonds on a green velvet napkin cut from the dress she usually wore to banquets like the one her husband had just left for. Rubbing her cold hands vigorously, Chantal held them out to the fire in the hearth to warm them. The steady beat of the mantel clock paced the quiet house, making its way to the second half of the dial. She had thirty minutes before he arrived. Her housekeeper already knew him by sight, as did her assistant, but they had not yet announced his arrival.
    
  In her diary, she made an entry for the day, mentioning her condition. Chantal was a keeper of notes, an avid photographer, and a writer. She wrote poems for all occasions, even during the simplest moments of pleasure, composing verses in memory. Memories of each anniversary were reviewed from previous journals to satisfy her nostalgia. A great admirer of solitude and antiquity, Chantal kept her diaries in expensively bound books and derived genuine pleasure from recording her thoughts.
    
    
  April 14, 2016 - Entrevaux
    
  I think I'm getting sick. My body is incredibly cold, even though it's barely below 19 degrees outside. Even the fire next to me seems like an illusion to my eyes; I see the flames without feeling the heat. If it weren't for my pressing business, I would cancel today's meeting. But I can't. I simply have to make do with warm clothes and wine to keep from going crazy from the cold.
    
  We've sold everything we could to keep the business afloat, and I'm worried about my dear Henry's health. He's not sleeping and is generally emotionally distant. I don't have much time to write more, but I know what I'm about to do will get us out of the financial hole we've fallen into.
    
  Mr. Raya, an Egyptian alchemist with an impeccable reputation among his clients, is visiting me this evening. With his help, we will increase the value of the few jewels I have left, which will be worth much more when I sell them. As payment, I will give him the Céleste-a terrible thing, especially for my beloved Henri, whose family considers the stone sacred and has owned it since time immemorial. But it's a small sum, worth giving up in exchange for cleaning and increasing the value of other diamonds, which will restore our financial position and help my husband keep his barony and his land.
    
  Anne, Louise, and I will stage a break-in before Henri returns so we can explain the disappearance of the Celeste. My heart aches for Henri, for desecrating his legacy in this way, but I feel this is the only way to restore our status before we sink into obscurity and end in disgrace. But my husband will benefit, and that's all that matters to me. I'll never be able to tell him this, but once he's restored and comfortable in his post, he'll sleep well, eat well, and be happy again. That's worth far more than any sparkling jewel.
    
  - Chantal
    
    
  Having signed her name, Chantal glanced again at the clock in her living room. She had been writing for some time. As always, she placed her diary in a niche behind her great-grandfather Henri's painting and wondered what could have caused her appointment to be missed. Somewhere in the fog of her thoughts as she wrote, she heard the clock strike one, but ignored it, lest she forget what she had intended to record on this day's diary page. Now she was surprised to see the ornate, long hand descend from twelve to five.
    
  "Twenty-five minutes late already?" she whispered, throwing another shawl over her trembling shoulders. "Anna!" she called to her housekeeper as she picked up the poker to light the fire. As she hissed another log, it spat embers into the chimney, but she had no time to caress the flames and make them stronger. With her meeting with Raya postponed, Chantal had less time to conclude their business arrangements before her husband"s return. This alarmed the lady of the house a little. Quickly, after turning back to the fireplace, she had to ask her staff if her guest had called to explain his lateness. "Anna! Where in God"s name are you?" she screamed again, feeling no warmth from the flames that practically licked her palms.
    
  Chantal heard no answer from her maid, her housekeeper, or her assistant. "Don"t tell me they forgot they worked overtime tonight," she muttered under her breath as she hurried down the hallway to the east side of the villa. "Anna! Brigitte!" She called louder now as she rounded the kitchen door, beyond which lay only darkness. Floating in the darkness, Chantal could see the orange light of the coffee maker, the multicolored lights of the wall outlets, and some of her appliances; that"s how it always looked after the ladies had gone out for the day. "My God, they forgot," she muttered, drawing in a breath as the cold gripped her insides like the bite of ice on damp skin.
    
  The villa's owner hurried through the corridors, discovering she was home alone. "Great, now I have to make the most of this," she complained. "Louise, at least tell me you're still on duty," she addressed the closed door behind which her assistant usually handled Chantal's taxes, charity work, and press relations. The dark wood door was locked, and there was no response from within. Chantal was disappointed.
    
  Even if her guest had still shown up, she wouldn't have had enough time to press the breaking and entering charges she would have forced her husband to file. Grumbling under her breath as she walked, the aristocrat continued to pull her shawls over her chest and cover the back of her neck, letting her hair down to create a sort of insulation. It was around 9 p.m. when she entered the drawing room.
    
  The confusion of the situation was almost suffocating her. She had explicitly told her staff to expect Mr. Raya, but what puzzled her most was that not only her assistant and housekeeper but also her guest had reneged on their arrangement. Had her husband gotten wind of her plans and given her staff the night off to prevent her from meeting Mr. Raya? And even more alarming, had Henry somehow gotten rid of Raya?
    
  When she returned to the spot where she had laid out the velvet napkin with the three diamonds, Chantal experienced a shock greater than simply being home alone. A shuddering gasp escaped her, her hands clasped to her mouth at the sight of the empty cloth. Tears welled in her eyes, searing from the depths of her stomach and piercing her heart. The stones had been stolen, but what intensified her horror was the fact that someone had been able to take them while she was in the house. No security measures had been breached, leaving Madame Chantal terrified by the myriad possible explanations.
    
    
  6
  High price
    
    
  'It is better to have a good name than wealth'
    
  -King Solomon
    
    
  The wind began to blow, but it still couldn't break the silence in the villa where Chantal stood in tears over her loss. It wasn't just the loss of her diamonds and the immeasurable value of the Celeste, but everything else that had been lost in the theft.
    
  "You stupid, brainless bitch! Be careful what you wish for, stupid bitch!" she whined through the imprisonment of her fingers, lamenting the perverse outcome of her original plan. "Now you don't have to lie to Henri. They really were stolen!"
    
  Something stirred in the foyer, the creak of footsteps on the wooden floor. From behind the curtains overlooking the front lawn, she peered down to see if anyone was there, but it was empty. An alarming creak came from the living room half a flight of stairs below, but Chantal couldn't call the police or a security company to look for it. They would stumble upon a real, once-fabricated crime, and she would be in big trouble.
    
  Or would she?
    
  The consequences of such a call plagued her mind. Had she covered all her bases if they were discovered? After all, she'd rather upset her husband and risk months of resentment than be killed by an intruder clever enough to bypass her home's security system.
    
  You better make up your mind, woman. Time is running out. If the thief is going to kill you, you're wasting your time letting him rummage through your house. Her heart pounded in her chest. On the other hand, if you call the police and your plan is discovered, Henry might divorce you for losing Celeste; for even daring to think you had the right to give her away!
    
  Chantal was so terribly cold that her skin burned as if she had frostbite beneath her thick layers of clothing. She tapped her shoes on the carpet to increase the flow of water to her feet, but they remained cold and painful inside the shoes.
    
  After a deep breath, she made her decision. Chantal rose from her chair and took the poker from the fireplace. The wind grew louder, a single serenade to the lonely crackle of the feeble fire, but Chantal kept her senses alert as she stepped into the hallway to find the source of the creaking. Under the disappointed gazes of her husband's deceased ancestors, depicted in the paintings hanging along the walls, she vowed to do everything in her power to end this ill-fated idea.
    
  With a poker hand in her hand, she descended the stairs for the first time since waving goodbye to Henri. Chantal's mouth was dry, her tongue felt thick and out of place, her throat rough as sandpaper. Looking at the paintings of the women of Henri's family, Chantal couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the magnificent diamond necklaces adorning their necks. She lowered her gaze rather than endure their haughty expressions, cursing her.
    
  As Chantal made her way through the house, she turned on every light, wanting to make sure there was no hiding place for someone unwelcome. Ahead of her, the north staircase extended down to the first floor, from which a creaking sound could be heard. Her fingers ached as she gripped the poker tightly.
    
  When Chantal reached the bottom landing, she turned to make the long walk across the marble floor to flick the light switch in the vestibule, but her heart stopped at the darkness. She let out a silent sob at the horrific vision that met her. Near the light switch on the far side wall, a sharp explanation for the creaking sound was given. A woman's body, suspended by a rope from a ceiling beam, swayed back and forth in the breeze from the open window.
    
  Chantal's knees buckled, and she had to suppress a primal scream that begged to be born. It was Brigitte, her housekeeper. The tall, thin, thirty-nine-year-old blonde had a blue face, a hideous and horribly distorted version of her once beautiful self. Her shoes fell to the floor, no more than a meter from her toes. The atmosphere in the lobby below felt arctic, almost unbearable, and she couldn't wait long before she feared her legs would give out. Her muscles burned and tightened from the cold, and she felt the tendons inside her body tighten.
    
  I need to get upstairs! she screamed silently. I need to get to the fireplace or I'll freeze to death. I'll just lock the door and call the police. Gathering all her strength, she waddled up the steps, taking them one by one, while Brigitte's dead, intense gaze followed her from the side. Don't look at her, Chantal! Don't look at her.
    
  In the distance, she could see the cozy, warm living room, something that had now become crucial to her survival. If she could just reach the fireplace, she would only have to guard one room, instead of trying to explore the vast, dangerous labyrinth of her enormous house. Once locked in the living room, Chantal calculated, she could call the authorities and try to pretend she didn't know about the missing diamonds until her husband found out. For now, she had to come to terms with the loss of her beloved housekeeper and the killer, who might still be in the house. First, she had to stay alive, and then she had to face the consequences of her bad decisions. The terrible tautness of the rope sounded like ragged breathing as she walked along the banister. She felt nauseous, and her teeth chattered from the cold.
    
  A terrible groan emanated from Louise's small office, one of the spare rooms on the ground floor. An icy gust of air rushed out from under the door, running over Chantal's boots and up her legs. No, don't open the door, she argued. You know what's happening. We don't have time to look for proof that you already know, Chantal. Come on. You know. We can feel it. Like a terrible nightmare with legs, you know what awaits you. Just come to the fire.
    
  Resisting the urge to open Louise's door, Chantal released the handle and turned to keep the groaning inside to herself. "Thank God all the lights are on," she muttered through clenched jaws, hugging herself as she walked toward the welcoming door that led to the wonderful orange glow of the fireplace.
    
  Chantal's eyes widened as she looked ahead. At first, she wasn't sure she'd actually seen the door move, but as she approached the room, she noticed it closing noticeably slowly. Trying to hurry, she held the poker at the ready for whoever was closing the door, but she had to get in.
    
  What if there's more than one killer in the house? What if the one in the living room is distracting you from what's going on in Louise's room? she thought, trying to spot any shadow or figure that might help her understand the nature of the incident. This wasn't the right time to bring this up, another voice in her head noted.
    
  Chantal's face was icy cold, her lips colorless, and her body trembling terribly as she approached the door. But it slammed shut as soon as she tried the handle, throwing it back with the force. The floor felt like a skating rink, and she hurried to her feet again, sobbing in defeat as the horrific sounds of moans emanated from Louise's door. Overcome with terror, Chantal tried to push the living room door open, but she was too weak from the cold.
    
  She sank to the floor, peering under the door just to see the light from the fireplace. Even that might have been a small comfort, had she imagined the heat, but the thick carpet obscured her vision. She tried to get up again, but she was so cold that she simply curled up in the corner next to the closed door.
    
  Go to one of the other rooms and get some blankets, you idiot, she thought. Come on, light another fire, Chantal. There are fourteen fireplaces in the villa, and you're willing to die for one? She shuddered, wanting to smile at the relief of the decision. Madame Chantal struggled to her feet to reach the nearest guest bedroom with a fireplace. Just four doors down and a few steps up.
    
  The heavy groans emanating from behind the second door were tugging at her psyche and nerves, but the mistress of the house knew she would die of hypothermia if she didn't reach the fourth room. It contained a drawer stocked with matches and lighters in abundance, and the grate on the fireplace mantel held enough butane gas to explode. Her cell phone was in the living room, and her computers were in various rooms on the ground floor-a place she dreaded entering, a place where the window was open and her late housekeeper kept time like a clock on the mantelpiece.
    
  "Please, please, let there be logs in the room," she trembled, rubbing her hands and pulling the end of her shawl over her face to try to catch some of her warm breath. Clutching the poker tightly under her arm, she discovered the room was open. Chantal's panic swung between the killer and the cold, and she constantly wondered which would kill her first. With great zeal, she tried to stack logs in the living room fireplace, while the haunting moans from the other room grew fainter.
    
  Her hands clumsily tried to grip the tree, but she could barely use her fingers anymore. Something about her condition was odd, she thought. The fact that her house was properly heated and she couldn't see her breath steam directly contradicted her assumption that the weather in Nice was unusually cold for this time of year.
    
  "All this," she seethed with her misguided intentions, trying to light the gas under the logs, "just to warm up when it's not even cold yet! What's going on? I'm freezing to death inside!"
    
  The fire roared to life, and the ignited butane gas instantly colored the pale interior of the room. "Ah! Beautiful!" she exclaimed. She lowered the poker to warm her palms in the raging hearth, which came to life, crackling and scattering sparks that would have died at the slightest nudge. She watched them fly and vanish as she thrust her hands into the fireplace. Something rustled behind her, and Chantal turned to look at Abdul Raya's haggard face with his black, sunken eyes.
    
  "Mr. Raya!" she said involuntarily. "You took my diamonds!"
    
  "I did, madam," he said calmly. "But be that as it may, I will not tell your husband what you did behind his back."
    
  "You son of a bitch!" She suppressed her anger, but her body refused to give her the agility to lunge.
    
  "Better stay close to the fire, madam. We need warmth to live. But diamonds can't make you breathe," he shared his wisdom.
    
  "Do you understand what I can do to you? I know some very skilled people, and I have the money to hire the best hunters if you don't return my diamonds!"
    
  "Stop your threats, Madame Chantal," he warned cordially. "We both know why you needed an alchemist to perform the magical transmutation of your last precious stones. You need money. Tsk-tsk," he lectured. "You are scandalously rich, you only see wealth when you are blind to beauty and purpose. You don't deserve what you have, so I have taken it upon myself to relieve you of this terrible burden."
    
  "How dare you?" she frowned, her distorted face barely losing its blue hue in the light of the roaring flames.
    
  "I dare you. You aristocrats sit upon the most magnificent gifts of the earth and claim them as your own. You cannot buy the power of the gods, only the corrupted souls of men and women. You have proven it. These fallen stars do not belong to you. They belong to all of us, the mages and artisans who wield them to create, adorn, and strengthen what is weak," he spoke passionately.
    
  "You? A wizard?" She laughed hollowly. "You"re an artist-geologist. There"s no such thing as magic, you fool!"
    
  "They're not there?" he asked with a smile, playing with Celeste between his fingers. "Then tell me, madam, how did I create the illusion of suffering from hypothermia in you?"
    
  Chantal was speechless, furious and terrified. Though she knew this strange state was hers alone, she couldn't bear the thought of his cold touch on her hand at their last meeting. Despite the laws of nature, she was nonetheless dying of cold. Her eyes were frozen with terror as she watched him leave.
    
  "Goodbye, Madame Chantal. Please keep warm."
    
  As he left, the maid swaying, Abdul Rayya heard a bloodcurdling scream from the guest room... just as he expected. He pocketed the diamonds, while upstairs, Madame Chantal climbed into the fireplace to alleviate as much of her coldness as she could. Having been functioning at a safe temperature of 37.5№C (99.5№F) all this time, she died shortly thereafter, engulfed in flames.
    
    
  7
  There is no traitor in the Pit of Revelation.
    
    
  Purdue experienced something he'd never experienced before-an utter hatred for another human being. Although he was slowly recovering physically and mentally from the ordeal in the small town of Fallin, Scotland, he found that the only thing marring his cheerful, carefree demeanor was the fact that Joe Carter, aka Joseph Karsten, was still catching his breath. He had an unusually bad taste in his mouth every time he discussed the upcoming court-martial with his lawyers, led by Special Agent Patrick Smith.
    
  "Just got this memo, David," announced Harry Webster, Purdue's chief legal officer. "I don't know if this is good news or bad news for you."
    
  Webster's two partners and Patrick joined Perdue and his lawyer at a dinner table in the high-ceilinged dining room of the Wrichtishousis Hotel. They were offered scones and tea, which the delegation happily accepted before heading off to what they hoped would be a quick and lenient hearing.
    
  "What is this?" Perdue asked, his heart leaping. He'd never had to fear anything before. His wealth, resources, and representatives could always solve any of his problems. However, over the past few months, he'd realized that the only true wealth in life was freedom, and he was close to losing it. A truly terrifying epiphany.
    
  Harry frowned, checking the fine print of the email he'd received from the legal department at Secret Intelligence Service headquarters. "Oh, it probably won't matter to us anyway, but the head of MI6 won't be there. This email is intended to notify and apologize to everyone involved for his absence, but he had some pressing personal matters he needed to attend to."
    
  "Where?" I asked. "Purdue exclaimed impatiently.
    
  Surprising the jury with his reaction, he quickly downplayed it with a shrug and a smile: "I"m just curious why the man who ordered the siege of my estate didn"t bother to attend my funeral."
    
  "No one's going to bury you, David," Harry Webster consoled, sounding like his lawyer. "But it doesn't say where, only that he was supposed to go to the homeland of his ancestors. I imagine it would have to be in some corner of remote England."
    
  No, it had to be somewhere in Germany or Switzerland, or one of those cozy Nazi nests, Perdue chuckled to himself, wishing he could just reveal the truth about the hypocritical leader. Secretly, he felt a tremendous sense of relief knowing he wouldn't have to look into his enemy's hideous face as he was publicly treated as a criminal, watching the bastard revel in his predicament.
    
  Sam Cleave had called the previous evening to inform Purdue that Channel 8 and World Broadcast Today, possibly also CNN, would be available to broadcast everything the investigative journalist had pieced together to expose any MI6 misdeeds on the world stage and to the British government. However, until they had enough evidence to incriminate Karsten, Sam and Purdue had to keep their knowledge secret. The problem was, Karsten knew. He knew that Purdue knew, and this posed a direct threat, something Purdue should have foreseen. What worried him was how Karsten would decide to end him, since Purdue would forever remain in the shadows, even if he were imprisoned.
    
  "Can I use my cell phone, Patrick?" he asked in an angelic tone, as if he couldn"t contact Sam if he wanted to.
    
  "Um, yeah, sure. But I need to know who you"re going to call," Patrick said, opening the safe where he kept all the items Purdue couldn"t access without permission.
    
  "Sam Cleve," Perdue said nonchalantly, immediately winning approval from Patrick but receiving a strange assessment from Webster.
    
  "Why?" he asked Perdue. "The hearing is in less than three hours, David. I suggest you use the time wisely."
    
  "That's what I do. Thanks for your opinion, Harry, but this is pretty much Sam's fault, if you don't mind," Purdue replied in a tone that reminded Harry Webster he wasn't in charge. With that, he dialed the number and the message, "Karsten missing. Guessing Austrian nest."
    
  A short encrypted message was immediately sent over a shaky, untraceable satellite link, thanks to one of Purdue's innovative technological devices, which he installed on the phones of his friends and butler, the only people he believed deserved such a privilege and importance. Once the message was transmitted, Purdue handed the phone back to Patrick. "Ta."
    
  "That was damn fast," remarked an impressed Patrick.
    
  "Technology, my friend. I fear words will soon dissolve into codes, and we'll return to hieroglyphics," Perdue smiled proudly. "But I'll definitely invent an app that forces users to quote Edgar Allan Poe or Shakespeare before they can log in."
    
  Patrick couldn't help but smile. This was the first time he'd actually spent time with billionaire explorer, scientist, and philanthropist David Perdue. Until recently, he'd considered the man nothing more than an arrogant rich kid, flaunting his privilege to acquire whatever the hell he wanted. Patrick saw Perdue not just as a conqueror or as a hoard of ancient relics that weren't his; he saw him as a common friend-stealer.
    
  Previously, the name Perdue had evoked nothing but contempt in him, synonymous with Sam Cleve's venality and the dangers associated with the grizzled relic hunter. But now Patrick began to understand the attraction to the carefree and charismatic man, who, in truth, was modest and honest. Without meaning to, he found himself warming to Perdue's company and wit.
    
  "Let"s get this over with, boys," Harry Webster suggested, and the men sat down to complete the respective speeches they would present.
    
    
  8
  Blind tribunal
    
    
    
  Glasgow - three hours later
    
    
  In a quiet, dimly lit setting, a small gathering of government officials, members of the archaeological society, and lawyers gathered for the trial of David Perdue on charges of alleged involvement in international espionage and theft of cultural property. Perdue's pale blue eyes scanned the courtroom, searching for Karsten's contemptuous face as if it were second nature. He wondered what the Austrian was up to, wherever he was, when he knew exactly where to find Perdue. On the other hand, Karsten likely imagined that Perdue was too afraid of the repercussions of implying such a high-ranking official's connection to a member of the Order of the Black Sun and perhaps decided to let sleeping dogs rest.
    
  The first hint of this latter consideration was the fact that Perdue's case was not tried before the International Criminal Court in The Hague, the usual venue for such charges. Perdue and his legal team agreed that Joe Carter's persuasion of the Ethiopian government to prosecute him at an informal hearing in Glasgow suggested he wanted to keep the case secret. Such low-key prosecutions, while they may have contributed to the appropriate prosecution of the accused, are unlikely to have significantly shaken the foundations of international law regarding espionage, or anything else.
    
  "This is our best defense," Harry Webster told Perdue before the trial. "He wants you charged and tried, but he doesn't want attention. That's good."
    
  The assembly sat down and waited for the proceedings to begin.
    
  "This is the trial of David Connor Perdue on charges of archaeological crimes related to the theft of various cultural icons and religious relics," the prosecutor announced. "The testimony presented at this trial will support the charge of espionage committed under the guise of archaeological research."
    
  Once all the announcements and formalities were completed, the Chief Prosecutor, Adv. Ron Watts, on behalf of MI6, introduced the opposition members representing the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia and the Archaeological Crime Unit. Among them were Professor Imru of the People's Movement for the Protection of Heritage Sites and Colonel Basil Yimenu, a veteran military commander and patriarch of the Addis Ababa Historical Preservation Association.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, in March 2016, an expedition you led and financed allegedly stole a religious relic known as the Ark of the Covenant from a temple in Axum, Ethiopia. Am I correct?" the prosecutor said, his whining nasally and with just the right amount of condescension.
    
  Perdue was, as usual, calm and patronizing. "You are mistaken, sir."
    
  A murmur of disapproval erupted from those present, and Harry Webster gently patted Perdue's arm to remind him to restrain himself, but Perdue continued cordially, "It was, in fact, an exact replica of the Ark of the Covenant, and we found it inside the mountainside outside the village. It was not the famous Sacred Box containing God's power, sir."
    
  "You see, this is strange," the lawyer said sarcastically, "because I thought that these respected scientists would be able to distinguish the real Ark from a fake."
    
  "I agree," Perdue quickly replied. "It would seem they could tell the difference. On the other hand, since the location of the real Ark is merely speculative and has not been conclusively proven, it would be difficult to know what comparisons to make."
    
  Prof. Imru stood up, looking furious, but the lawyer motioned for him to sit down before he could utter a word.
    
  "What do you mean by that?" the lawyer asked.
    
  "I object, my lady," Professor Imru wept, addressing the sitting judge, Helen Ostrin. "This man mocks our heritage and insults our ability to identify our own artifacts!"
    
  "Sit down, Professor Imru," the judge ordered. "I have not heard any allegations of this nature from the defendant. Please wait your turn." She looked at Perdue. "What do you mean, Mr. Perdue?"
    
  "I'm not a great historian or theologian, but I do know a thing or two about King Solomon, the Queen of Sheba, and the Ark of the Covenant. Judging by its description in all the texts, I'm relatively certain that there was never any mention of the lid having carvings relating to World War II," Perdue said casually.
    
  "What do you mean, Mr. Perdue?" "That doesn"t make sense," the lawyer countered.
    
  "First, it shouldn't have a swastika engraved on it," Perdue said nonchalantly, enjoying the shocked reaction of the audience in the boardroom. The silver-haired billionaire cherry-picked the facts so he could defend himself without revealing the criminal underworld beneath, where the law would only get in the way. He carefully selected what he could tell them, lest his actions alert Karsten and ensure that the battle with Black Sun remained under the radar long enough for him to use whatever means necessary to sign this chapter.
    
  "Are you crazy?" Col. Yimenu shouted, but the Ethiopian delegation immediately joined him in their objections.
    
  "Colonel, please control your temper, or I'll hold you in contempt of court. Remember, this is still a court hearing, not a debate!" the judge snapped, her tone firm. "The prosecution may proceed."
    
  "Are you claiming the gold was engraved with a swastika?" the lawyer smiled at the absurdity. "Do you have any photographs to prove that, Mr. Perdue?"
    
  "I don"t know," Perdue replied regretfully.
    
  The prosecutor was delighted. "So your defense is based on hearsay?"
    
  "My records were destroyed during the pursuit, which nearly resulted in my death," Perdue explained.
    
  "So, you were targeted by the authorities," Watts chuckled. "Perhaps because you were stealing a priceless piece of history. Mr. Perdue, the legal basis for prosecution for the destruction of monuments stems from a 1954 convention that was enacted in response to the devastation caused after World War II. There was a reason they shot at you."
    
  "But we were being shot at by another expeditionary group, the lawyer Watts, led by a certain professor, Rita Popourri, and financed by Cosa Nostra."
    
  Once again, his statement caused such a furor that the judge had to call them to order. The MI6 officers looked at each other, unaware of any involvement by the Sicilian mafia.
    
  "So where is this other expedition and the professor who led it?" asked the prosecutor.
    
  "They are dead, sir," Perdue said bluntly.
    
  "So you're telling me that all the data and photographs supporting your discovery have been destroyed, and the people who could support your claim are all dead," Watts chuckled. "That's pretty convenient."
    
  "Which makes me wonder who decided I even left with the Ark," Perdue smiled.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, you will speak only when called upon," the judge warned. "However, this is a valid point I would like to make for the prosecution. Was the Ark ever found in Mr. Perdue's possession, Special Agent Smith?"
    
  Patrick Smith stood up respectfully and replied, "No, my lady."
    
  "Then why hasn't the Secret Intelligence Service order been rescinded?" the judge asked. "If there's no evidence to prosecute Mr. Perdue, why wasn't the court notified of this development?"
    
  Patrick cleared his throat. "Because our superior hasn't given the order yet, my lady."
    
  "And where's your boss?" she frowned, but the prosecution reminded her of the official memorandum in which Joe Carter had asked to be excused for personal reasons. The judge looked at the tribunal members with a stern reprimand. "I find this lack of organization disturbing, gentlemen, especially when you decide to prosecute a man without compelling evidence that he actually possesses the stolen artifact."
    
  "My lady, if I may?" the sardonic Councilor Watts groveled. "Mr. Purdue was well known and documented as having discovered various treasures on his expeditions, including the famed Spear of Destiny, stolen by the Nazis during World War II. He donated numerous relics of religious and cultural value to museums around the world, including the recently discovered find of Alexander the Great. If military intelligence failed to find these artifacts on his property, it only proves that he used these expeditions to spy on other countries."
    
  Oh shit, thought Patrick Smith.
    
  "Please, my lady, may I say something?" Col asked Yimena, to which the judge gestured permission. "If this man didn't steal our Ark, as an entire group of Axumite workers swear against, how could it have disappeared from his possession?"
    
  "Mr. Perdue? Would you like to elaborate on that?" the judge asked.
    
  "As I mentioned earlier, we were being pursued by another expedition. My lady, I barely escaped, but the Potpourri tour group subsequently took possession of the Ark, which was not the true Ark of the Covenant," Perdue explained.
    
  "And they all died. So where is the artifact?" asked the captivated professor. Imru looked clearly devastated by the loss. The judge allowed the men to speak freely as long as they maintained order, as she had instructed them.
    
  "He was last seen at their villa in Djibouti, Professor," Perdue replied, "before they set out on an expedition with my colleagues and me to examine some scrolls from Greece. We were forced to show them the way, and it was there..."
    
  "Where you faked your own death," the prosecutor accused harshly. "I need say no more, my lady. MI6 was called to the scene to arrest Mr. Purdue, only to find him 'dead' and discover that the Italian members of the expedition had perished. Am I correct, Special Agent Smith?"
    
  Patrick tried not to look at Perdue. He quietly replied, "Yes."
    
  "Why would he fake his death to avoid arrest if he had nothing to hide?" the prosecutor continued. Perdue was eager to explain his actions, but recounting the drama of the Order of the Black Sun and proving that it, too, still existed was too detailed and not worth the distraction.
    
  "My lady, may I?" Harry Webster finally rose from his seat.
    
  "Go on," she said approvingly, since the defense attorney had not yet said a word.
    
  "May I suggest we reach some kind of agreement for my client, as it's clear there are many holes in this case? There is no concrete evidence against my client for concealing stolen relics. Furthermore, there is no one present who can testify that he actually provided them with any intelligence relating to espionage." He paused to share his gaze with each military intelligence representative present. He then looked at Perdue.
    
  "Gentlemen, my lady," he continued, "with my client"s permission, I would like to take a plea bargain."
    
  Purdue kept a straight face, but his heart was pounding. He'd discussed this outcome in detail with Harry that morning, so he knew he could trust his lead attorney to make the right decisions. Still, it was nerve-wracking. Despite this, Purdue agreed they should simply put this whole thing behind them with as little hellfire as possible. He wasn't afraid of getting the lashing for his misdeeds, but he certainly didn't relish the prospect of spending years behind bars without the opportunity to invent, explore, and, most importantly, put Joseph Karsten in his place.
    
  "Okay," the judge said, folding her hands on the table. "What are the defendant"s terms?"
    
    
  9
  Visitor
    
    
  "How did the hearing go?" Nina asked Sam over Skype. Behind her, he could see seemingly endless rows of shelves filled with ancient artifacts and people in white coats cataloging the various items.
    
  "I haven"t heard back from Paddy or Purdue yet, but I"ll be sure to update you as soon as Paddy calls me this afternoon," Sam said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I"m just glad Paddy"s there with him."
    
  "Why?" she frowned. Then she giggled playfully. "Purdue usually has people wrapped around his little finger without even trying. You don't have to worry about him, Sam. I bet he'll walk free without even needing to lube up the local jail cell."
    
  Sam laughed with her, amused by both her faith in Purdue's abilities and her joke about Scottish prisons. He missed her, but he would never admit it out loud, let alone tell her directly. But he wanted to.
    
  "When will you be back so I can buy you a single malt?" he asked.
    
  Nina smiled and leaned forward to kiss the screen. "Oh, do you miss me, Mr. Cleve?"
    
  "Don't flatter yourself," he smiled, looking around sheepishly. But he liked looking into the handsome historian's dark eyes again. He liked even more that she was smiling again. "Where is Joanna?"
    
  Nina glanced back, the movement of her head bringing her long, dark locks of hair to life as they flew upward with her movement. "She was here... wait... Joe!" she called off-screen. "Come say hello to your crush."
    
  Sam chuckled and rested his forehead on his hand, "Is she still after my stunningly beautiful ass?"
    
  "Yeah, she still thinks you're a dog's ass, precious," Nina joked. "But she's more in love with her sea captain. Sorry." Nina winked, watching her friend approach, Joan Earle, the history teacher who helped them find Alexander the Great's treasure.
    
  "Hi, Sam!" The cheerful Canadian waved at him.
    
  "Hi Joe, are you okay?"
    
  "I'm doing great, dear," she beamed. "You know, this is a dream come true for me. I can finally have fun and travel, all while teaching history!"
    
  "Not to mention the fee for finding it, huh?" he winked.
    
  Her smile faded, replaced by a covetous look as she nodded and whispered, "I know, right? I could make a living doing this! And as a bonus, I got a sexy old kayak for my fishing charter business. Sometimes we go out on the water just to watch the sunset, you know, when we're not too shy about showing it off."
    
  "Sounds brilliant," he smiled, silently praying Nina would prevail again. He adored Joan, but she could fool a man. As if reading his mind, she shrugged and smiled. "Okay, Sam, I'm going to return you to Dr. Gould. Now, goodbye!"
    
  "Bye-bye, Joe," he said, raising an eyebrow. Thank goodness.
    
  "Listen, Sam. I'll be back in Edinburgh in two days. I'm bringing with me the loot we stole for donating the Alexandria treasure, so we'll have cause to celebrate. I just hope the Purdue legal team makes every effort to ensure we can celebrate together. Unless you're on some kind of assignment, that is."
    
  Sam couldn't tell her about the unofficial assignment Purdue had given him to learn as much as possible about Karsten's business dealings. For now, it had to remain a secret between the two men. "No, just a few research points here and there," he shrugged. "But nothing important enough to keep me from a pint."
    
  "Lovely," she said.
    
  "So you"re going straight back to Oban?" Sam asked.
    
  She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know. I was thinking about it, since Raichtisusis is unavailable right now."
    
  "You know, your humble servant also has a rather luxurious mansion in Edinburgh," he reminded her. "It's not the historic fortress of myth and legend, but it does have a really cool hot tub and a fridge full of cold drinks."
    
  Nina smirked at his boyish attempt to lure her over. "Okay, okay, you've convinced me. Just pick me up from the airport and make sure the trunk of your car is empty. I have crap luggage this time, even though I'm a light packer."
    
  "Yes, I will, girl. I have to go, but will you text me your arrival time?"
    
  "I will do so," she said. "Be firm!"
    
  Before Sam could offer a thought-provoking retort to counter Nina's private joke between them, she ended the conversation. "Damn!" he groaned. "I have to be faster than this."
    
  He stood up and headed to the kitchen for a beer. It was almost 9 p.m., but he resisted the urge to bother Paddy with an update on the Purdue trial. He was incredibly nervous about it all, which made him a little reluctant to call Paddy. Sam wasn't in any position to receive bad news tonight, but he hated his predisposition to the worst-case scenario.
    
  "It's strange how a man gets so masculine when he's holding a beer, don't you think?" he asked Breichladdich, who was lazily stretching on a chair in the hallway just outside the kitchen door. "I think I'll call Paddy. What do you think?"
    
  The large ginger cat gave him an indifferent glance and jumped onto the protruding wall next to the stairs. He slowly crept to the other end of the robe and lay down again-right in front of the photograph of Nina, Sam, and Purdue after their ordeal after finding the Medusa Stone. Sam pursed his lips and nodded. "I thought you'd say that. You should be a lawyer, Bruich. You're very persuasive."
    
  He picked up the phone just as there was a knock on the door. The sudden knock almost made him drop his beer, and he glanced at Bruich. "Did you know this was going to happen?" he asked quietly, peering through the peephole. He looked at Bruich. "You were wrong. It wasn't Paddy."
    
  "Mr. Crack?" the man outside begged. "Can I please say a few words?"
    
  Sam shook his head. He wasn't in the mood for visitors. Besides, he was actually enjoying the privacy, away from strangers and demands. The man knocked again, but Sam put his finger to his mouth, gesturing for his cat to be quiet. In response, the cat simply turned over and curled up to sleep.
    
  "Mr. Cleve, my name is Liam Johnson. My colleague is related to Mr. Purdue's butler, Charles, and I have some information that might interest you," the man explained. Sam's inner battle was between his comfort and his curiosity. Dressed only in jeans and socks, he wasn't in the mood for decorum, but he had to know what this guy, Liam, was trying to say.
    
  "Hold on," Sam exclaimed involuntarily. Well, I guess my curiosity got the better of me. With an anticipatory sigh, he opened the door. "Hey, Liam."
    
  "Mr. Cleve, nice to meet you," the man smiled nervously. "May I please come in before anyone sees me?"
    
  "Sure, after I see some identification," Sam replied. Two gossipy older ladies passed his front gate, looking puzzled by the appearance of the handsome, stern, shirtless journalist as they nudged each other. He tried not to laugh, winking instead.
    
  "That certainly made them move faster," Liam chuckled, watching their haste, handing Sam his IDs for inspection. Surprised by the speed with which Liam pulled out his wallet, Sam couldn't help but be impressed.
    
  "Inspector/Agent Liam Johnson, Sector 2, British Intelligence, and all that," Sam muttered, reading the fine print, checking for the little authentication words Paddy had taught him to look for. "Okay, mate. Come in."
    
  "Thank you, Mr. Cleve," Liam said, stepping quickly inside, shivering as he shook himself gently to clear away the raindrops that couldn't penetrate his peacoat. "Can I put my brolly on the floor?"
    
  "No, I"ll take this," Sam offered, hanging it upside down on a special clothes hanger so it could drain onto his rubber mat. "Want a beer?"
    
  "Thank you so much," Liam replied happily.
    
  "Really? I didn't expect that," Sam smiled, taking a jar out of the fridge.
    
  "Why? I'm half Irish, you know," Liam joked. "I'd venture to say we could outdrink the Scots any day."
    
  "Challenge accepted, my friend," Sam played along. He invited his guest to sit on the two-seater sofa he kept for visitors. Compared to the three-seater, on which Sam spent more nights than in his own bed, the two-seater was much more sturdy and felt less lived-in than the former.
    
  "So, what are you here to tell me?"
    
  Clearing his throat, Liam suddenly became completely serious. Looking deeply concerned, he answered Sam in a softer tone. "Your research has come to our attention, Mr. Cleve. Luckily, I caught it right away, because I have a strong reaction to movement."
    
  "No fucking way," Sam muttered, taking a few long sips to dull the anxiety he felt at being so easily spotted. "I saw it when you were standing on my doorstep. You're a keen observer and quick to react. Am I right?"
    
  "Yes," Liam replied. "That's why I immediately noticed there was a security breach in the official reports of one of our top officials, Joe Carter, the head of MI6."
    
  "And you're here to deliver an ultimatum for a reward, otherwise you'll give the criminal's identity to the secret service dogs, right?" Sam sighed. "I don't have the means to pay off blackmailers, Mr. Johnson, and I don't like people who don't just come out and say what they want. Then what do you expect from me, to keep this a secret?"
    
  "You misunderstand, Sam," Liam hissed firmly, his demeanor instantly revealing to Sam that he wasn't as gentle as he seemed. His green eyes flashed, blazing with annoyance at being accused of such trivial desires. "And that's the only reason I would overlook this insult. I'm a Catholic, and we can't prosecute those who insult us out of innocence and ignorance. You don't know me, but I'm telling you now that I'm not here to sway you. Jesus Christ, I'm above that!"
    
  Sam didn't mention that Liam's reaction had literally startled him, but a moment later he realized his assumption, however incomprehensible, had been misplaced before he'd allowed the man to properly state his case. "I apologize, Liam," he told his guest. "You're right to be angry with me."
    
  "I"m just so tired of people assuming things about me. I suppose it comes with the lawn. But let"s put that aside, and I"ll tell you what"s going on. After Mr. Perdue was rescued from that woman"s house, the British High Commission for Intelligence issued an order to tighten security. I think it came from Joe Carter," he explained. "At first, I couldn"t understand what could have made Carter react that way to, excuse me, an ordinary citizen who just happened to be rich. Now, I don"t work for the intelligence sector for nothing, Mr. Cleve. I can spot suspicious behavior a mile away, and the way a powerful man like Carter reacted to Mr. Perdue being alive and well got under my skin, you know?"
    
  "I understand what you mean. There are things I unfortunately can't reveal about the research I'm doing here, Liam, but I can assure you that you're absolutely certain of that suspicious feeling you're having."
    
  "Look, Mr. Cleve, I'm not here to squeeze information out of you, but if what you know, what you're not telling me, pertains to the integrity of the agency I work for, I need to know," Liam insisted. "Carter's plans be damned, I'm looking for the truth."
    
    
  10
  Cairo
    
    
  Under the warm skies of Cairo, a commotion of souls took place, not in a poetic sense, but in the sense of a pious feeling that something sinister was moving through the cosmos, preparing to burn the world, like a hand holding a magnifying glass at the right angle and distance to scorch humanity. But these sporadic gatherings of holy men and their faithful followers maintained a strange shift in the axial precession of their stargazers. Ancient lineages, securely protected in secret societies, retained their status among their own, preserving the customs of their ancestors.
    
  Initially, residents of Lebanon suffered from sudden power outages, but while technicians were trying to find the cause, news came from other cities in other countries that their power had also gone out, causing chaos from Beirut to Mecca. Less than a day later, reports came in from Turkey, Iraq, and parts of Iran of unexplained power outages causing chaos. Now, twilight has also descended on Cairo and Alexandria, parts of Egypt, prompting two men from the Stargazer tribes to search for a source other than the power grid.
    
  "Are you sure Number Seven has left orbit?" Penekal asked his colleague, Ofar.
    
  "I'm one hundred percent sure, Penekal," Ofar replied. "See for yourself. It's a colossal shift that will only take a few days!"
    
  "Days? Are you crazy? That's impossible!" Penekal replied, completely dismissing his colleague's theory. Ofar raised a gentle hand and waved it calmly. "Come on, brother. You know that nothing is impossible for science or God. One possesses the other's miracle."
    
  Repenting his outburst, Penecal sighed and gestured for Ofar's forgiveness. "I know. I know. It's just..." he breathed impatiently. "No such phenomenon has ever been reported. Perhaps I fear it's true, because the idea of one celestial body changing its orbit without any interference from its fellows is absolutely terrifying."
    
  "I know, I know," Ophar sighed. Both men were approaching sixty, but their bodies were still remarkably healthy, and their faces showed almost no signs of aging. They were both astronomers, primarily studying the theories of Theon of Alexandria, but they also embraced modern teachings and theories, keeping up with the latest astrotechnologies and news from scientists around the world. But beyond their modern, accumulated knowledge, the two old men adhered to the traditions of ancient tribes, and because they conscientiously studied the heavens, they considered both science and mythology. Usually, this blended consideration of the two subjects provided them with a wonderful middle ground, allowing them to combine wonder with logic, which helped shape their opinions. Until now.
    
  Penekal, his hand trembling on the eyepiece tube, slowly pulled away from the small lens he'd been peering through, his eyes still staring ahead in amazement. Finally, he turned to face Ofar, his mouth dry and his heart sinking. "I swear to the gods. This is happening in our lifetime. I, too, can't find the star, my friend, no matter where I look."
    
  "One star has fallen," Ofar lamented, looking down sadly. "We're in trouble."
    
  "What is this diamond, according to the Code of Solomon?" Penecal asked.
    
  "I've already looked. It's Rabdos," Ofar said with a sense of foreboding, "a lamp lighter."
    
  A distraught Penekal trudged toward the window of their observation room on the 20th floor of the Hathor Building in Giza. From above, they could see the vast metropolis of Cairo, and below them, the Nile, snaking like liquid azure through the city. His old, dark eyes swept over the city below, then found the hazy horizon stretching along the dividing line between the world and the heavens. "Do we know when they fell?"
    
  "Not quite. From the notes I took, it must have happened between Tuesday and today. That means Rhabdos fell within the last thirty-two hours," Ofar noted. "Should we say anything to the city elders?"
    
  "No," came Penekal's quick denial. "Not yet. If we say anything that sheds light on what we're actually using this equipment for, they could easily disband us, taking with them millennia of observations."
    
  "I understand," Ofar said. "I led the Osiris constellation charter program from this observatory and a smaller observatory in Yemen. The one in Yemen will monitor for falling stars when we can't do so here, so we can keep an eye out."
    
  Ofar's phone rang. He excused himself and left the room, and Penecal sat at his desk to watch the image on his screensaver move through space, creating the illusion of flying among the stars he loved so much. This always calmed him, and the hypnotic repetition of the stars' passages gave him a meditative quality. However, the disappearance of the seventh star around the perimeter of the constellation Leo undoubtedly gave him sleepless nights. He heard Ofar's footsteps enter the room faster than they left.
    
  "Penecal!" he croaked, unable to cope with the pressure.
    
  "What is this?"
    
  "I just received a message from our people in Marseille, at the observatory on top of Mont Faron, near Toulon." Ophar was breathing so heavily that for a moment he lost the ability to continue. His friend had to gently pat him to get him to catch his breath. Once the hurried old man had caught his breath, he continued. "They say a woman was found hanged a few hours ago in a French villa in Nice."
    
  "That's terrible, Ofar," Penekal replied. "That's true, but what does it have to do with you that you had to call about it?"
    
  "She was swinging on a rope made of hemp," he lamented. "And here's proof that this is causing us great concern," he said, sighing deeply. "The house belonged to a nobleman, Baron Henri de Martin, who was famous for his diamond collection."
    
  Penécal recognized some familiar features, but he couldn't put two and two together until Ophar finished his story. "Pénécal, Baron Henri de Martin was the owner of the Celeste!"
    
  Quickly giving up the urge to utter a few holy names in shock, the thin old Egyptian covered his mouth with his hand. These seemingly random facts had a devastating impact on what they knew and followed. Frankly, they were alarming signs of an approaching apocalyptic event. This wasn't written down or believed to be a prophecy, but it was part of King Solomon's meetings, recorded by the wise king himself in a hidden codex known only to the followers of the Ophar and Penekal traditions.
    
  This scroll mentioned important harbingers of celestial events that had apocryphal connotations. Nothing in the codex ever claimed that these would occur, but judging by Solomon's writings in this case, the falling star and subsequent catastrophes were more than just a coincidence. Those who followed the tradition and could discern the signs were expected to save humanity if they recognized the omen.
    
  "Remind me, which one was about spinning hemp rope?" he asked faithful old Ofar, who was already leafing through the notes to find the title. Writing the title under the previous fallen star, he looked up and opened it. "Onoskelis."
    
  "I'm completely stunned, my old friend," Penecal said, shaking his head in disbelief. "This means the Masons have found an alchemist, or worst case scenario-we have a Wizard on our hands!"
    
    
  11
  Parchment
    
    
    
  Amiens, France
    
    
  Abdul Rayya slept soundly, but he didn't dream. He'd never realized it before, but he didn't know what it was like to travel to unknown places or see unnatural things intertwined with the threads of dream weavers. Nightmares had never visited him. Never in his life had he been able to believe the terrifying stories of slumber told by others. He had never woken up sweating, shaking with terror, or still reeling from the nauseating panic evoked by the hellish world beyond his eyelids.
    
  Outside his window, the only sound was the muffled conversation of his neighbors below as they sat outside drinking wine in the wee hours of the morning. They had read about the horrific sight a poor French baron had endured when he returned home the previous evening to find his wife's charred body in the fireplace of their mansion in Entrevaux on the Var River. If only they had known that the vile creature responsible for it breathed the same air.
    
  Beneath his window, his polite neighbors spoke quietly, but somehow Raya could hear every word, even in his sleep. Listening and writing down what they said, accompanied by the murmuring cascade of the gently sloping canal adjacent to the courtyard, his mind committed it all to memory. Later, if he needed it, Abdul Raya could recall the information. The reason he didn't wake up after their conversation was that he already knew all the facts, not sharing their bewilderment or the bewilderment of the rest of Europe, who had heard of the theft of diamonds from the baron's safe and the gruesome murder of the housekeeper.
    
  Newscasters on all the major television networks reported on the "vast collection" of jewels stolen from the baron's vaults, and that the safe from which the "Céleste" was stolen was only one of four, all of which had been stripped of the precious stones and diamonds that had filled the aristocrat's home. Naturally, the fact that all of this was untrue was unknown to anyone except Baron Henri de Martin, who took advantage of his wife's death and the still-unsolved robbery to demand a hefty sum from insurance companies and collect on his wife's policy. No charges were brought against the baron, as he had an airtight alibi for Madame Chantal's death, ensuring his inheritance of a fortune. This was a sum that would have gotten him out of debt. So, in essence, Madame Chantal undoubtedly helped her husband avoid bankruptcy.
    
  It was all a sweet irony, one the Baron would never have understood. Still, after the shock and horror of the incident, he wondered about the circumstances surrounding it. He hadn't known that his wife had taken Celeste and two other lesser stones from his safe, and he racked his brains trying to find meaning in her unusual death. She was in no way suicidal, and if she had been even remotely inclined, Chantal would never have set herself on fire, of all people!
    
  Only when he found Louise, Chantal's assistant, with her tongue cut out and blinded, did he realize his wife's death wasn't suicide. The police agreed, but they didn't know where to begin investigating such a heinous murder. Louise was subsequently admitted to the psychiatric ward of the Paris Psychological Institute, where she was supposed to remain for observation, but all the doctors who saw her were convinced she had gone mad, that she might be responsible for the murders and the subsequent mutilation of herself.
    
  It made headlines across Europe, and some smaller television stations in other parts of the world also covered the bizarre incident. Throughout this time, the baron refused any interviews, citing his traumatic experience as the reason he needed to spend time away from the public eye.
    
  The neighbors finally found the chilly night air too much to bear, and they returned to their apartment. All that remained was the sound of the babbling river and the occasional distant bark of a dog. Every now and then, a car would pass on the narrow street on the other side of the complex, whistling past before leaving silence in its wake.
    
  Abdul suddenly awoke with a clear mind. It wasn't the beginning, but a momentary urge to wake up compelled him to open his eyes. He waited and listened, but nothing could rouse him except a kind of sixth sense. Naked and exhausted, the Egyptian con man approached his bedroom window. One glance at the starry sky told him why he had been asked to leave his dream.
    
  "Another one falls," he muttered, his keen eyes following the swift descent of the shooting star, mentally noting the approximate positions of the stars around it. Abdul smiled. "Just a little while longer, and the world will grant you all your wishes. They will scream and beg for death."
    
  He turned away from the window as soon as the white streak faded into the distance. In the dim light of his bedroom, he approached the old wooden chest he took with him everywhere, cinched with two heavy leather straps that connected at the front. Only a small porch light, off-centered in the shutter above his window, provided light. It illuminated his slender figure, the light on his bare skin highlighting his sinewy muscles. Raya resembled some acrobat from a circus act, a dark version of a contortionist who cared little about entertaining anyone but himself, but rather used his talent to make others entertain him.
    
  The room was much like him-simple, sterile, and functional. There was a washbasin and a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk with a chair and lamp. That was all. Everything else was there only temporarily, so he could follow the stars in the Belgian and French skies until he acquired the diamonds he was hunting. Countless constellation maps from all corners of the globe hung along the four walls of his room, all marked with connecting lines intersecting at specific ley lines, while others were marked red due to their unknown behavior due to the lack of maps. Some of the large, pinned maps had blood stains on them, rusty-brown stains, silently indicating how they had been acquired. Others were newer, unsealed only a few years ago, a stark contrast to those discovered centuries earlier.
    
  It was almost time to sow chaos in the Middle East, and he relished the thought of where he would go next: to people far easier to deceive than the dumb, greedy Westerners of Europe. Abdul knew that in the Middle East, people would be more susceptible to his deception because of their remarkable traditions and superstitious beliefs. He could so easily drive them mad or force them to kill each other there, in the desert where King Solomon once walked. He saved Jerusalem for last, only because the Order of the Shooting Stars had chosen to do so.
    
  Rayya opened the chest and rummaged through the cloth and gilded belts, searching for the scrolls he was looking for. A dark-brown, oily-looking piece of parchment right at the edge of the box was what he was looking for. With a look of rapture, he unrolled it and placed it on the table, securing it with two books at each end. Then, from the same chest, he pulled out an athame. The blade, curved with ancient precision, gleamed in the dim light as he pressed its sharp tip against his left palm. The tip of the sword sank effortlessly into his skin, simply by gravity. He didn't even need to insist.
    
  Blood welled up around the small tip of the knife, forming a perfect crimson pearl that slowly grew until he withdrew the knife. With his blood, he marked the position of the star that had just fallen. At the same time, the dark parchment trembled eerily slightly. Abdul was greatly pleased to see the reaction of the enchanted artifact, the Code of Sol Amon, which he had found as a young man while herding goats in the arid shadows of the nameless Egyptian hills.
    
  Once his blood had soaked into the star map on the enchanted scroll, Abdul carefully rolled it up and tied the sinew that held it in place. The star had finally fallen. Now it was time to leave France. With Celeste in his possession, he could move on to more important places, where he could work his magic and watch the world fall, destroyed by the management of King Solomon's diamonds.
    
    
  12
  Enter Dr. Nina Gould.
    
    
  "You're acting strange, Sam. I mean, stranger than your dear, innate strangeness," Nina remarked after pouring them some red wine. Bruich, still remembering the petite lady who had nursed him during Sam's last absence from Edinburgh, felt right at home in her lap. Nina automatically began to stroke him, as if it were a natural progression.
    
  She arrived at Edinburgh Airport an hour ago, where Sam picked her up in the pouring rain and, as agreed, drove her back to his townhouse in Dean Village.
    
  "I'm just tired, Nina." He shrugged, took the glass from her, and raised it in a toast. "May we escape the shackles and may our asses be pointed south for many years to come!"
    
  Nina burst out laughing, though she understood the underlying desire in this comical toast. "Yes!" she exclaimed, clinking her glass with his, shaking her head cheerfully. She looked around Sam's bachelor pad. The walls were bare, save for a few photographs of Sam with formerly prominent politicians and a few high society celebrities, interspersed with a few of him with Nina and Perdue, and, of course, with Bruic. She decided to put an end to the question she'd been keeping to herself for a long time.
    
  "Why don"t you buy a house?" she asked.
    
  "I hate gardening," he replied casually.
    
  "Hire a landscaper or gardening service."
    
  "I hate disorder."
    
  "You understand? I would think that living with people on all sides, there would be a lot of unrest."
    
  "They're pensioners. They're only available between 10 and 11 a.m." Sam leaned forward and cocked his head to the side, looking interested. "Nina, is this your way of asking me to move in with you?"
    
  "Shut up," she frowned. "Don't be silly. I just thought that with all the money you must have earned, like we all have since those expeditions brought you luck, you'd use it to buy yourself some privacy and maybe even a new car?"
    
  "Why? The Datsun works great," he said, defending his penchant for functionality over flash.
    
  Nina hadn't noticed yet, but Sam, citing fatigue, hadn't cut them. He was noticeably distant, as if he were mentally performing a lengthy division while discussing the spoils of Alexander's find with her.
    
  "So they named the exhibit after you and Joe?" He smiled. "That's quite a piquant one, Dr. Gould. You're making your way up in the academic world now. Long gone are the days when Matlock still got on your nerves. You sure showed him!"
    
  "Jerk," she sighed before lighting a cigarette. Her heavily shadowed eyes looked at Sam. "Want a cigarette?"
    
  "Yeah," he groaned, sitting up. "That would be great. Thank you."
    
  She handed him the Marlboro and sucked on the filter. Sam stared at her for a moment before daring to ask. "You think this is a good idea? Not long ago, you almost kicked Death in the balls. I wouldn't spin that worm so quickly, Nina."
    
  "Shut up," she muttered through her cigarette, lowering Bruich onto the Persian rug. As much as Nina appreciated her beloved Sam's concern, she felt that self-destruction was every person's prerogative, and if she thought her body could withstand this hell, she had the right to test the theory. "What's eating you, Sam?" she asked again.
    
  "Don"t change the subject," he replied.
    
  "I'm not changing the subject," she frowned, that fiery temperament flickering in her dark brown eyes. "You because I smoke, and I because you seem different, preoccupied."
    
  It had taken Sam a long time to see her again, and much coaxing to get her to visit him at home, so he wasn't prepared to lose everything by angering Nina. With a heavy sigh, he followed her to the patio door, which she opened to turn on the Jacuzzi. She removed her shirt, revealing her ripped back beneath a tied red bikini. Nina's voluptuous hips swayed as she, too, removed her jeans, causing Sam to freeze in place, taking in the beautiful sight.
    
  The cold in Edinburgh didn't bother them much. Winter had passed, though there was no sign of spring yet, and most people still preferred to stay inside. But Sam's effervescent pool of heaven held warm water, and as the slow release of alcohol during their libations warmed their blood, they were both happy to strip.
    
  Sitting across from Nina in the soothing water, Sam could see she was adamant that he report to her. He finally began to speak. "I haven't heard from Purdue or Paddy yet, but there's something he begged me not to tell, and I'd like to keep it that way. You understand, right?"
    
  "Is this about me?" she asked calmly, still staring at Sam.
    
  "No," he frowned, sounding puzzled by her suggestion.
    
  "Then why can"t I know about it?" she asked instantly, catching him off guard.
    
  "Look," he explained, "if it were up to me, I'd tell you in a second. But Purdue asked me to keep this between us for now. I swear, my love, I wouldn't have kept it from you if he hadn't explicitly asked me to zip it up."
    
  "Then who else knows?" Nina asked, easily noticing his gaze dropping to her chest every few moments.
    
  "Nobody. Only Perdue and I know. Even Paddy has no idea. Perdue asked us to keep him in the dark so that nothing he did would interfere with what Perdue and I are trying to do, you understand?" he clarified as tactfully as he could, still fascinated by the new tattoo on her soft skin, just above her left breast.
    
  "So he thinks I'll be in the way?" She frowned, tapping her slender fingers on the edge of the hot tub as she gathered her thoughts on the matter.
    
  "No! No, Nina, he never said anything about you. It wasn't a question of excluding certain people. It was a question of excluding everyone until I gave him the information he needed. Then he'll reveal what he plans to do. All I can tell you now is that Perdue is the target of someone powerful, someone who's a mystery. This man lives in two worlds, two opposing worlds, and he occupies very high positions in both."
    
  "So we"re talking about corruption," she concluded.
    
  "Yes, but I can't fill you in on the details of Purdue's allegiance yet," Sam pleaded, hoping she would understand. "Better yet, once we hear from Paddy, you can ask Purdue yourself. Then I won't feel like a loser for breaking my oath."
    
  "You know, Sam, even though I know the three of us mostly from the occasional relic hunt or expedition to find some valuable antique trinket," Nina said impatiently, "I thought you, me, and Purdue were a team. I always thought of us as the three essential ingredients, the constants in the historical puddings that have been served to the academic world for the last few years." Nina was hurt by her exclusion, but she tried not to show it.
    
  "Nina," Sam said sharply, but she didn"t give him room.
    
  "Usually, when two of us team up, the third always gets involved along the way, and if one gets into trouble, the other two always end up involved one way or another. I don't know if you've noticed that. Have you even noticed that?" Her voice wavered as she tried to reach Sam, and though she couldn't show it, she was terrified he would respond to her question with indifference or dismiss it. Perhaps she was too accustomed to being the center of attraction between two successful, albeit very different, men. As far as she was concerned, they shared a strong bond of friendship and a deep history, a closeness to death, self-sacrifice, and a loyalty she didn't care to question.
    
  To her relief, Sam smiled. The sight of his eyes truly looking into hers, without the slightest emotional distance-in presence-gave her immense pleasure, no matter how stony her face remained.
    
  "You're taking this way too seriously, my love," he explained. "You know we'll turn you on as soon as we figure out what we're doing, because, my dear Nina, we have no fucking clue what we're doing right now."
    
  "And I can"t help?" she asked.
    
  "I'm afraid not," he said confidently. "But we'll get a grip on ourselves soon enough. You know, I'm sure Purdue won't hesitate to share them with you, as soon as the old dog decides to call us, that is."
    
  "Yeah, that's starting to worry me too. The trial must have ended a few hours ago. Either he's too busy celebrating, or he's got more problems than we thought," she suggested. "Sam!"
    
  Considering the two options, Nina noticed Sam's gaze wandering thoughtfully and accidentally stopping at Nina's cleavage. "Sam! Stop it. You're not going to make me change the subject."
    
  Sam laughed when he realized. He might have even felt himself blush at being discovered, but he thanked his lucky stars she took it lightly. "Anyway, it's not like you haven't seen them before."
    
  "Perhaps this will prompt you to remind me again about...," he tried.
    
  "Sam, shut up and pour me another drink," Nina commanded.
    
  "Yes, ma'am," he said, pulling his soaked, scarred body out of the water. It was her turn to admire his masculine figure as he passed her, and she felt no shame in recalling the few times she'd been fortunate enough to enjoy the benefits of that masculinity. Though those moments weren't particularly fresh, Nina stored them in a special high-definition memory folder in her mind.
    
  Bruich stood straight at the door, refusing to cross the threshold where the clouds of steam threatened him. His gaze was fixed on Nina, both of which were unusual for the big, old, lazy cat. He usually slouched, was late for any activity, and barely focused on anything other than the next warm tummy he could make his home for the night.
    
  "What's the matter, Bruich?" Nina asked in a high-pitched voice, addressing him affectionately, as she always did. "Come here. Come."
    
  He didn't move. "Ugh, of course the damn cat won't come to you, idiot," she scolded herself in the silence of the late hour and the soft gurgle of luxury she was enjoying. Annoyed by her foolish assumption about cats and water and tired of waiting for Sam to return, she plunged her hands into the glistening foam on the surface, startling the ginger cat into a scurry of terror. Watching him scurry inside and disappear under the chaise lounge brought her more pleasure than remorse.
    
  Bitch, her inner voice confirmed on behalf of the poor animal, but Nina still found it amusing. "Sorry, Bruich!" she called after him, still smirking. "I can't help it. Don't worry, buddy. Karma's coming my way for sure... with water, for doing this to you, my dear."
    
  Sam ran out of the living room onto the patio, looking extremely agitated. Still half-drenched, he still hadn't spilled his drinks, though his hands were outstretched as if they held glasses of wine.
    
  "Great news! Paddy called. Purdue was spared on one condition," he shouted, prompting a chorus of angry 'shut the fuck up, Clive' comments from his neighbors.
    
  Nina's face lit up. "In what condition?" she asked, resolutely ignoring the continuing silence from everyone in the complex.
    
  "I don't know, but it seems to be something historical. So you see, Dr. Gould, we're going to need our third," Sam relayed. "Besides, other historians aren't as cheap as you."
    
  Gasping for breath, Nina lunged forward, hissing with mock insult, leaped at Sam, and kissed him like she hadn't kissed him since those bright folders in her memory. She was so happy to be included again that she didn't notice the man standing beyond the dark edge of the compact courtyard, impatiently watching Sam tug at the laces of her bikini.
    
    
  13
  Eclipse
    
    
    
  Salzkammergut Region, Austria
    
    
  Joseph Karsten's mansion stood in silence, looming over the vast, bird-less gardens. Its flowers and clusters populated the garden in solitude and silence, stirring only when the wind blew. Nothing was valued here above mere existence, and such was the nature of Karsten's control over what he owned.
    
  His wife and two daughters chose to remain in London, abandoning the stunning beauty of Karsten's private residence. However, he was perfectly content to remain in seclusion, conniving at his chapter of the Order of the Black Sun and leading it with equanimity. While he acted under orders from the British government and directed military intelligence internationally, he could maintain his position within MI6 and utilize its invaluable resources to vigilantly monitor international relations that could aid or hinder Black Sun's investments and plans.
    
  The organization by no means lost its nefarious power after World War II, when it was forced to retreat into the underworld of myth and legend, becoming little more than a bitter memory for the forgotten and a genuine threat to those who knew otherwise, like David Perdue and his associates.
    
  Having apologized to the Purdue tribunal, fearing he would be pointed out by the one who had escaped, Karsten saved some time to finish what he had begun in the sanctuary of his mountain retreat. Outside, the day was miserable, but not in the usual sense. The dim sun illuminated the usually beautiful wilderness of the Salzkammergut mountains, painting the vast carpet of treetops a pale green, in contrast to the deep emerald of the forests beneath the canopies. The Karsten ladies regretted leaving behind the breathtaking Austrian landscapes, but the natural beauty of this place lost its luster wherever Joseph and his companions visited, forcing them to limit their visits to the charming Salzkammergut.
    
  "I'd do it myself if I weren't in public office," Karsten said from his garden chair, clutching his desk phone. "But I have to return to London in two days to report on the Hebridean launch and its planning, Clive. I won't be back in Austria for quite some time. I need people who can do everything without supervision, you understand?"
    
  He listened to the caller's answer and nodded. "Correct. You can contact us when your men complete the mission. Thank you, Clive."
    
  He looked across the table for a long time, taking in the region in which he had been fortunate enough to live when he had not had to visit dirty London or densely populated Glasgow.
    
  "I will not lose all this because of you, Purdue. Whether you choose to remain silent about my identity or not, it will not spare you. You are a liability, and you must be dealt with. All of you must be dealt with," he muttered as his eyes scanned the majestic, white-peaked mountains that surrounded his home. The rough stone and the endless darkness of the forest soothed his gaze, while his lips trembled with vengeful words. "Every one of you who knows my name, who knows my face, who killed Mom and knows where her secret hideout was... anyone who could accuse me of involvement... all of you must be dealt with!"
    
  Karsten pursed his lips, recalling the night he'd fled his mother's house, like the coward he was, when men from Oban had arrived to rescue David Purdue from their clutches. The thought of his precious prize falling into the hands of ordinary citizens irritated him to no end, bruising his pride and depriving him of any unnecessary influence over his affairs. It should have been over by now. Instead, his problems had been doubled by these events.
    
  "Sir, news on David Perdue," his assistant, Nigel Lime, announced from the threshold of the courtyard. Karsten had to turn to look at the man, confirming that the oddly appropriate topic had actually been presented and not a figment of his imagination.
    
  "That"s odd," he replied. "I was just wondering about that, Nigel."
    
  Impressed, Nigel descended the steps into the courtyard under the mesh awning, where Karsten was drinking tea. "Well, perhaps you are psychic, sir," he smiled, holding the folder under his arm. "The Judicial Committee requests your presence in Glasgow to sign a guilty plea so that the Ethiopian government and the Archaeological Crime Unit can proceed with the mitigation of Mr. Purdue's sentence."
    
  Karsten was fired up by the idea of punishing Perdue, though he would have preferred to carry it out himself. But his expectations were perhaps too harsh in his old-fashioned hopes for revenge, as he was quickly disappointed when he learned of the punishment he so eagerly awaited.
    
  "Then what is his sentence?" he asked Nigel. "What should they contribute?"
    
  "Can I sit down?" Nigel asked, responding to Karsten's approving gesture. He placed the file on the table. "David Perdue took a plea bargain. Basically, in exchange for his freedom..."
    
  "Freedom?" Karsten roared, his heart pounding with newfound rage. "What? He"s not even getting a prison sentence?"
    
  "No, sir, but let me brief you on the details of the findings," Nigel offered calmly.
    
  "Let's hear it. Keep it short and simple. I just want the main points," Karsten growled, his hands shaking as he raised the cup to his mouth.
    
  "Of course, sir," Nigel replied, hiding his irritation with his boss behind his calm demeanor. "In short," he said leisurely, "Mr. Perdue has agreed to pay damages to the Ethiopian people's claim and return their relic to where he took it from, after which, of course, he will be banned from ever entering Ethiopia again."
    
  "Wait, that's it?" Karsten frowned, his face gradually turning a deeper shade of purple. "They're just going to let him walk?"
    
  Karsten was so blinded by disappointment and defeat that he didn't notice the mocking expression on his assistant's face. "If I may say so, sir, you seem to be taking this rather personally."
    
  "You can"t!" Karsten screamed, clearing his throat. "This is a rich con man, buying his way out of everything, charming high society into remaining blind to his criminal activities. Of course, I"m absolutely devastated when people like that get off with a simple warning and a bill. This man is a billionaire, Lime! He needs to be taught that his money can"t always save him. We had a golden opportunity here to teach him-and the world of grave robbers like him-that they will be held accountable, punished! And what do they decide?" He seethed. "Let him pay again for his damn way to get away with it! Jesus Christ! No wonder law and order don"t mean anything anymore!"
    
  Nigel Lime simply waited for the tirade to end. There was no point in interrupting the enraged MI6 leader. When he was sure Karsten, or Mr. Carter as his unwary subordinates called him, had finished his rant, Nigel dared to dump even more unwanted details on his boss. He carefully pushed the dossier across the table. "And I need you to sign this immediately, sir. It still needs to be couriered to the committee today with your signature."
    
  "What is this?" Karsten"s tear-stained face twisted as he received another setback in his efforts regarding David Perdue.
    
  "One of the reasons the court had to give in to Purdue's plea was the unlawful seizure of his property in Edinburgh, sir," Nigel explained, enjoying the emotional numbness he felt as he braced himself for another outburst from Karsten.
    
  "This property wasn't just seized! What in the name of all that's holy is going on with the authorities these days? Illegal? So a person of interest to MI6 in connection with international military affairs is being mentioned while no investigation into the contents of his property has been conducted?" he shouted, shattering his porcelain cup as he slammed it on the wrought iron tabletop.
    
  "Sir, the MI6 field offices combed the estate for anything incriminating, and they found nothing to indicate military espionage or the illegal acquisition of any historical objects, religious or otherwise. Therefore, the withholding of Wrichtishousis ransom was unfounded and deemed unlawful, as there was no evidence to support our claim," Nigel explained bluntly, not letting Karsten's thick, domineering countenance faze him as he explained the situation. "This is a release order you must sign to return Wrichtishousis to its owner and to cancel all orders to the contrary, as per Lord Harrington and his representatives in Parliament."
    
  Karsten was so furious that his responses were soft, deceptively calm. "Am I being disregarded in my authority?"
    
  "Yes, sir," Nigel confirmed. "I"m afraid so."
    
  Karsten was furious at the disruption to his plans, but he preferred to pretend to treat the whole thing professionally. Nigel was a shrewd fellow, and if he learned of Karsten's personal reaction to the matter, it might shed too much light on his connection to David Purdue.
    
  "Then give me a pen," he said, refusing to show any trace of the storm raging within him. As he signed the order to return Reichtischusis to his sworn enemy, Karsten felt the crushing blow to his carefully crafted plans, costing thousands of euros, shatter his ego, leaving him a powerless head of an organization with no real authority.
    
  "Thank you, sir," said Nigel, taking the pen from Karsten's trembling hand. "I'll send this out today so that the file can be closed on our end. Our lawyers will keep us updated on developments in Ethiopia until their relic is returned to its rightful place."
    
  Karsten nodded, but he barely heard Nigel's words. All he could think about was the prospect of starting over. Trying to rack his brain, he tried to figure out where Purdue had kept all the relics he, Karsten, hoped to find on Edinburgh's property. Unfortunately, he couldn't carry out the order to search all of Purdue's properties, as that would have been based on intelligence gathered by the Order of the Black Sun, an organization that shouldn't exist, much less be led by a senior officer of the UK's Directorate of Military Intelligence.
    
  He had to maintain what he knew to be true to himself. Perdue couldn't be arrested for stealing valuable Nazi treasures and artifacts, because revealing it would compromise Black Sun. Karsten's mind raced, trying to figure it all out, but the answer kept coming back to him-Perdue had to die.
    
    
  14
  A82
    
    
  In the coastal town of Oban, Scotland, Nina's house remained empty while she was away attending a new tour planned by Purdue following his recent legal troubles. Life in Oban went on without her, but several residents sorely missed her. After the sordid kidnapping story that made local headlines a few months ago, the establishment had returned to its blissfully tranquil existence.
    
  Dr. Lance Beach and his wife were preparing for a medical conference in Glasgow, one of those gatherings where who knows whom and who is wearing what is more important than the actual medical research or grants for experimental drugs that are crucial to progress in the field.
    
  "You know how I despise these things," Sylvia Beach reminded her husband.
    
  "I know, dear," he replied, wincing with the effort of slipping his new shoes on over his thick wool socks. "But I'm only considered for special treatment and inclusion if they know I exist, and for them to know I exist, I need to show my face in these loopy affairs."
    
  "Yeah, I know," she moaned through parted lips, talking with her mouth open and applying rose dew lipstick. "Just don"t do what you did last time and leave me with this chicken coop while you go. And I don"t want to hang around."
    
  "Noted." Dr. Lance Beach forced a smile, his feet creaking in his tight new leather boots. In the past, he wouldn't have had the patience to listen to his wife's whining, but after terrifyingly losing her during the kidnapping, he'd learned to value her presence more than anything. Lance never wanted to feel that way again, afraid he'd never see his wife again, so he whined a little with glee. "We won't be long. I promise."
    
  "The girls are coming back on Sunday, so if we get back a little early, we'll have a whole night and half a day alone," she mentioned, quickly checking his reaction in the mirror. Behind her, on the bed, she could see him smile at her words, suggestively: "Hmm, that's true, Mrs. Beach."
    
  Sylvia grinned, threading an earring pin into her right earlobe and quickly glanced at herself to see how it looked with her evening gown. She nodded approvingly at her own beauty, but didn't stare at her reflection for too long. It reminded her of why she'd been abducted by this monster in the first place-her resemblance to Dr. Nina Gould. Her similarly petite frame and dark locks would have misled anyone who didn't know the two women, and Sylvia's eyes were almost identical to Nina's, except they were narrower and more amber-colored than Nina's chocolate.
    
  "Ready, my love?" Lance asked, hoping to dispel the negative thoughts that no doubt plagued his wife as she stared at her own reflection for too long. He succeeded. With a soft sigh, she stopped the staring contest and quickly gathered her purse and coat.
    
  "Ready to go," she confirmed sharply, hoping to dispel any suspicions he might have had about her emotional well-being. And before he could say another word, she gracefully swept out of the room and down the hallway toward the foyer by the front door.
    
  The night was miserable. The clouds above them muffled the cries of the weather titans and shrouded the electrical stripes in a blue static charge. Rain poured down, turning their path into a stream. Sylvia skipped through the water as if it would keep her shoes dry, and Lance simply walked behind her to hold the large umbrella over her head. "Wait, Silla, wait!" he shouted as she quickly stepped out from under the cover of the brollies.
    
  "Hurry up, slowpoke!" she teased, reaching for the car door, but her husband wouldn't let her mock his slow gait. He pressed their car's immobilizer, locking all the doors before she could open them.
    
  "No one who owns a remote control needs to rush," he boasted with a laugh.
    
  "Open the door!" she insisted, trying not to laugh along with him. "My hair will be a mess," she warned. "And they'll think you're a negligent husband and therefore a bad doctor, you understand?"
    
  The doors clicked open just as she was starting to really worry about ruining her hair and makeup, and Sylvia jumped in with a cry of relief. Shortly after, Lance got behind the wheel and started the car.
    
  "If we don"t leave now, we"ll really be late," he remarked, looking out the windows at the dark and relentless clouds.
    
  "We'll do it much earlier, dear. It's only 8 o'clock in the evening," Sylvia said.
    
  "Yeah, but with this weather, it's going to be a hell of a slow ride. I'm telling you, things are going badly. Not to mention the traffic jams in Glasgow when we get to civilization."
    
  "Right," she sighed, lowering the passenger-seat mirror to fix her smudged mascara. "Just don't go too fast. They're not so important that we'll die in a car accident or anything."
    
  The reversing lights looked like shining stars through the downpour as Lance maneuvered their BMW out of the small street and onto the main road to begin the two-hour journey to an elite cocktail party in Glasgow, hosted by the Leading Medical Society of Scotland. Finally, after a painstaking effort of constant turning and braking, Sylvia managed to fix her dirty face and look pretty again.
    
  As much as Lance hated to take the A82, which separated the two available routes, he simply couldn't afford the longer route, as it would make him late. He was forced to turn onto the dreaded main road that led past Paisley, where the kidnappers had held his wife before transporting her to, of all places, Glasgow. It pained him, but he didn't want to bring it up. Sylvia hadn't been on this road since she'd found herself in the company of evil men who had led her to believe she'd never see her family again.
    
  Maybe she won't think anything unless I explain why I chose this route. Maybe she'll understand, Lance thought to himself as they drove toward the Trossachs National Park. But his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers were numb.
    
  "What"s wrong, darling?" she asked suddenly.
    
  "Nothing," he said casually. "Why?"
    
  "You look tense. Are you worried I'll relive my journey with that bitch? It's the same road, after all," Sylvia asked. She spoke so casually that Lance felt almost relieved, but he knew she wouldn't be easy, and that worried him.
    
  "To be honest, I was really worried about it," he admitted, flexing his fingers slightly.
    
  "Well, don"t, okay?" she said, stroking his thigh to reassure him. "I"m okay. This road will always be here. I can"t avoid it for the rest of my life, you know? All I can do is tell myself that I"m managing this with you, not with her."
    
  "So this road is no longer scary?" he asked.
    
  "No. It's just the road now, and I'm with my husband, not some crazy bitch. It's a matter of channeling my fear into something I have reason to fear," she mused. "I can't be afraid of the road. The road hasn't hurt me, starved me, or scolded me, has it?"
    
  Stunned, Lance stared at his wife in admiration. "You know, Cilla, that's a really cool way of looking at it. And it makes perfect sense."
    
  "Well, thank you, Doctor," she smiled. "My God, my hair has a mind of its own. You left the doors locked too long. I think the water has ruined my style."
    
  "Yeah," he agreed nonchalantly. "It was water. Of course."
    
  She ignored his hint and pulled out the small mirror again, desperately trying to braid back the two strands of hair she'd left loose to frame her face. "Good heavens...!" she exclaimed angrily, turning in her seat to look behind her. "Can you believe that idiot with his flashlights? I can't see a damn thing in the mirror."
    
  Lance glanced in the rearview mirror. The piercing headlights of the car behind them illuminated his eyes, momentarily blinding him. "Good God! What's he driving? A lighthouse on wheels?"
    
  "Slow down, darling, let him pass," she suggested.
    
  "I'm already driving too slow to make it to the party on time, darling," he countered. "I won't let this asshole make us late. I'll just give him some of his own medicine."
    
  Lance adjusted his mirror so the headlights of the car behind him were reflected directly back at him. "Just what the doctor ordered, idiot!" Lance chuckled. The car slowed after the driver clearly got a bright light in his eyes, then stayed a safe distance behind.
    
  "Probably the Welsh," Sylvia joked. "He probably didn't realize he had his high beams on."
    
  "God, how could he not notice that those damn headlights are burning the paint off my car?" Lance gasped, causing his wife to burst into laughter.
    
  Oldlochley had just released them as they rode south in silence.
    
  "I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised by how light the traffic is this evening, even for a Thursday," Lance remarked as they sped along the A82.
    
  "Listen, darling, could you slow down a little?" Sylvia begged, turning her victim face toward him. "I'm getting scared."
    
  "It"s okay, love," Lance smiled.
    
  "No, really. It's raining a lot harder here, and I think the lack of traffic at least gives us time to slow down, don't you think?"
    
  Lance couldn't argue. She was right. Being blinded by the car behind them would only make matters worse on the wet road if Lance maintained his manic speed. He had to admit Sylvia's request wasn't unreasonable. He slowed significantly.
    
  "Are you happy?" he asked her.
    
  "Yes, thank you," she smiled. "It"s much easier on my nerves."
    
  "And your hair seems to have recovered too," he laughed.
    
  "Lance!" she suddenly screamed, as the car, racing madly ahead, reflected in her vanity mirror, caught the horror of it. In a moment of clarity, she guessed the car hadn't seen Lance slam on the brakes and hadn't slowed down in time on the slushy road.
    
  "Jesus!" Lance chuckled, watching the lights grow larger, approaching them too fast to avoid. All they could do was brace themselves. Instinctively, Lance put his hand out in front of his wife to shield her from the impact. Like a flash of lingering lightning, the piercing headlights behind them darted to the side. The car behind them swerved slightly, but clipped them with its right headlight, sending the BMW into an unsteady spin on the slick asphalt.
    
  Sylvia's sudden scream was drowned out by a cacophony of crumpling metal and shattering glass. Both Lance and Sylvia felt the sickening spin of their out-of-control car, knowing there was nothing they could do to prevent tragedy. But they were wrong. They stopped somewhere off the road, among a strip of wild trees and bushes between the A82 and the black, cold water of Loch Lomond.
    
  "Are you okay, honey?" Lance asked desperately.
    
  "I"m alive, but my neck is killing me," she replied through a gurgle from her broken nose.
    
  For a moment, they sat motionless in the twisted wreckage, listening to the heavy rain pounding on metal. They were both safely protected by their airbags, trying to determine which parts of their bodies were still functioning. Dr. Lance Beach and his wife, Sylvia, never expected the car behind them to tear through the darkness, heading straight for them.
    
  Lance tried to take Sylvia's hand when the devilish headlights blinded them one last time and slammed into them at full speed. The speed tore off Lance's arm and severed both their spines, sending their car plummeting into the depths of the lake, where it would become their coffin.
    
    
  15
  Player selection
    
    
  In Raichtisusis, the mood was high for the first time in over a year. Purdue returned home, having gracefully bid farewell to the men and women who occupied his home while he was at the mercy of MI6 and its heartless director, the duplicitous Joe Carter. Just as Purdue loved throwing lavish parties for academic professors, businessmen, curators, and international benefactors of his grants, this time something more subdued was called for.
    
  From the days of grand banquets held under the roof of the historic mansion, Perdue learned the importance of discretion. At the time, he hadn't yet encountered the likes of the Order of the Black Sun or its affiliates, though in retrospect, he was closely acquainted with many of its members without realizing it. However, one misstep cost him the complete obscurity he dwelt in for all those years when he was simply a playboy with a penchant for valuable historical artifacts.
    
  His attempt to appease a dangerous Nazi organization, primarily to boost his own ego, came to a tragic end on Deep Sea One, his offshore oil rig in the North Sea. It was there, after he stole the Spear of Destiny and helped develop a superhuman race, that he first stepped on their heels. From there, things only worsened, until Purdue went from ally to thorn in the side, finally becoming the Black Sun's greatest thorn in its side.
    
  Now there was no turning back. Not restored. No turning back. Now all Perdue could do was systematically eliminate every member of the sinister organization until he could once again appear safely in public without fear of assassination attempts on his friends and associates. And this gradual eradication had to be careful, subtle, and methodical. He had no intention of exterminating them or anything of the sort, but Perdue was rich and clever enough to eliminate them one by one, using the deadly weapons of the time-technology, media, legislation, and, of course, the mighty Mammon.
    
  "Welcome back, Doctor," Purdue joked as Sam and Nina exited the car. The traces of the recent siege were still visible, as some of Purdue's agents and staff stood around, waiting for MI6 to vacate their posts and remove temporary intelligence devices and vehicles. Purdue's address to Sam slightly confused Nina, but from their shared laughter, she realized this was probably another matter best left between the two men.
    
  "Come on, guys," she said, "I"m starving."
    
  "Oh, of course, my dear Nina," Perdue said tenderly, extending his arm to embrace her. Nina said nothing, but his emaciated appearance bothered her. Though he had gained a lot of weight since the incident in Fallin, she couldn't believe the tall, gray-haired genius could still look so thin and tired. That crisp morning, Perdue and Nina remained in each other's arms for a while, simply savoring each other's existence for a moment.
    
  "I'm so glad you're okay, Dave," she whispered. Perdue's heart skipped a beat. Nina rarely, if ever, called him by his first name. It meant she wanted to address him on a very personal level, which struck him as a godsend.
    
  "Thank you, my love," he replied softly into her hair, kissing the top of her head before releasing her. "Now," he exclaimed joyfully, clapping his hands and wringing them, "shall we have a little celebration before I tell you what happens next?"
    
  "Yes," Nina smiled, "but I'm not sure I can wait to hear what happens next. After so many years in your company, I've completely lost my taste for surprises."
    
  "I understand," he admitted, waiting for her to walk through the estate's front doors first. "But I assure you it's safe, under the watchful eye of the Ethiopian government and the ACU, and completely legal."
    
  "This time," Sam teased.
    
  "How dare you, sir?" Perdue joked with Sam, dragging the journalist into the lobby by the collar.
    
  "Hello, Charles." Nina smiled at the ever-faithful butler, who was already setting the table in the living room for their private gathering.
    
  "Madam," Charles nodded politely. "Mr. Cracks."
    
  "Greetings, my good man," Sam greeted cordially. "Has Special Agent Smith left yet?"
    
  "No, sir. In fact, he just went to the toilet and will join you shortly," Charles said before hastily leaving the room.
    
  "He's a little tired, poor fellow," Perdue explained, "having had to serve that crowd of uninvited guests for so long. I've given him tomorrow and Tuesday off. After all, there'd be very little work for him to do in my absence, other than the daily papers, you see?"
    
  "Yes," Sam agreed. "But I hope Lillian will be on duty until we get back. I've already talked her into making me some apricot pudding strudel when we get back."
    
  "From where?" I asked. Nina asked, feeling terribly left out again.
    
  "Well, that's another reason I asked you two to come, Nina. Please sit down, and I'll pour you a bourbon," Purdue said. Sam was pleased to see him so cheerful again, almost as gracious and confident as he had been before. Then again, Sam supposed, a reprieve from the prospect of prison would make a man rejoice in the smallest of events. Nina sat, placing her hand beneath the brandy glass into which Purdue poured her a Southern Comfort.
    
  The fact that it was morning did nothing to alter the atmosphere of the dark room. Luxurious green curtains hung on the tall windows, offsetting the thick brown carpet, and these tones gave the luxurious room an earthy feel. Through the narrow lace gaps between the drawn curtains, the morning light tried to illuminate the furniture, but failed to illuminate anything other than the nearby carpet. Outside, the clouds were typically heavy and dark, stealing the energy of any sun that might have provided a proper semblance of daylight.
    
  "What's that playing?" Sam wasn't addressing anyone in particular as a familiar melody floated through the house, coming from somewhere in the kitchen.
    
  "Lillian, on duty, whatever you prefer," Perdue chuckled. "I let her play music while she cooks, but I have no idea what it is, really. As long as it's not too intrusive for the rest of the staff, I don't mind a little ambiance in the front of the house."
    
  "Beautiful. I like it," Nina remarked, carefully bringing the edge of the crystal to her bottom lip, careful not to smear it with lipstick. "So, when will I hear about our new mission?"
    
  Perdue smiled, yielding to Nina's curiosity and to something Sam also didn't yet know. He set down his glass and rubbed his palms together. "It's quite simple, and it will absolve me of all my sins in the eyes of the governments involved, while also ridding me of the relic that caused me all this trouble."
    
  "A fake ark?" Nina asked.
    
  "Correct," Perdue confirmed. "It's part of my deal with the Archaeological Crime Unit and the Ethiopian High Commissioner, a history buff named Colonel Basil Yemen, to return their religious relic..."
    
  Nina opened her mouth to justify her frown, but Perdue knew what she was about to say and soon mentioned what had puzzled her. "...No matter how false they were, they were returned to their rightful place in the mountain outside the village, to the place where I removed them."
    
  "They're protecting an artifact they know isn't the true Ark of the Covenant like this?" Sam asked, voicing Nina's exact question.
    
  "Yes, Sam. To them, it"s still an ancient relic of immense value, whether it contains the power of God or not. I understand that, so I take it back." He shrugged. "We don"t need it. We got what we wanted from it when we searched the Vault of Hercules, didn"t we? I mean, that ark doesn"t contain much of use to us anymore. It told us about the cruel experiments on children conducted by the SS during World War II, but I don"t think that"s worth keeping any longer."
    
  "What do they think it is? Are they still convinced it's a sacred box?" Nina asked.
    
  "Special Agent!" Sam announced Patrick's entry into the room.
    
  Patrick smiled sheepishly. "Shut up, Sam." He took his seat next to Purdue and accepted the drink from his newly freed master. "Thank you, David."
    
  Oddly enough, neither Purdue nor Sam exchanged glances regarding the fact that the other two knew nothing of MI6's Joe Carter's true identity. That's how careful they were to keep their secret dealings to themselves. Only Nina's feminine intuition occasionally challenged this secret business, but she couldn't figure out what was going on.
    
  "Okay," Perdue began again, "Patrick, along with my legal team, prepared legal documents to facilitate travel to Ethiopia to return their sacred box, while under MI6 surveillance. You know, just to make sure I wasn"t gathering intelligence for another country or anything like that."
    
  Sam and Nina had to chuckle at Perdue's teasing, but Patrick was tired and just wanted to get it over with so he could return to Scotland. "I was assured it wouldn't take more than a week," he reminded Perdue.
    
  "Are you coming with us?" Sam gasped genuinely.
    
  Patrick looked both surprised and a little confused. "Yes, Sam. Why? Are you planning on behaving so badly that a babysitter is out of the question? Or do you just not trust your best friend to shoot you in the ass?"
    
  Nina giggled to lighten the mood, but it was obvious the tension in the room was too high. She glanced at Purdue, who, in turn, was displaying the most angelic innocence a scoundrel could muster. His eyes didn't meet hers, but he was perfectly aware she was looking at him.
    
  What is Purdue hiding from me? What is he hiding from me, and again, what is he letting Sam in on? She thought.
    
  "No, no. Nothing like that," Sam denied. "I just don"t want you to be in danger, Paddy. The very reason all this shit happened between us in the first place was because what Purdue, Nina, and I were doing put you and your family in danger."
    
  Wow, I almost believe him. Deep down, Nina criticized Sam's explanation, convinced Sam had other intentions in keeping Paddy away. However, he seemed deeply serious, and yet Perdue maintained a calm, expressionless expression as he sat sipping his glass.
    
  "I appreciate it, Sam, but you see, I'm not going because I don't really trust you," Patrick admitted with a heavy sigh. "I'm not even planning on ruining your party or spying on you. The truth is... I have to go. My orders are clear, and I have to follow them if I don't want to lose my job."
    
  "Wait, so you"re ordered to come no matter what?" Nina asked.
    
  Patrick nodded.
    
  "Jesus," Sam said, shaking his head. "Who the fuck is making you go, Paddy?"
    
  "What do you think, old man?" Patrick asked indifferently, resigned to his fate.
    
  "Joe Carter," Perdue said firmly, his eyes staring into space, his lips barely moving to pronounce Carsten"s dreadful English name.
    
  Sam felt his legs go numb in his jeans. He couldn't decide whether he was worried or furious about the decision to send Patrick on the expedition. His dark eyes flashed as he asked, "An expedition into the desert to put an object back in the sandbox from which it was taken is hardly a task for a high-ranking military intelligence officer, is it?"
    
  Patrick looked at him the same way he'd looked at Sam when they stood side by side in the principal's office, awaiting some kind of punishment. "That's exactly what I was thinking, Sam. I dare say my inclusion in this mission was almost... deliberate."
    
    
  16
  Demons don't die
    
    
  Charles was absent while the group ate breakfast, discussing what a quick trip it was going to be to finally help Perdue complete his legal repentance and finally rid Ethiopia of Perdue.
    
  "Oh, you have to try it to appreciate this particular variety," Perdue said to Patrick, but included Sam and Nina in the conversation. They exchanged information on fine wines and brandies to while away the time while enjoying the delicious light dinner Lillian had prepared for them. She was delighted to see her boss laughing and teasing her again, one of his most trusted allies and still his usual vibrant self.
    
  "Charles!" he called. A short time later, he called again and rang the bell, but Charles didn't answer. "Wait, I'll go get a bottle," he offered, and stood up to go to the wine cellar. Nina couldn't get over how thin and gaunt he looked now. He used to be a tall, slender man, but his recent weight loss during the Fallin trial made him look even taller and much more frail.
    
  "I'll go with you, David," Patrick offered. "I don't like that Charles isn't answering, if you know what I mean."
    
  "Don't be stupid, Patrick," Perdue smiled. "Reichtisusis is reliable enough to keep out unwanted guests. Besides, instead of using a security company, I decided to hire private security at my gate. They don't honor any checks except those signed by yours truly."
    
  "Good idea," Sam approved.
    
  "And I'll be back soon to show off this obscenely expensive bottle of liquid majesty," Perdue boasted with some caveat.
    
  "And we'll be allowed to open it?" Nina teased him. "Because there's no point in bragging about things that can't be verified, you know."
    
  Purdue smiled proudly. "Oh, Dr. Gould, I look forward to bantering with you over historical relics while watching your drunken mind spin." And with that, he hurried out of the room and down into the basement past his laboratories. He didn't want to admit it so soon after reclaiming his possessions, but Purdue was also troubled by his butler's absence. He mostly used brandy as an excuse to part ways with the others, searching for the reason Charles had abandoned them.
    
  "Lily, have you seen Charles?" he asked his housekeeper and cook.
    
  She turned away from the refrigerator to look at his haggard expression. Wringing her hands under the tea towel she was using, she smiled reluctantly. "Yes, sir. Special Agent Smith has requested that Charles pick up another guest of yours from the airport."
    
  "My other guest?" Perdue called after her. He hoped he hadn't forgotten about the important meeting.
    
  "Yes, Mr. Perdue," she confirmed. "Did Charles and Mr. Smith arrange for him to join you?" Lily sounded a little worried, mostly because she wasn't sure Perdue knew about the guest. It sounded to Perdue like she doubted his sanity for forgetting something he wasn't privy to in the first place.
    
  Perdue thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the doorframe to straighten them. He thought it would be better to play it straight with the charming, plump Lily, who thought so highly of him. "Um, Lily, did I summon this guest? Am I losing my mind?"
    
  Suddenly it all became clear to Lily, and she laughed sweetly. "No! Oh, no, Mr. Purdue, you didn"t know about this at all. Don"t worry, you"re not crazy yet."
    
  Relieved, Perdue sighed, "Thank goodness!" and laughed with her. "Who is that?"
    
  "I don"t know his name, sir, but apparently he offered to help with your next expedition," she said timidly.
    
  "Free?" he joked.
    
  Lily chuckled, "I certainly hope so, sir."
    
  "Thank you, Lily," he said, and disappeared before she could respond. Lily smiled at the afternoon breeze that blew through the open window next to the refrigerators and freezers where she packed rations. She quietly said, "How wonderful to have you back, my dear."
    
  Walking past his labs, Purdue felt both nostalgia and hope. Descending below the first floor of his main corridor, he skipped down the concrete stairs. They led to the basement, where the labs were located, dark and quiet. Purdue felt a surge of misplaced rage at Joseph Karsten's audacity in coming to his home to invade his privacy, exploit his patented technology, and exploit his forensic research, as if it were all there, waiting for his scrutiny.
    
  He didn't bother with the large, powerful overhead lights, turning on only the main light at the entrance to the small corridor. Walking past the dark squares of the lab's glass door, he reminisced about the golden days before everything had become sordid, political, and dangerous. Inside, he could still imagine hearing his freelance anthropologists, scientists, and interns chattering, arguing over compounds and theories over the sound of servers and intercoolers. It made him smile, even though his heart ached with the desire for those days to return. Now that most considered him a criminal and his reputation no longer fit on his resume, he felt that recruiting elite scientists was a futile endeavor.
    
  "It'll take time, old man," he told himself. "Just be patient, for God's sake."
    
  His tall figure walked leisurely toward the left corridor, the plunging concrete ramp feeling solid beneath his feet. This was concrete, poured centuries ago by long-gone masons. This was home, and it gave him a tremendous sense of belonging, more than ever before.
    
  As he passed the inconspicuous warehouse door, his heart quickened, and a tingling sensation ran down his spine and into his legs. Perdue smiled as he passed the old iron door, its color and texture blending with the wall, knocking on it twice along the way. Finally, the musty smell of the sunken basement assaulted his nostrils. He was overjoyed to be alone again, but he hurried to retrieve a bottle of 1930s Crimean wine to share with his group.
    
  Charles kept the cellar relatively clean, dusting and turning the bottles, but otherwise, Purdue instructed his diligent butler to leave the rest of the room as is. After all, it wouldn't be a proper wine cellar if it didn't look a little neglected and dilapidated. Purdue's brief recollection of pleasant things came at a price, according to the rules of the cruel universe, and soon his thoughts wandered in other directions.
    
  The basement walls resembled the dungeon walls where the tyrannical bitch from "Black Sun" had held him before she herself met her fitting end. No matter how much he reminded himself that this terrible chapter in his life was closed, he couldn't help but feel the walls closing in around him.
    
  "No, no, it's not real," he whispered. "It's just your mind recognizing your traumatic experiences as a phobia."
    
  Yet, Perdue felt unable to move, his eyes lying to him. With the bottle in his hand and the open door directly in front of him, he felt hopelessness take hold of his soul. Rooted in place, Perdue couldn't move a single step, his heart racing in a battle with his mind. "Oh my God, what is this?" he yelped, clutching his forehead with his free hand.
    
  Everything surrounded him, no matter how hard he fought the images with his clear sense of reality and psychology. Groaning, he closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to convince his psyche that he hadn't returned to the dungeon. Suddenly, someone's hand grabbed him tightly and yanked him by the arm, startling Purdue into a state of sober terror. His eyes instantly opened, and his mind cleared.
    
  "Jesus, Perdue, we thought you got swallowed up by a portal or something," Nina said, still holding his wrist.
    
  "Oh my God, Nina!" he cried, his light blue eyes widening to make sure he was still in reality. "I don"t know what just happened to me. I... I-I saw a dungeon... Oh my God! I"m going crazy!"
    
  He fell against Nina, and she wrapped her arms around him as he gasped for breath. She took the bottle from him and set it on the table behind her, not moving an inch from where she cradled Purdue's thin, battered body. "It's okay, Purdue," she whispered. "I know this feeling all too well. Phobias are usually born from one traumatic experience. That's all it takes to drive us crazy, trust me. Just know that this is the trauma of your ordeal, not the collapse of your sanity. As long as you remember that, you'll be fine."
    
  "Is this what you feel every time we force you into a confined space for our own gain?" he asked quietly, gasping for air next to Nina's ear.
    
  "Yes," she admitted. "But don"t make it sound so cruel. Before Deep Sea One and the submarine, I completely lost it every time I was forced into a tight space. Since working with you and Sam," she smiled and pushed him away slightly to look him in the eye, "I"ve been forced to confront my claustrophobia so many times, forced to face it head-on or get everyone killed, that you two maniacs have essentially helped me cope better."
    
  Purdue looked around and felt the panic subside. He took a deep breath and gently ran his hand over Nina's head, twirling her curls around his fingers. "What would I do without you, Dr. Gould?"
    
  "Well, first of all, you'd have to leave your expedition group to wait solemnly for an eternity," she coaxed. "So let's not keep everyone waiting."
    
  "Everything?" he asked curiously.
    
  "Yes, your guest arrived a few minutes ago with Charles," she smiled.
    
  "Does he have a gun?" he teased.
    
  "I'm not sure," Nina played along. "He could just... At least then our preparations won't be boring."
    
  Sam called out to them from the labs. "Come on," Nina winked, "let's get back there before they think we're up to something nasty."
    
  "Are you sure that would be bad?" Perdue flirted.
    
  "Hey!" Sam called from the first corridor. "Should I expect grapes to be trampled down there?"
    
  "Trust Sam, ordinary references sound lewd coming from him." Perdue sighed cheerfully, and Nina chuckled. "You'll change your tune, old man," Perdue shouted. "Once you try my Cahors Ayu-Dag, you'll want more."
    
  Nina raised an eyebrow and gave Perdue a suspicious look. "Okay, you messed it up that time."
    
  Perdue looked ahead proudly as he headed toward the first hallway. "I know."
    
  Joining Sam, the three of them returned to the hallway stairs to descend to the first floor. Perdue hated how secretive they both were about his guest. Even his own butler had kept it from him, making him feel like a fragile child. He couldn't help but feel a little protective, but knowing Sam and Nina, he figured they were just trying to surprise him. And Perdue, as always, was at his best.
    
  They saw Charles and Patrick exchanging a few words just outside the living room door. Behind them, Perdue noticed a stack of leather bags and a battered old chest. When Patrick saw Perdue, Sam, and Nina ascending the stairs to the first floor, he smiled and gestured for Perdue to return to the meeting. "Did you bring the wine you were bragging about?" Patrick asked mockingly. "Or did my agents steal it?"
    
  "God, I wouldn"t be surprised," Perdue muttered jokingly as he passed Patrick.
    
  When he entered the room, Perdue gasped. He didn't know whether to be enchanted or alarmed by the vision before him. The man standing by the hearth smiled warmly, his hands obediently folded in front of him. "How are you, Perdue Effendi?"
    
    
  17
  Prelude
    
    
  "I can"t believe my eyes!" Perdue exclaimed, and he wasn"t kidding. "I just can"t! Hello! Are you really here, my friend?"
    
  "I, Effendi," replied Adjo Kira, feeling rather flattered by the billionaire's joy at seeing him. "You seem very surprised."
    
  "I thought you were dead," Perdue said sincerely. "After that ledge where they opened fire on us... I was convinced they had killed you."
    
  "Unfortunately, they killed my brother Effendi," the Egyptian lamented. "But it wasn't your doing. He was shot while driving a jeep to rescue us."
    
  "I hope this man received a proper burial. Believe me, Ajo, I will make it up to your family for everything you did to help me escape the clutches of both the Ethiopians and those damned Cosa Nostra monsters."
    
  "Excuse me," Nina interrupted respectfully. "May I ask who exactly you are, sir? I must admit, I'm a little lost here."
    
  The men smiled. "Of course, of course," Purdue chuckled. "I forgot you weren't with me when I... acquired," he looked at Ajo with a mischievous wink, "a fake Ark of the Covenant from Axum in Ethiopia."
    
  "Are they still with you, Mr. Perdue?" Adjo asked. "Or are they still in that godless house in Djibouti where they tortured me?"
    
  "Oh my God, did they torture you too?" Nina asked.
    
  "Yes, Dr. Gould. Professor. Medley's husband and his trolls are to blame. I must admit, even though she was present, I could see she didn't approve. Is she dead now?" Ajo asked eloquently.
    
  "Yes, she unfortunately died during the Hercules expedition," Nina confirmed. "But how did you become involved in this excursion? Purdue, why didn't we know about Mr. Kira?"
    
  "Medli's men detained him to find out where I was with the relic they so coveted, Nina," Perdue explained. "This gentleman is the Egyptian engineer who helped me escape with the Sacred Casket before I brought it here-before the Vault of Hercules was found."
    
  "And you thought he was dead," Sam added.
    
  "That's right," Perdue confirmed. "That's why I was stunned to see my 'deceased' friend standing alive and well in my living room. Tell me, dear Ajo, why are you here if not just for a lively reunion?"
    
  Ajo looked a little confused, unsure how to explain, but Patrick volunteered to fill everyone in. "Actually, Mr. Kira is here to help you return the artifact to its rightful place, where you stole it, David." He cast a quick, reproachful glance at the Egyptian before continuing to explain so everyone could understand. "Actually, the Egyptian legal system forced him to do this under pressure from the Archaeological Crimes Unit. The alternative would have been imprisonment for aiding a fugitive and aiding in the theft of a valuable historical artifact from the people of Ethiopia."
    
  "So your punishment is similar to mine," Purdue sighed.
    
  "Except that I wouldn"t be able to pay that fine, Efendi," Ajo explained.
    
  "I don't think so," Patrick agreed. "But they wouldn't expect it of you, either, since you're an accomplice, not the main perpetrator."
    
  "So that's why they're sending you along, Paddy?" Sam asked, clearly still uneasy about Patrick's inclusion in the expedition.
    
  "Yes, I suppose. While all expenses are covered by David as part of his punishment, I still have to accompany you all to ensure there are no further shenanigans that could lead to a more serious crime," he explained with brutal honesty.
    
  "But they could have sent any senior field agent," Sam replied.
    
  "Yeah, they could have, Sammo. But they chose me, so let's just do our best and get this shit sorted, huh?" Patrick suggested, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Besides, it'll give us a chance to catch up on the last year or so. David, maybe we could grab a drink while you explain the upcoming expedition?"
    
  "I like the way you think, Special Agent Smith," Perdue smiled, raising the bottle as a prize. "Now let's sit down and first write down the necessary special visas and permits we'll need to clear customs. After that, we can work out the best route with the expert help of my man, who will be joining Kira here, and begin the charter operations."
    
  The group spent the rest of the day and into the evening planning their return to the country, where they would have to endure the disdain of the locals and the harsh words of their guides until their mission was accomplished. For Perdue, Nina, and Sam, it was wonderful to be together again in the vast, historic Perdue Mansion, not to mention the company of two of their respective friends, which made everything a little more special this time.
    
  By the next morning, they had everything planned out, and each was burdened with the task of gathering their equipment for the trip, as well as checking the accuracy of their passports and travel documents, as ordered by the British government, military intelligence, and the Ethiopian delegates, Professor J. Imru and Colonel Yimenu.
    
  The group gathered briefly for breakfast under the stern eye of Perdue, the butler, in case they needed anything from him. This time, Nina didn't notice the quiet conversation between Sam and Perdue as their gazes met across the large rosewood table, while Lily's cheerful classic rock anthems echoed far into the kitchen.
    
  After the others went to bed the night before, Sam and Purdue spent several hours alone, trading ideas on how to expose Joe Carter to the public eye, while also thwarting much of the Order for good measure. They agreed the task was difficult and would take some time to prepare, but they knew they'd have to set some kind of trap for Carter. The man wasn't stupid. He was calculating and malicious in his own way, so the two of them needed time to think through their plans. They couldn't afford to leave any connections unchecked. Sam didn't tell Purdue about MI6 agent Liam Johnson's visit or what he'd revealed to the visitor that night when the latter warned Sam of his obvious espionage.
    
  There wasn't much time left to plan Karsten's downfall, but Perdue was adamant they couldn't rush things. For now, however, Perdue had to focus on getting the case dismissed in court so his life could return to a relative sense of normalcy for the first time in months.
    
  First, they had to arrange for the relic to be transported in a locked container, guarded by customs officials, under the watchful eye of Special Agent Patrick Smith. He practically carried Carter's authority in his wallet with every step of this trip, something the MI6 Supreme Commander would readily disapprove of. In fact, the only reason he sent Smith on the trip to observe the Axum Expedition was to get rid of the agent. He knew Smith was too close to Purdue to be missed by Black Sun. But Patrick, of course, didn't know that.
    
  "What the hell are you doing, David?" Patrick asked as he walked in on Purdue, who was busy working in his computer lab. Purdue knew that only the most elite hackers and those with extensive computer science knowledge could know what he was up to. Patrick wasn't inclined to do so, so the billionaire barely blinked when he saw the agent enter the lab.
    
  "Just putting together some stuff I was working on before I left the labs, Paddy," Perdue explained cheerfully. "There are still so many gadgets I need to tweak, fix glitches, and so on, you know. But I figured since my expedition team has to wait for government approval before we go, I might as well get some work done."
    
  Patrick walked in as if nothing had happened, now more than ever realizing what a true genius Dave Perdue was. His eyes were filled with inexplicable contraptions that he could only imagine were incredibly complex in their design. "Very good," he remarked, standing in front of one particularly tall server cabinet and watching the tiny lights flicker to the hum of the machine inside. "I really admire your tenacity with these things, David, but you would never have caught me around all those motherboards, memory cards, and so on."
    
  "Ha!" Purdue smiled, not looking up from his work. "What then, Special Agent, are you good at, other than knocking candle flames a remarkable distance?"
    
  Patrick chuckled. "Oh, you heard about that?"
    
  "I did," Purdue replied. "When Sam Cleve gets drunk, you usually become the subject of his elaborate children's stories, old man."
    
  Patrick felt flattered by this revelation. He nodded meekly and stood up, looking at the floor to picture the crazy journalist. He knew exactly what his best friend was like when he was angry, and it was always a great party with lots of fun. Perdue's voice grew louder, thanks to the flashbacks and cheerful memories that had just surfaced in Patrick's mind.
    
  "So, what do you enjoy most when you"re not working, Patrick?"
    
  "Oh!" the agent snapped out of his reverie. "Hmm, well, I do like wires."
    
  Perdue looked up from his software screen for the first time, trying to decipher the cryptic statement. Turning to Patrick, he feigned puzzled curiosity and asked simply, "Wires?"
    
  Patrick laughed.
    
  "I'm a climber. I enjoy ropes and cables to keep fit. As Sam may or may not have told you before, I'm not very thoughtful or mentally motivated. I'd much rather engage in physical exercise like rock climbing, diving, or martial arts," Patrick clarified, "than, unfortunately, study more about an obscure subject or delve into the intricacies of physics or theology."
    
  "Why, unfortunately?" Perdue asked. "Of course, if the world were only philosophers, we wouldn't be able to build, explore, or, for that matter, create brilliant engineers. It would remain on paper and be thought out without the people physically conducting the exploration, wouldn't you agree?"
    
  Patrick shrugged, "I suppose. Never thought about it before."
    
  It was then that he realized he'd just mentioned a subjective paradox, and it made him chuckle sheepishly. Still, Patrick couldn't help but be intrigued by Purdue's diagrams and codes. "Come on, Purdue, teach a layman something about technology," he coaxed, pulling out a chair. "Tell me what you're really doing here."
    
  Perdue thought for a moment before answering with his usual well-founded confidence. "I"m building a security device, Patrick."
    
  Patrick smiled mischievously. "I understand. To keep MI6 out of the future?"
    
  Perdue gave Patrick a mischievous grin and bragged amiably, "Yes."
    
  You're almost right, old cock, Purdue thought to himself, knowing Patrick's hint was dangerously close to the truth, with a twist, of course. Wouldn't you enjoy pondering that if you only knew my device was designed specifically to suck MI6 off?
    
  "Is that me?" Patrick gasped. "Then tell me how it was... Oh, wait," he said cheerfully, "I forgot, I'm in that terrible organization you're fighting here." Perdue laughed along with Patrick, but both men shared unspoken desires they couldn't express to each other.
    
    
  18
  Across the skies
    
    
  Three days later, the party boarded the Super Hercules, chartered by Purdue, with a select group of men under the command of Colonel J. Yimenu, who oversaw the loading of the precious Ethiopian cargo.
    
  "Will you come with us, Colonel?" Perdue asked the grumpy but passionate old veteran.
    
  "On an expedition?" he asked Purdue sharply, though he appreciated the wealthy explorer's cordiality. "No, no, not at all. That burden lies with you, son. You must make amends alone. At the risk of appearing rude, I'd prefer not to engage in small talk with you, if you don't mind."
    
  "It"s all right, Colonel," Perdue replied respectfully. "I understand completely."
    
  "Besides," the veteran continued, "I wouldn't want to have to endure the turmoil and pandemonium you'll encounter when you return to Axum. You've earned the hostility you'll face, and frankly, if anything were to happen to you while delivering the Sacred Casket, I certainly wouldn't call it an atrocity."
    
  "Wow," Nina remarked, sitting on the open ramp and smoking. "Don't hold back."
    
  The colonel glanced sideways at Nina. "Tell your woman to mind her own business, too. Rebellion by women is not tolerated on my land."
    
  Sam turned on the camera and waited.
    
  "Nina," Perdue said before she could react, hoping she'd back away from the hell she was being called upon to unleash on the judgmental veteran. His gaze remained fixed on the colonel, but his eyes closed as he heard her rise and approach. Sam had just smiled from his vigil in the belly of the Hercules, aiming the camera.
    
  The colonel watched with a smile as the petite imp walked toward him, flicking her fingernail at the butt of her cigarette as she went. Her dark hair fell wildly over her shoulders, and a gentle breeze tousled the strands at her temples above her piercing brown eyes.
    
  "Tell me, Colonel," she asked rather softly, "do you have a wife?"
    
  "Of course I do," he replied sharply, not taking his eyes off Purdue.
    
  "Did you have to kidnap her, or did you simply order your military lackeys to mutilate her genitals so she wouldn't know your performance was as disgusting as your social proprieties?" she asked bluntly.
    
  "Nina!" Perdue gasped, turning to look at her in shock, while the veteran exclaimed, "How dare you!" behind him.
    
  "Sorry," Nina smiled. She took a casual drag on her cigarette and blew smoke in the Colonel"s direction. Yimenu"s face. "My apologies. See you in Ethiopia, Colonel." She headed back to the Hercules, but turned around halfway to finish what she wanted to say. "Oh, and on the flight there, I"ll take real good care of your Abrahamic abomination here. Don"t worry." She pointed to the so-called Holy Box and winked at the Colonel before disappearing into the blackness of the plane"s vast cargo hold.
    
  Sam paused the recording and tried to keep a straight face. "You know they would have put you to death there for what you just did," he teased.
    
  "Yes, but I didn"t do it there, did I, Sam?" she asked mockingly. "I did it right here on Scottish soil, using my pagan defiance of any culture that doesn"t respect my gender."
    
  He chuckled and put his camera away. "I caught your good side, if that's any consolation."
    
  "You bastard! Did you write this down?" she screamed, grabbing at Sam. But Sam was much bigger, faster, and stronger. She had to take his word that he wouldn't show them to Paddy, otherwise he would push her away from the tour, fearing persecution from the colonel's men once she arrived in Axum.
    
  Purdue apologized for Nina's remark, though he couldn't have delivered a better low blow. "Just keep her under tight guard, son," the veteran growled. "She's small enough for a shallow desert grave, where her voice would be silenced forever. And even a month from now, even the best archaeologist wouldn't be able to analyze her bones." With that, he headed for his jeep, which was waiting for him on the opposite side of the large, flat apron at Lossiemouth Airport, but before he could get far, Purdue stepped in front of him.
    
  "Colonel Yimenu, I may owe your country compensation, but don't think for a second that you can threaten my friends and walk away. I will not tolerate death threats against my people-or myself, for that matter-so please give me some advice," Perdue seethed in a calm tone that suggested a slowly simmering rage. His long index finger rose and floated between his face and Yimenu's. "Don't walk on the smooth surface of my territory. You'll find you're so light you can slip past the thorns below."
    
  Patrick suddenly shouted, "Okay, everyone! Prepare for takeoff! I want all my men cleared and reporting before we close the case, Colin!" He barked orders nonstop, leaving Yimenu too irritated to continue his threats against Purdue. Soon after, he was hurrying to his car under a cloudy Scottish sky, pulling his jacket tight around him to fight off the chill.
    
  Halfway through the team's play, Patrick stopped yelling and looked at Purdue.
    
  "I heard it, you know?" he said. "You"re a suicidal son of a bitch, David, talking down to the king before you get put in his bear pen." He stepped closer to Perdue. "But that was the coolest fucking thing I"ve ever seen, man."
    
  After patting the billionaire on the back, Patrick continued to ask one of his agents to sign the form attached to the man's clipboard. Purdue wanted to smile, bowing slightly as he boarded the plane, but the reality and the rude manner of Yeaman's threat to Nina were on his mind. This was one more thing he needed to keep track of, alongside monitoring Karsten's affairs with MI6, keeping Patrick in the dark about his boss, and keeping them all alive while they replaced the Holy Box.
    
  "Everything okay?" Sam asked Purdue as he sat down.
    
  "Perfect," Purdue replied in his easy manner. "Until we got shot at." He looked at Nina, who had cringed a little now that she had calmed down.
    
  "He asked for it," she muttered.
    
  Much of the subsequent takeoff took place in a conversational white noise. Sam and Perdue discussed the areas they'd visited previously on missions and tourist trips, while Nina put her feet up for a nap.
    
  Patrick reviewed the route and noted the coordinates of the temporary archaeological village where Perdue had fled for his life. Despite his military training and knowledge of the world's laws, Patrick was subconsciously nervous about their arrival there. After all, the expedition team's safety was his responsibility.
    
  Silently observing the seemingly cheerful exchange between Purdue and Sam, Patrick couldn't help but think about the program he'd found Purdue working on when he'd entered Reichtischusis's laboratory complex beneath the ground floor. He had no idea why he'd even been paranoid about it, as Purdue had explained that the system was designed to partition off specific areas of his premises via remote control or something of the sort. In any case, he'd never understood technical jargon, so he assumed Purdue was tweaking his home's security system to keep out agents who'd learned the security codes and protocols while the mansion was under MI6 quarantine. Fair enough, he thought, a little dissatisfied with his own assessment.
    
  Over the next few hours, the mighty Hercules roared through Germany and Austria, continuing its tedious journey towards Greece and the Mediterranean.
    
  "Does this thing ever land to refuel?" Nina asked.
    
  Perdue smiled and shouted, "This breed of Lockheed can go on and on. That's why I love these big machines!"
    
  "Yes, that answers my unprofessional question perfectly, Purdue," she said to herself, simply shaking her head.
    
  "We should reach the African shores in a little less than fifteen hours, Nina," Sam tried to give her a better idea.
    
  "Sam, please don't use that flowery phrase 'landing' now. Ta," she moaned, to his delight.
    
  "This thing is as secure as a house," Patrick smiled and patted Nina's thigh reassuringly, but he hadn't realized where he'd placed his hand until he did so. He quickly pulled his hand away, looking offended, but Nina only laughed. Instead, she placed her hand on his thigh with a feigned seriousness. "It's okay, Paddy. My jeans will prevent any perversions."
    
  Relieved, he shared a hearty laugh with Nina. Though Patrick was more suited to submissive and demure women, he could understand Sam and Perdue's deep attraction to the brash historian and her forthright, fearless approach.
    
  The sun set over most local time zones just after they took off, so by the time they reached Greece, they were flying through the night sky. Sam glanced at his watch and discovered he was the only one still awake. Whether from boredom or catching up on what was to come, the rest of the partygoers were already fast asleep in their seats. Only the pilot said something, exclaiming reverently to the copilot, "Do you see that, Roger?"
    
  "Ah, that"s it?" the co-pilot asked, pointing in front of them. "Yes, I see it!"
    
  Sam's curiosity was a quick reflex, and he quickly looked ahead, where the man was pointing. His face lit up with the beauty of it, and he watched intently until it disappeared into the darkness. "God, I wish Nina could see this," he muttered, sitting back down.
    
  "What?" Nina asked, still half asleep when she heard her name. "What? See what?"
    
  "Oh, nothing special, I suppose," Sam replied. "It was just a beautiful vision."
    
  "What?" she asked, sitting up and wiping her eyes.
    
  Sam smiled, wishing he could film with his eyes so he could share such things with her. "A blindingly bright shooting star, my love. Just a super bright shooting star."
    
    
  19
  Chasing the Dragon
    
    
  "Another star has fallen, Ofar!" Penekal exclaimed, looking up from the alert on his phone sent by one of their men in Yemen.
    
  "I saw it," the weary old man replied. "To track the Wizard, we'll have to wait and see what disease befalls humanity next. I'm afraid that's a very cautious and expensive test."
    
  "Why do you say that?" Penecal asked.
    
  Ofar shrugged. "Well, because in the current state of the world-chaos, madness, a ludicrous mishandling of basic human morality-it's pretty hard to determine what misfortunes will befall humanity beyond the evils that already exist, isn't it?"
    
  Penekal agreed, but they had to do something to prevent the Wizard from gathering even more celestial power. "I'm going to contact the Masons in Sudan. They need to know if this is one of their men. Don't worry," he cut off Ofar's impending protest at the idea, "I'll ask tactfully."
    
  "You can't let them know we know something's going on, Penekal. If they even get a whiff..." Ofar warned.
    
  "They won't do that, my friend," Penecal replied sternly. They had been keeping watch at their observatory for over two days now, exhausted, taking turns sleeping and watching the sky for any unusual deviations in the constellations. "I'll be back before noon, hopefully with some answers."
    
  "Hurry, Penecal. The Scrolls of King Solomon predict that the Magical Force will only need a few weeks to become invincible. If he can return the fallen to the surface of the earth, imagine what he could do in the heavens. A shift in the stars could wreak havoc on our very existence," Ofar reminded, pausing to catch his breath. "If he has Celeste, not a single iniquity can be righted."
    
  "I know, Ofar," Penekal said, gathering star charts for his visit to the local Master of Masonic jurisdiction. "The only alternative is to gather all of King Solomon's diamonds, and they'll be scattered across the earth. That sounds like an insurmountable task to me."
    
  "Most of them are still here in the desert," Ofar consoled his friend. "Very few were kidnapped. There aren't enough of them to be collected, so we might have a chance to confront the Wizard this way."
    
  "Are you crazy?" Penekal shrieked. "Now we'll never be able to reclaim those diamonds from their owners!" Tired and feeling utterly hopeless, Penekal sank into the chair he'd slept in the night before. "They would never give up their precious treasures to save the planet. My God, have you never noticed the greed of humans at the expense of the very planet that sustains them?"
    
  "I have! I have!" Ofar snapped back. "Of course I have."
    
  "Then how could you expect them to give their gems to two old fools asking them to do so to prevent an evil man with supernatural powers from changing the position of the stars and bringing the biblical plagues upon the modern world again?"
    
  Ofar went defensive, this time threatening to lose his composure. "Do you think I don't understand how that sounds, Penekal?" he barked. "I'm not a fool! All I'm suggesting is that we consider asking for help in gathering what's left, so the Wizard can't realize his sick plans and make us all disappear. Where is your faith, brother? Where is your promise to stop this secret prophecy from coming true? We must do everything in our power to try, at least... to try... to fight what's happening."
    
  Penekal saw Ofar's lips tremble, and a frightening shudder ran through his bony hands. "Calm down, old friend. Please calm down. Your heart can't bear the strain of your anger."
    
  He sat down next to his friend, cards in hand. Penekal's voice lowered considerably, if only to keep old Ofar from the furious emotions he was experiencing. "Listen, all I'm saying is that unless we buy the remaining diamonds from their owners, we won't be able to get them all before the Wizard does. It's easy for him to simply kill for them and demand the stones. For us good people, the task of collecting them is essentially the same."
    
  "Then let us gather all our riches. Contact the brothers of all our watchtowers, even those in the East, and allow us to acquire the remaining diamonds," Ofar pleaded through hoarse, weary sighs. Penecal couldn"t comprehend the absurdity of this idea, knowing the nature of people, especially the wealthy in the modern world, who still believed that stones made kings and queens of them, while their future was barren due to misfortune, hunger, and suffocation. However, to avoid further upsetting his lifelong friend, he nodded and bit his tongue in implied surrender. "We"ll see, alright? Once I meet with the master and once we know if the Masons are behind this, we can see what other options are available," Penecal said soothingly. "For now, however, get some rest, and I"ll hasten to tell you, hopefully, good news."
    
  "I'll be here," Ofar sighed. "I'll hold the line."
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Down in town, Penecal hailed a taxi to the home of the local Masonic leader. He arranged the meeting under the premise that he needed to determine whether the Masons knew about the ritual performed using this particular star map. This wasn't entirely a deceptive cover story, but his visit was more predicated on determining the Masonic world's involvement in the recent celestial destructions.
    
  Cairo was bustling with activity, a curious contrast to the ancient nature of its culture. While skyscrapers rose and expanded toward the sky, the blue and orange skies above breathed a solemn silence and tranquility. Penekal gazed at the sky through the car window, contemplating the fate of humanity, seated right here on a throne of benevolent thrones of splendor and peace.
    
  Much like human nature, he thought. Like most things in creation. Order out of chaos. Chaos displacing all order at the heights of time. May God help us all in this life, if this is the Wizard they speak of.
    
  "Strange weather, huh?" the driver suddenly remarked. Penekal nodded in agreement, surprised that the man had noticed such a thing while Penekal was pondering the impending events.
    
  "Yes, that's true," Penecal replied out of politeness. The portly man behind the wheel seemed satisfied with Penecal's answer, at least for the moment. A few seconds later, he added, "The rains are quite gloomy and unpredictable, too. It's as if something in the air is changing the clouds, and the sea has gone crazy."
    
  "Why do you say that?" Penecal asked.
    
  "Didn't you read the papers this morning?" the driver gasped. "Alexandria's shoreline has shrunk by 58% in the last four days, and there's been no sign of atmospheric change to support that."
    
  "Then what do they think caused this phenomenon?" Penekal asked, trying to hide his panic behind a level question. Despite all his duties as a guardian, he hadn't known the sea level had risen.
    
  The man shrugged, "I don"t really know. I mean, only the moon can control the tides like that, right?"
    
  "I suppose. But they said the moon was responsible? It," he felt stupid even implying it, "changed somehow in orbit?"
    
  The driver cast a mocking glance at Penekal through the rearview mirror. "You're kidding, right, mister? This is absurd! I'm sure if the moon changed, the whole world would know about it."
    
  "Yes, yes, you're right. I was just thinking," Penekal quickly replied, trying to stop the driver's taunts.
    
  "Then again, your theory isn't as crazy as some I've heard since it was first reported," the driver laughed. "I've heard some absolutely ridiculous nonsense from some people in this city!"
    
  Penekal shifted in his chair, leaning forward. "Oh? Like what?"
    
  "I feel stupid even talking about this," the man chuckled, occasionally glancing in the mirror to converse with his passenger. "There are some elderly citizens who are spitting, wailing, and crying, saying it's the work of an evil spirit. Ha! Can you believe that crap? There's a water demon on the loose in Egypt, my friend." He laughed loudly at the idea.
    
  But his passenger didn't laugh with him. Stone-faced and deep in thought, Penekal slowly reached for the pen in his jacket pocket, pulled it out, and scrawled on his palm: "Water Devil."
    
  The driver laughed so heartily that Penecal decided not to burst the bubble and increase the number of lunatics in Cairo by explaining that, in a sense, these absurd theories were quite true. Despite all the new worries he had, the old man chuckled shyly to amuse the driver.
    
  "Mister, I can"t help but notice that the address you asked me to take you to," the driver hesitated a little, "is a place that is a great mystery to the average person."
    
  "Oh?" Penecal asked innocently.
    
  "Yes," the eager driver confirmed. "It's a Masonic temple, though few people know about it. They just think it's another one of Cairo's great museums or monuments."
    
  "I know what it is, my friend," Penecal said quickly, tired of enduring the man"s loose tongue as he tried to figure out the cause of the ensuing catastrophe in the heavens.
    
  "Ah, I see," the driver replied, seeming a little more resigned by his passenger's abruptness. It seemed the revelation that he knew his destination was a place of ancient magical rituals and world-ruling powers with high-class membership had slightly startled the man. But if it had frightened him enough to keep him quiet, that was a good thing, Penecal thought. He had enough on his plate.
    
  They moved to a more secluded part of town, a residential area with several synagogues, churches, and temples, among three schools located nearby. The presence of children on the street gradually diminished, and Penecal felt a change in the air. The houses grew more luxurious, and their fences more secure beneath the lush gardens through which the street wound. At the end of the road, the car turned onto a small side alley leading to a majestic building with sturdy security gates protruding from it.
    
  "Let"s go, mister," the driver announced, stopping the car a few meters from the gate, as if he was wary of being within a certain radius of the temple.
    
  "Thank you," Penecal said. "I"ll call you when I"m done."
    
  "Sorry, mister," the driver countered. "Here." He handed Penekal a colleague's business card. "You can call my colleague to pick you up. I'd rather not come here again, if you don't mind."
    
  Without another word, he took Penekal's money and drove off, accelerating quickly before he even reached the T-junction onto the next street. The old astronomer watched the taxi's taillights disappear around the corner before taking a deep breath and turning to face the tall gates. Behind him, the Masonic Temple loomed, brooding and silent, as if waiting for him.
    
    
  20
  The enemy of my enemy
    
    
  "Master Penecal!" he heard from afar on the other side of the fence. It was the very man he'd come to see, the local lodge master. "You're a little early. Wait, I'll come and open the door for you. I hope you don't mind sitting outside. The power's out again."
    
  "Thank you," Penekal smiled. "I have no problem getting some fresh air, sir."
    
  He had never met Professor Imra, the head of the Freemasons of Cairo and Giza. All Penecal knew about him was that he was an anthropologist and executive director of the People's Movement for the Protection of Heritage Sites, which had recently participated in the World Tribunal on Archaeological Crimes in North Africa. Although the professor was a wealthy and influential man, his personality was very pleasant, and Penecal immediately felt at home with him.
    
  "Want a drink?" Prof. asked Imra.
    
  "Thank you. I'll have what you have," Penecal replied, feeling rather foolish with the scrolls of old parchment tucked under his arm, secluded from the natural beauty outside the building. Unsure of protocol, he continued to smile warmly and reserved his words for answers, not pronouncements.
    
  "So," Professor Imru began as he sat down with a glass of iced tea, passing another to his guest, "You say you have some questions about the alchemist?"
    
  "Yes, sir," Penecal admitted. "I'm not one to play games, because I'm simply too old to waste time on gimmicks."
    
  "I can appreciate that," Imru smiled.
    
  Clearing his throat, Penecal dove right into the game. "I was just wondering if it's possible that Masons are currently engaged in alchemical practices that involve... uh...," he struggled with the wording of his question.
    
  "Just ask, Master Penekal," Imru said, hoping to calm his visitor"s nerves.
    
  "Perhaps you're engaged in rituals that might influence the constellations?" Penekal asked, narrowing his eyes and wincing in discomfort. "I understand how that sounds, but..."
    
  "How does it sound?" Imru asked curiously.
    
  "Incredible," the old astronomer admitted.
    
  "You are speaking to a purveyor of great rituals and ancient esotericism, my friend. Let me assure you, there are very few things in this universe that seem incredible to me, and very few that are impossible," the professor said. Imru proudly showed it.
    
  "You see, my fraternity is also a little-known organization. It was founded so long ago that there are practically no records of our founders," Penekal explained.
    
  "I know. You"re from the Hermopolis Dragon Watchers. I know," the professor said. Imru nodded affirmatively. "After all, I am a professor of anthropology, my dear. And as a Masonic initiate, I"m fully aware of the work your order has been doing for all these centuries. In fact, it resonates with many of our own rituals and foundations. I know your ancestors followed Thoth, but what do you think is going on here?"
    
  Almost jumping with enthusiasm, Penecal laid his scrolls out on the table, unfolding the cards for the professor. "I intend to examine them carefully." "See?" he breathed excitedly. "These are stars that have fallen from their positions over the past week and a half, sir. Do you recognize them?"
    
  For a long time, Professor Imru silently studied the stars marked on the map, trying to make sense of them. Finally, he looked up. "I'm not a very good astronomer, Master Penekal. I know this diamond is very important in magical circles; it's also found in the Codex of Solomon."
    
  He pointed to the first star noted by Penécal and Ophar. "This is an important feature of alchemical practices in mid-18th-century France, but I must admit, as far as I know, we don't have a single alchemist working here today," the professor said. Imru informed Penécal. "What element is at play here? Gold?"
    
  Penekal replied with a terrible expression on his face: "Diamonds."
    
  He then showed Prof. I'm looking at news reports of murders near Nice, France. In a quiet tone, trembling with impatience, he revealed the details of the murders of Madame Chantal and her housekeeper. "The most famous diamond stolen in this incident, Professor, is the Celeste," he groaned.
    
  "I've heard about that. I've heard there's some kind of wondrous stone of higher quality than the Cullinan. But what does that mean here?" Prof. asked Imra.
    
  The professor noticed that Penecal looked terribly devastated, his demeanor noticeably darker since the old visitor learned that Freemasons weren't the architects of the recent phenomena. "Celeste is the master stone that can defeat the collection of the seventy-two Diamonds of Solomon if used against the Magician, a great sage with terrible intentions and power," Penecal explained so quickly it took his breath away.
    
  "Please, Master Penekal, sit here. You're overexerting yourself in this heat. Stop for a moment. I'll still be here to listen, my friend," the professor said, before suddenly falling into a state of deep contemplation.
    
  "W-what...what is the matter, sir?" Penecal asked.
    
  "Give me a moment, please," the professor pleaded, frowning as memories seared him. In the shade of the acacia trees that sheltered the old Masonic building, the professor paced thoughtfully. While Penecal sipped iced tea to cool his body and ease his anxiety, he watched the professor mutter quietly to himself. The master of the house seemed to immediately come to his senses and turned to Penecal with a strange expression of disbelief. "Master Penecal, have you ever heard of the sage Ananias?"
    
  "I don't have any, sir. Sounds biblical," Penecal said with a shrug.
    
  "The wizard you described to me, his abilities, and what he uses to sow hell," he tried to explain, but his own words failed him. "He... I can't even begin to fathom it, but we've seen many absurdities come true before," he shook his head. "This man sounds like the mystic the French initiate encountered in 1782, but obviously they can't be the same person." His last words were fragile and uncertain, but there was logic to them. It was something Penecal understood perfectly. He sat, staring at the intelligent and righteous leader, hoping some kind of loyalty had formed, hoping the professor knew what to do.
    
  "And he's collecting King Solomon's diamonds to ensure they can't be used to sabotage his work?" Professor Imru questioned with the same passion with which Penekal had first described the predicament.
    
  "That's right, sir. We must get our hands on the remaining diamonds, sixty-eight in total. As my poor friend Ofar suggested in his endless and foolish optimism," Penekal smiled bitterly. "Short of purchasing stones in the possession of world-famous and wealthy individuals, we won't be able to get them before the Wizard does."
    
  Professor Imru stopped pacing and stared at the old astronomer. "Never underestimate the ridiculous goals of an optimist, my friend," he said with an expression that mingled amusement and renewed interest. "Some proposals are so ridiculous that they usually end up working."
    
  "Sir, with all due respect, you're not seriously considering buying over fifty famous diamonds from the world's richest men, are you? That would cost... uh... a lot of money!" Penecal struggled with the concept. "It could amount to millions, and who would be crazy enough to spend that much money on such a fantastic conquest?"
    
  "David Perdue," Professor Imru beamed. "Master Penekal, could you return here in twenty-four hours, please?" he pleaded. "I may just know how we can help your order combat this Mage."
    
  "Do you understand?" Penekal gasped with delight.
    
  Professor Imru laughed. "I can't promise anything, but I know a lawbreaking billionaire who has no respect for authority and enjoys harassing powerful and evil people. And, as luck would have it, he's in my debt and, as we speak, is en route to the African continent."
    
    
  21
  Sign
    
    
  Under the gloomy skies of Oban, news of a road accident that killed a local doctor and his wife spread like wildfire. Shocked local shopkeepers, teachers, and fishermen shared in the mourning of Dr. Lance Beech and his wife, Sylvia. Their children were left in the temporary care of their aunt, who was still reeling from the tragedy. The GP and his wife were well-liked, and their horrific deaths on the A82 were a terrible blow to the community.
    
  Hushed rumors circulated through supermarkets and restaurants about the senseless tragedy that befell the poor family shortly after the doctor nearly lost his wife to a nefarious couple who kidnapped her. Even then, townspeople were surprised that the Beaches kept the events of Mrs. Beach's abduction and subsequent rescue such a closely guarded secret. However, most people simply assumed the Beaches wanted to escape the horrific ordeal and didn't want to talk about it.
    
  Little did they know that Dr. Beach and the local Catholic priest, Father Harper, were forced to cross moral boundaries to save Mrs. Beach and Mr. Purdue, giving their vile Nazi captors a taste of their own medicine. Apparently, most people simply wouldn't understand that sometimes the best revenge on a villain was-revenge-good old-fashioned Old Testament wrath.
    
  A teenage boy, George Hamish, ran briskly through the park. Renowned for his athletic ability as captain of the high school football team, no one found his single-minded pursuits odd. He was dressed in his tracksuit and Nike sneakers. His dark hair blended into his wet face and neck as he ran at full speed across the park's rolling green lawns. The speeding boy ignored the tree branches that slammed and scraped against him as he ran past and under them toward St. Columban's Church, across the narrow street from the park.
    
  Narrowly dodging an oncoming car as he sped across the asphalt, he ran up the steps and slipped into the darkness beyond the open doors of the church.
    
  "Father Harper!" he cried out of breath.
    
  Several parishioners present inside turned in their pews and hissed at the foolish boy for his lack of respect, but he didn't care.
    
  "Where is Father?" he asked, unsuccessfully pressing for information as they looked even more disappointed with him. The elderly lady next to him would not tolerate disrespect from the youth.
    
  "You're in church! People are praying, you insolent brat," she scolded, but George ignored her sharp tongue and ran down the isle to the main pulpit.
    
  "People's lives are at stake, lady," he said mid-flight. "Save your prayers for them."
    
  "Great Scott, George, what the hell...?" Father Harper frowned as he saw the boy hurrying toward his office just off the main hall. He swallowed his choice of words as his congregation frowned at his remarks and dragged the exhausted teenager into the office.
    
  Closing the door behind them, he frowned at the boy. "What the hell is wrong with you, Georgie?"
    
  "Father Harper, you must leave Oban," George warned, trying to catch his breath.
    
  "Excuse me?" said the Father. "What do you mean?"
    
  "You must get away and not tell anyone where you're going, Father," George pleaded. "I heard a man asking about you in Daisy's antique shop while I was kissing a h... er... while I was in a back alley," George amended his story.
    
  "What man? What did he ask for?" Father Harper.
    
  "Look, Father, I don't even know if this guy is crazy for what he's saying, but you know, I just thought I'd warn you anyway," George replied. "He said you weren't always a priest."
    
  "Yes," Father Harper confirmed. In fact, he'd spent a lot of time pointing out the same fact to the late Dr. Beach, every time the priest did something the cassock-wearing public wasn't supposed to know. "It's true. No one is born a priest, Georgie."
    
  "I suppose so. I never thought of it that way, I suppose," the boy muttered, still out of breath from shock and running.
    
  "What exactly did this man say? Can you explain more clearly what made you think he was going to harm me?" the priest asked, pouring the teenager a glass of water.
    
  "A lot of things. It sounded like he was trying to rape your reputation, you know?"
    
  "Are you rapping about my reputation?" Father Harper asked, but soon realized the meaning and answered his own question. "Ah, my reputation's been damaged. Never mind."
    
  "Yes, Father. And he was telling some people at the shop that you were involved in the murder of some old lady. Then he said you kidnapped and murdered a woman from Glasgow a few months ago when the doctor"s wife went missing... he just kept going. Plus, he was telling everyone what a hypocritical bastard you are, hiding behind your collar to trick women into trusting you before they disappear." George"s story poured out of his memory and his trembling lips.
    
  Father Harper sat in his high-backed chair, simply listening. George was surprised that the priest showed no sign of offense, no matter how vile his story, but he chalked it up to the wisdom of priests.
    
  The tall, powerfully built priest sat staring at poor George, leaning slightly to the left. His folded arms made him look plump and strong, and the index finger of his right hand gently traced his lower lip as he pondered the boy's words.
    
  When George took a moment to drain his glass of water, Father Harper finally shifted in his chair and rested his elbows on the table between them. With a deep sigh, he asked, "Georgie, can you remember what that man looked like?"
    
  "Ugly," the boy replied, still swallowing.
    
  Father Harper chuckled, "Of course he was ugly. Most Scottish men aren't known for their fine features."
    
  "No, that's not what I meant, Father," George explained. He set the glass of drops down on the priest's glass table and tried again. "I mean, he was ugly, like a monster from a horror movie, you know?"
    
  "Oh?" Father Harper asked, intrigued.
    
  "Yes, and he wasn't Scottish at all either. He had an English accent with something else," George described.
    
  "Something else like what?" the priest continued to inquire.
    
  "Well," the boy frowned, "his English has a German lilt to it. I know it must sound stupid, but it"s like he"s German and grew up in London. Something like that."
    
  George was frustrated at his inability to describe it correctly, but the priest nodded calmly. "No, I get it perfectly, Georgie. Don't worry. Tell me, did he give a name or introduce himself?"
    
  "No, sir. But he looked really angry and screwed up..." George stopped abruptly at his careless curse. "Sorry, Father."
    
  Father Harper, however, was more interested in information than in maintaining social propriety. To George's astonishment, the priest acted as if he hadn't taken the oath at all. "How so?"
    
  "Excuse me, Father?" George asked, confused.
    
  "How... how did he... screw this up?" Father Harper asked casually.
    
  "Father?" the boy gasped, astonished, but the sinister-looking priest merely waited patiently for him to answer, his expression so serene it was frightening. "Um, I mean, he got burned, or maybe cut himself." George thought for a moment, then suddenly exclaimed enthusiastically, "It looks like his head was wrapped in barbed wire, and someone pulled him out by his feet. Split, you know?"
    
  "I see," Father Harper replied, returning to his previous contemplative pose. "Okay, so that"s all?"
    
  "Yes, Father," George replied. "Please, just get out of here before he finds you, because he knows where Saint Columbanus is."
    
  "Georgie, he could have found this on any map. It irritates me that he tried to defame my name in my own city," Father Harper explained. "Don't worry. God never sleeps."
    
  "Well, neither will I, Father," the boy said, heading for the door with the priest. "That guy was up to no good, and I really, really don"t want to hear about you on the news tomorrow. You should call the cops. Have them patrol the area and everything."
    
  "Thank you, Georgie, for your concern," Father Harper said sincerely. "And thank you so much for warning me. I promise I'll take your warning to heart and be very careful until Satan retreats, okay? Is everything okay?" He had to repeat himself before the teenager calmed down enough.
    
  He led the boy he'd baptized years ago out of the church, walking beside him with wisdom and authority until they emerged into the daylight. From the top of the stairs, the priest winked and waved at George as he jogged back toward his home. A drizzle of cool, broken clouds settled over the park and darkened the asphalt road as the boy disappeared into a ghostly haze.
    
  Father Harper nodded cordially to a few passersby before returning to the church vestibule. Ignoring the still stunned crowd in the pews, the tall priest hurried back to his office. He had truly taken the boy's warning to heart. In fact, he had been expecting it all along. There had never been any doubt that retribution would come for what he and Dr. Beach had done in Fallin, when they had rescued David Perdue from a modern-day Nazi cult.
    
  He quickly entered the dimly lit small hallway of his office, closing the door too loudly behind him. He locked it and drew the curtains. His laptop was the only source of light in the office, its screen patiently waiting for the priest to use it. Father Harper sat down and entered a few keywords before the LED screen displayed what he was looking for-a photograph of Clive Mueller, a longtime operative and well-known double agent during the Cold War.
    
  "I knew it had to be you," Father Harper muttered in the dusty solitude of his study. The furniture and books, lamps and plants around him had become mere shadows and silhouettes, but the atmosphere had shifted from its static and calm to a tense zone of subconscious negativity. In the old days, the superstitious might have called it a presence, but Father Harper knew it was a premonition of an inevitable confrontation. This latter explanation, however, did not diminish the gravity of what was to come if he dared to let his guard down.
    
  The man in the photograph Harper's father produced resembled a grotesque monster. Clive Mueller made headlines in 1986 for assassinating the Russian ambassador in front of 10 Downing Street, but due to some legal loophole, he was deported to Austria and fled while awaiting trial.
    
  "Looks like you're on the wrong side of the fence, Clive," Father Harper said, looking through the scant information about the killer available online. "We've been keeping a low profile all this time, haven't we? And now you're killing civilians for dinner money? That must be tough on the ego."
    
  Outside, the weather was growing increasingly damp, and rain pounded the office window on the other side of the drawn curtains as the priest closed his search and turned off his laptop. "I know you're already here. Are you too afraid to show yourself to a humble man of God?"
    
  When the laptop shut down, the room became almost completely dark, and as soon as the last flicker of the screen faded, Father Harper saw an imposing black figure emerge from behind his bookcase. Instead of the attack he expected, Father Harper received a verbal confrontation. "You? A man of God?" The man chuckled.
    
  His high-pitched voice initially masked his accent, but there was no denying that the heavy guttural consonants as he spoke in his firm British manner-a perfect balance of German and English-betrayed his individuality.
    
    
  22
  Change course
    
    
  "What did he say?" Nina frowned, desperately trying to figure out why they were changing course mid-flight. She nudged Sam, who was trying to hear what Patrick was telling the pilot.
    
  "Wait, let him finish," Sam told her, straining to figure out the reason for the sudden change of plan. As a seasoned investigative journalist, Sam had learned to distrust such sudden itinerary changes and so understood Nina's concern.
    
  Patrick stumbled back into the belly of the plane, looking at Sam, Nina, Adjo, and Perdue, who were waiting silently, awaiting his explanation. "Nothing to worry about, people," Patrick consoled.
    
  "Did the Colonel order a course change to strand us in the desert because of Nina's insolence?" Sam asked. Nina looked at him quizzically and slapped him hard on the arm. "Seriously, Paddy. Why are we turning around? I don't like this."
    
  "Me too, buddy," Perdue interjected.
    
  "Actually, guys, it's not that bad. I just received a patch from one of the expedition organizers, Professor Imru," Patrick said.
    
  "He was in court," Perdue noted. "What does he want?"
    
  "He actually asked if we could help him with... a more personal matter before we dealt with legal priorities. Apparently, he contacted Colonel J. Yimenu and informed him that we would be arriving a day later than planned, so that aspect was taken care of," Patrick reported.
    
  "What the hell could he possibly want from me on the personal front?" Perdue wondered aloud. The billionaire looked less than gullible about this new turn of events, and his concern was equally reflected on the faces of his expedition members.
    
  "Can we refuse?" Nina asked.
    
  "You can," Patrick replied. "And Sam can, but Mr. Kira and David are largely in the clutches of people involved in archaeological crime, and Professor Imru is one of the organization's leaders."
    
  "So we have no choice but to help him," Perdue sighed, looking uncharacteristically exhausted by this turn of events. Patrick sat across from Perdue and Nina, with Sam and Ajo next to him.
    
  "Let me explain. This is an impromptu tour, folks. From what I've been told, I can pretty much assure you it'll be of interest."
    
  "It sounds like you want us to eat all our vegetables, Mom," Sam teased, though his words were very sincere.
    
  "Look, I"m not trying to sugarcoat this fucking death game, Sam," Patrick snapped. "Don"t think I"m just blindly following orders or that I think you"re naive enough that I"d have to trick you into cooperating with the Archaeological Crime Unit." After asserting himself, the MI6 agent took a moment to calm down. "Obviously, this has nothing to do with the Sacred Box or David"s plea bargain. Nothing. Professor Imru asked if you could help him with a highly classified matter that could have catastrophic consequences for the entire world."
    
  Purdue decided to dismiss all suspicions for now. Perhaps, he thought, he was simply too curious to... "And he said what it was, this secret matter?"
    
  Patrick shrugged. "Nothing specific that I knew how to explain. He asked if we could land in Cairo and meet him at the Masonic Temple in Giza. There, he"ll explain what he called his "absurd request" to see if you"d be willing to help."
    
  "What do you mean, "should help," I suppose?" Perdue corrected the phrasing Patrick had so carefully woven.
    
  "I suppose," Patrick agreed. "But honestly, I think he's sincere about it. I mean, he wouldn't change the delivery of this very important religious relic just to get attention, right?"
    
  "Patrick, are you sure this isn't some kind of ambush?" Nina asked quietly. Sam and Perdue looked as worried as she did. "I wouldn't put anything above Black Sun or those African diplomats, you know? Stealing that relic from them seems to have given those guys a real headache. How do we know they won't just drop us off in Cairo, kill us all, and pretend we never went to Ethiopia or something?"
    
  "I thought I was a special agent, Dr. Gould. You have more trust issues than a rat in a snake pit," Patrick remarked.
    
  "Trust me," Purdue interjected, "she has her reasons. We all do. Patrick, we trust you to figure this out if this is some kind of ambush. We"re still going, right? Just know that the rest of us need you to smell smoke before we"re trapped in a burning house, okay?"
    
  "I believe it," Patrick replied. "And that's why I've arranged for some people I know from Yemen to accompany us to Cairo. They'll be discreet and follow us, just to make sure."
    
  "That sounds better," Adjo sighed with relief.
    
  "I agree," Sam said. "As long as we know that outside forces know our location, we'll be able to deal with this more easily."
    
  "Come on, Sammo," Patrick smiled. "You didn't think I'd just fall for the commands if I didn't have an open back door, did you?"
    
  "But how long will we be here?" Perdue asked. "I have to admit, I don't really want to dwell on this Holy Box. It's a chapter I'd like to close and get back to my life, you know?"
    
  "I understand," Patrick said. "I take full responsibility for the safety of this expedition. We'll get back to work as soon as we meet with Professor Imru."
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  It was dark when they landed in Cairo. It was dark not only because it was night, but also in all the surrounding cities, making it extremely difficult for the Super Hercules to land successfully on the runway lit by firepots. Looking out the small window, Nina felt an ominous hand descend upon her, much like the claustrophobic feeling she felt when entering a confined space. A suffocating, terrifying feeling overwhelmed her.
    
  "I feel like I'm locked in a coffin," she told Sam.
    
  He was as shocked as she was by what they'd encountered above Cairo, but Sam tried not to panic. "Don't worry, love. Only people who are afraid of heights should be experiencing discomfort right now. The power outage is probably due to a power plant or something."
    
  The pilot looked back at them. "Please buckle up and let me concentrate. Thank you!"
    
  Nina felt her legs give way. For a hundred miles below them, the only light was the Hercules' control panel in the cockpit. All of Egypt was plunged into pitch darkness, one of several countries suffering from an unexplained power outage that no one could locate. As much as she hated to show how stunned she was, she couldn't shake the feeling of being overcome by a phobia. Not only was she in an old flying soup can with engines, but now she discovered that the lack of light completely simulated a confined space.
    
  Perdue sat down next to her, noticing the trembling in her chin and hands. He hugged her and said nothing, which Nina found oddly reassuring. Kira and Sam prepared for landing, gathering all their gear and reading materials before buckling themselves in.
    
  "I must admit, Effendi, I'm quite curious about this matter, Professor. Imru is eager to discuss it with you," Adjo shouted over the deafening roar of the engines. Perdue smiled, well aware of his former guide's excitement.
    
  "Do you know something we don"t, dear Ajo?" Perdue asked.
    
  "No, just that Professor Imru is known as a very wise man and a king of his community. He loves ancient history and, of course, archaeology, but the fact that he wants to see you is a great honor for me. I just hope this meeting is dedicated to the things he's known for. He's a very powerful man with a firm hand in history."
    
  "Noted," Perdue replied. "Then let's hope for the best."
    
  "The Masonic Temple," Nina said. "Is he a Mason?"
    
  "Yes, madam," confirmed Ajo. "The Grand Master of the Isis Lodge at Giza."
    
  Purdue's eyes lit up. "Masons? And they're seeking my help?" He looked at Patrick. "Now I'm intrigued."
    
  Patrick smiled, pleased that he wouldn't have to shoulder the responsibility of a trip Purdue wouldn't be interested in. Nina also leaned back in her chair, feeling increasingly tempted by the prospect of the meeting. Although women were traditionally not allowed to attend Masonic meetings, she knew many historically prominent figures who belonged to the ancient and powerful organization, the origins of which had always fascinated her. As a historian, she understood that many of their ancient rituals and secrets were the essence of history and its influence on world events.
    
    
  23
  Like a diamond in the sky
    
    
  Professor Imru greeted Perdue warmly as he opened the tall gates for the group. "Good to see you again, Mr. Perdue. I hope you've been well."
    
  "Well, I was a little upset in my sleep, and food still doesn't appeal, but I'm getting better, thank you, Professor," Perdue replied, smiling. "In fact, the mere fact that I'm not enjoying the hospitality of the prisoners is enough to make me happy every day."
    
  "I would have thought so," the professor sympathetically agreed. "Personally, a prison sentence wasn't our original goal. Moreover, it seems the MI6 people's goal was to put you away for life, not the Ethiopian delegation." The professor's admission shed some light on Karsten's vindictive aspirations, lending further credence to the fact that he intended to get Purdue, but that was something for another time.
    
  After the group joined the master mason in the beautiful, cool shade before the Temple, a serious discussion was about to begin. Penecal couldn't stop staring at Nina, but she accepted his quiet admiration gracefully. Perdue and Sam found his obvious crush on her amusing, but they tempered their amusement with winks and nudges until the conversation assumed a formal and serious tone.
    
  "Master Penekal believes we are being haunted by what in mysticism is called Magic. Therefore, you should under no circumstances portray this character as cunning and clever by today's standards," the professor said. Imru began.
    
  "He"s the cause of these power outages, for example," Penekal added quietly.
    
  "If you could, Master Penekal, please refrain from jumping ahead before I explain the esoteric nature of our dilemma," the professor said. Imru asked the old astronomer. "There's much truth in Penekal's statement, but you'll understand better once I explain the basics. I understand you only have a limited amount of time to recover the Sacred Casket, so we'll try to do it as quickly as possible."
    
  "Thank you," Perdue said. "I want to do this as soon as possible."
    
  "Of course," Professor Imru nodded, then continued teaching the group what he and the astronomer had gathered so far. While Nina, Perdue, Sam, and Ajo were being told about the connection between falling stars and the murderous robberies of a wandering sage, someone was fiddling with the gate.
    
  "Excuse me, please," Penecal apologized. "I know who it is. I apologize for his lateness."
    
  "By all means. Here are the keys, Master Penecal," the professor said, handing Penecal the gate key to let the frantic Ofar in while he continued helping the Scottish expedition catch up. Ofar looked exhausted, his eyes wide with panic and foreboding as his friend opened the gate. "Have they figured it out yet?" he breathed heavily.
    
  "We are informing them now, my friend," Penekal assured Ofara.
    
  "Hurry," Ofar pleaded. "Another star fell not more than twenty minutes ago!"
    
  "What?" Penekal was delirious. "Which one?"
    
  "The first of the seven sisters!" Ofar opened his mouth, his words like nails in a coffin. "We must hurry, Penekal! We must fight back now, or all will be lost!" His lips trembled like a dying man's. "We must stop the Wizard, Penekal, or our children will not live to old age!"
    
  "I'm well aware of that, my old friend," Penekal reassured Ofar, supporting him with a firm hand on his back as they approached the warm, cozy fireplace in the garden. The flames were welcoming, illuminating the façade of the grand old temple, its magnificent sign depicting the shadows of the participants on the walls, enlivening their every movement.
    
  "Welcome, Master Ofar," Professor Imru said as the old man sat down, nodding to the other members of the assembly. "I have now briefed Mr. Purdue and his colleagues on our speculations. They know that the Wizard is indeed busy weaving a terrible prophecy," the professor announced. "I will leave it to the astronomers of the Dragon Watchers of Hermopolis, men descended from the bloodlines of the priests of Thoth, to tell you what this assassin may have attempted."
    
  Penekal rose from his chair, unrolling the scrolls in the bright lantern light pouring from containers suspended in the tree branches. Perdue and his friends immediately gathered closer to study the codex and diagrams.
    
  "This is an ancient star map, covering the skies directly above Egypt, Tunisia... basically, the entire Middle East as we know it," Penecal explained. "Over the past two weeks, my colleague Ofar and I have noticed several disturbing celestial phenomena."
    
  "Like what?" Sam asked, carefully studying the old brown parchment and its stunning information written in numbers and an unknown font.
    
  "Like shooting stars," he stopped Sam with an objective gesture of an open palm before the journalist could speak, "but... not the kind we can afford to fall. I'd venture to say that these celestial bodies aren't just gases consuming themselves, but planets, small at a distance. When stars of this type fall, it means they've been displaced from their orbits." Ophar looked utterly shocked by his own words. "Which means their demise could set off a chain reaction in the constellations surrounding them."
    
  Nina gasped. "That sounds like trouble."
    
  "The lady is right," Ofar acknowledged. "And all these specific bodies are important, so important that they have names by which they are identified."
    
  "Not just numbers after the names of ordinary scientists, like many modern-day notable stars," Penekal informed the audience at the table. "Their names were so important, as was their position in the heavens above the earth, that they were known even to the people of God."
    
  Sam was fascinated. Though he'd spent his life dealing with criminal organizations and shadowy villains, he'd had to succumb to the allure of the starry sky's mystical reputation. "How so, Mr. Ofar?" Sam asked with genuine interest, jotting down a few notes to memorize the terminology and names of the chart positions.
    
  "In the Testament of Solomon, the wise king of the Bible," Ophar recounted like an old bard, "it says that King Solomon bound seventy-two demons and forced them to build the Jerusalem Temple."
    
  His announcement was naturally met with cynicism from the group, disguised as silent contemplation. Only Adjo sat motionless, gazing at the stars above. With the power outaged throughout the surrounding country and other regions unlike Egypt, the starlight outshone the pitch-black darkness of space, which constantly lurked above everything.
    
  "I know how this must sound," Penecal explained, "but you must think in terms of diseases and bad emotions, not horned demons, to understand the nature of 'demons.' It will sound absurd at first, until we tell you what we observed, what happened. Only then will you begin to suspend disbelief in favor of a warning."
    
  "I assured Masters Ophar and Penekal that very few wise enough to understand this secret chapter would actually have the means to do anything about it," the professor said. Imru told the visitors from Scotland. "And that's why I considered you, Mr. Purdue, and your friends to be the right people to approach in this regard. I've read much of your work, Mr. Cleve," he told Sam. "I've learned much about your sometimes incredible trials and adventures with Dr. Gould and Mr. Purdue. This has convinced me that you are not the kind of people to blindly dismiss the strange and perplexing questions we face here daily within our respective orders."
    
  Excellent work, Professor, Nina thought. It's good that you'll anoint us with this charming, if patronizing, exaltation. Perhaps it was her feminine strength that allowed Nina to grasp the silver-tongued psychology of praise, but she wasn't about to say so. She had already caused tension between Purdue and the Colonel. Yimenu, just one of his legitimate adversaries. It would be unnecessary to repeat the counterproductive practice with Professor. I will change and forever destroy Purdue's reputation, simply to confirm her intuition about the Master Mason.
    
  And so Dr. Gould held her tongue as she listened to the astronomer's beautiful narration, his voice as soothing as that of an old wizard in a science fiction film.
    
    
  24
  Agreement
    
    
  Soon after, Professor Imru, the housekeeper, served them. Trays of baladi bread and ta'meyi (falafel) were followed by two more trays of spicy hawush. Ground beef and spices filled their nostrils with intoxicating aromas. The trays were placed on a large table, and the professor's men left as suddenly and quietly as they had arrived.
    
  The visitors eagerly accepted the Masons' refreshments and served them with a murmur of approval, much to the host's delight. Once they had all had a bit of refreshment, it was time for more information, as the Perdue party didn't have much time to spare.
    
  "Please, Master Ofar, continue," Prof. Imru Invited.
    
  "We, my order, have in our possession a set of parchments entitled 'The Code of Solomon,'" Ofar explained. "These texts state that King Solomon and his magicians-what we might see as alchemists today-somehow contained each of the bound demons within a seeing stone-diamonds." His dark eyes glimmered with mystery as he lowered his voice, addressing each listener. "And each diamond was baptized with a specific star to mark the fallen spirits."
    
  "A star chart," Perdue remarked, pointing to the frantic celestial scribbles on one sheet of parchment. Both Ophar and Penekal nodded enigmatically, both men looking considerably more serene at having brought their predicament to modern ears.
    
  "Now, as Professor Imru may have explained to you in our absence, we have reason to believe the sage walks among us again," said Ofar. "And every star that has fallen so far was significant on Solomon's map."
    
  Penekal added, "And so the special power of each of them manifested itself in some form recognizable only to those who knew what to look for, you know?"
    
  "The housekeeper of the late Madame Chantal, hanged with a hemp rope in a mansion in Nice a few days ago?" Ofar announced, waiting for his colleague to fill in the blanks.
    
  "The Codex says that the demon Onoskelis wove ropes from hemp that were used in the construction of the Jerusalem Temple," Penekal said.
    
  Ofar continued: "The seventh star in the constellation Leo, called Rhabdos, also fell."
    
  "A lighter for the temple's lamps during its construction," Penekal explained. He raised his open palms and surveyed the darkness that had enveloped the city. "The lamps have gone out throughout the surrounding lands. Only fire can create light, as you saw. Lamps, electric lights, will not."
    
  Nina and Sam exchanged fearful but hopeful glances. Perdue and Ajo expressed interest and slight excitement at the strange transactions. Perdue nodded slowly, grasping the patterns the observers had observed. "Masters Penekal and Ofar, what, exactly, do you wish us to do? I understand what you're saying is happening. However, I require some clarification regarding why exactly my colleagues and I have been summoned."
    
  "I heard something alarming about the latest fallen star, sir, in the taxi on the way here earlier. Apparently, the seas are rising, but without any natural cause. According to the star on the map my friend last pointed out to me, it's a terrible fate," Penecal lamented. "Mr. Purdue, we need your help in retrieving the remaining King Solomon's Diamonds. The Wizard is collecting them, and while he's doing so, another star falls; another plague is coming."
    
  "Well, where are those diamonds then? I'm sure I can try to help you dig them up before the Wizard..." he said.
    
  "A wizard, sir," Ofar"s voice trembled.
    
  "Sorry. The Wizard," Purdue quickly corrected his mistake, "finds them."
    
  Professor Imru stood, gesturing to his star-gazing allies for a moment. "You see, Mr. Purdue, that's the problem. Many of King Solomon's diamonds have been scattered among wealthy individuals over the centuries-kings, heads of state, and collectors of rare gems-and so the Magician resorted to fraud and murder to acquire them one by one."
    
  "Oh my God," Nina muttered. "This is like a needle in a haystack. How are we going to find them all? Do you have records of the diamonds we"re looking for?"
    
  "Unfortunately, no, Dr. Gould," Professor Imru lamented. He let out a silly laugh, feeling foolish for even mentioning it. "In fact, the observers and I jokingly joked that Mr. Perdue was rich enough to buy the diamonds in question, just to save us the trouble and time."
    
  Everyone laughed at the hilarious absurdity, but Nina observed the master mason's manner, knowing full well he was making the proposal with no expectations other than Perdue's extravagant, risk-taking, innate prodding. Once again, she kept the higher manipulation to herself and smiled. She glanced at Perdue, trying to warn him with a glance, but Nina could see he was laughing a little too hard.
    
  No way, she thought. He's actually considering it!
    
  "Sam," she said in a burst of mirth.
    
  "Yeah, I know. He'll take the bait, and we won't be able to stop him," Sam replied, not looking at her, continuing to laugh in an attempt to appear distracted.
    
  "Sam," she repeated, unable to formulate an answer.
    
  "He can afford it," Sam smiled.
    
  But Nina couldn't keep it to herself any longer. Promising herself to express her opinion in the most friendly and respectful manner, she rose from her seat. Her petite figure challenged the professor's gigantic shadow. I stood against the wall of the Masonic temple, the firelight flickering between them.
    
  "With all due respect, Professor, I think not," she countered. "It's inadvisable to resort to ordinary financial trade when the items are of such value. I dare say, it's preposterous to even imagine such a thing. And I can almost assure you, from personal experience, that ignorant people, rich or not, do not easily part with their treasures. And we certainly don't have the time to find them all and engage in tedious exchanges before your Wizard finds them."
    
  Nina tried to maintain an authoritative tone, her light voice implying she was simply proposing a quicker method, when in fact she was categorically opposed to the idea. The Egyptian men, unaccustomed to even acknowledging a woman's presence, let alone allowing her to participate in the discussion, sat in silence for a long moment, while Perdue and Sam held their breath.
    
  To her utter surprise, Prof. Imru replied, "I do agree, Dr. Gould. Expecting that to happen is quite absurd, let alone doing it on time."
    
  "Listen," Perdue began about the tournament, settling more comfortably on the edge of his chair, "I appreciate your concern, my dear Nina, and I agree that it seems far-fetched to do such a thing. However, one thing I can attest to is that nothing is ever cut and dried. We can use a variety of methods to achieve what we want. In this case, I'm sure I could approach some of the owners and make them an offer."
    
  "You've got to be kidding me," Sam exclaimed casually from across the table. "What's the catch? There has to be one, or you're completely nuts, man."
    
  "No, Sam, I'm completely sincere," Purdue assured him. "People, listen to me." The billionaire turned to face his host. "If you, Professor, could gather information on the few individuals who own the stones we need, I could force my brokers and legal entities to purchase these diamonds at a fair price without ruining me. They will issue title deeds after the appointed expert confirms their authenticity." He gave the professor a steely gaze, radiating a confidence the likes of which Sam and Nina hadn't seen in their friend in a long time. "That's the rub, Professor."
    
  Nina smiled in her little corner of shade and fire, nibbling on a piece of flatbread as Perdue struck a deal with his former opponent. "The catch is, after we foiled the Magician's mission, King Solomon's diamonds are legally mine."
    
  "This is my boy," Nina whispered.
    
  Initially shocked, Professor Imru gradually realized it was a fair offer. After all, he hadn't even heard of diamonds before the astrologers discovered the sage's ruse. He was well aware that King Solomon possessed gold and silver in vast quantities, but he didn't know that the king possessed diamonds themselves. Aside from the diamond mines discovered at Tanis, in the northeastern Nile Delta, and some information about other entities possibly under the king's control, Professor Imru had to admit this was new to him.
    
  "Do we have a deal, Professor?" Perdue insisted, glancing at his watch for an answer.
    
  Wise, the professor agreed. However, he had his own conditions. "I think that's very reasonable, Mr. Perdue, and also helpful," he said. "But I have a counterproposal of sorts. After all, I'm just assisting the Dragon Watchers in their quest to prevent a terrible celestial catastrophe."
    
  "I understand. What are you proposing?" Perdue asked.
    
  "The remaining diamonds, those not in the possession of wealthy families throughout Europe and Asia, will become the property of the Egyptian Archaeological Society," the professor insisted. "The ones your brokers manage to intercept belong to you. What do you say?"
    
  Sam frowned, tempted to grab his notebook. "In what country will we find these other diamonds?"
    
  The proud professor smiled at Sam, crossing his arms happily. "By the way, Mr. Cleve, we believe they're buried in the cemetery not far from where you and your colleagues will be conducting this dreadful official business."
    
  "In Ethiopia?" Adjo spoke for the first time since he'd started stuffing his mouth with the delectable dishes before him. "They're not in Axum, sir. I can assure you. I've spent years working on excavations with various international archaeological groups in the region."
    
  "I know, Mr. Kira," Prof. Imru said firmly.
    
  "According to our ancient texts," Penekal declared solemnly, "the diamonds we seek are reputedly buried in a monastery on a sacred island in Lake Tana."
    
  "In Ethiopia?" Sam asked. In response to the serious frowns he received, he shrugged and explained, "I'm Scottish. I don't know anything about Africa that wasn't in a Tarzan movie."
    
  Nina smiled. "They say there's an island in Lake Tana where the Virgin Mary supposedly rested on her way from Egypt, Sam," she explained. "It was also believed that the original Ark of the Covenant was kept here before it was brought to Aksum in 400 AD."
    
  "I'm impressed by your historical knowledge, Mr. Perdue. Perhaps Dr. Gould could someday work for the People's Movement for the Protection of Heritage Sites?" Professor Imru grinned. "Or even for the Egyptian Archaeological Society or perhaps Cairo University?"
    
  "Perhaps as a temporary adviser, Professor," she declined gracefully. "But I love modern history, especially German history of World War II."
    
  "Ah," he replied. "What a pity. It"s such a dark, cruel era to give your heart to. Dare I ask what it reveals in your heart?"
    
  Nina raised an eyebrow, quickly replying, "It only goes to show that I fear a repeat of history where it concerns me."
    
  The tall, dark-skinned professor looked down at the small, marble-skinned doctor, who contrasted with him, his eyes full of genuine admiration and warmth. Perdue, fearing another cultural scandal from his beloved Nina, cut short the brief bonding experience between her and the professor. Imru.
    
  "Okay then," Perdue clapped his hands and smiled. "Let"s get started first thing in the morning."
    
  "Yes," Nina agreed. "I'm dog tired, and the flight delay didn't do me any good either."
    
  "Yes, climate change in your native Scotland is quite aggressive," the presenter agreed.
    
  They left the meeting in high spirits, leaving the veteran astronomers relieved for their help, and Prof. excited about the treasure hunt ahead. Adjo stepped aside, letting Nina into the taxi, while Sam caught up with Purdue.
    
  "Did you tape all of this?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Yes, that's the whole deal," Sam confirmed. "So now we're stealing from Ethiopia again?" he asked innocently, finding the whole thing ironic and amusing.
    
  "Yes," Perdue smiled slyly, his answer confusing everyone in his company. "But this time, we're stealing for Black Sun."
    
    
  25
  Alchemy of the Gods
    
    
    
  Antwerp, Belgium
    
    
  Abdul Raya was strolling down a busy street in Berchem, a quaint neighborhood in the Flemish region of Antwerp. He was heading to the home-based business of an antique dealer named Hannes Vetter, a Flemish connoisseur obsessed with precious stones. His collection included various ancient pieces from Egypt, Mesopotamia, India, and Russia, all adorned with rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and sapphires. But Raya cared little for the age or rarity of Vetter's collection. There was only one thing he was interested in, and of that, he needed only a fifth.
    
  Wetter had spoken with Raia by phone three days earlier, before the floods began in earnest. They had paid an outrageous price for a mischievous image of Indian origin that was in Wetter's collection. Although he insisted that this particular piece was not for sale, he couldn't refuse Raia's bizarre offer. The buyer found Wetter on eBay, but from what Wetter learned from his conversation with Raia, the Egyptian knew a lot about ancient art and nothing about technology.
    
  Over the past few days, flood alerts have been mounting throughout Antwerp and Belgium. Along the coast, from Le Havre and Dieppe in France to Terneuzen in the Netherlands, homes have been evacuated as sea levels continue to rise without warning. With Antwerp caught in the middle, the already flooded Saftinge Sunken Land has already been lost to the tides. Other towns, such as Goes, Vlissingen, and Middelburg, have also been inundated by the waves, all the way to The Hague.
    
  Raya smiled, knowing he was the master of secret weather channels the authorities couldn't decipher. On the streets, he continued to encounter people animatedly conversing, pondering, and fearing the continuing rise in sea levels, which would soon flood Alkmaar and the rest of North Holland within the next day.
    
  "God is punishing us," he heard a middle-aged woman say to her husband outside a cafe. "That's why this is happening. It's God's wrath."
    
  Her husband looked as shocked as she was, but he tried to find solace in reason. "Matilda, calm down. Maybe this is just a natural phenomenon that the weather people couldn't detect with those radars," he pleaded.
    
  "But why?" she insisted. "Natural phenomena are caused by God"s will, Martin. It"s divine punishment."
    
  "Or divine evil," her husband muttered, to the horror of his religious wife.
    
  "How can you say that?" she shrieked, just as Raya passed by. "For what reason would God send evil upon us?"
    
  "Oh, I can"t resist this," Abdul Rayya exclaimed loudly. He turned to join the woman and her husband. They were stunned by his unusual gaze, his claw-like hands, his sharp, bony face, and sunken eyes. "Madam, the beauty of evil is that, unlike good, it doesn"t need a reason to wreak destruction. At the very core of evil is the deliberate destruction for the sheer pleasure of it. Good afternoon." As he leisurely walked away, the man and his wife stood frozen in shock, mainly from his revelation, but certainly also from his appearance.
    
  Warnings were broadcast across television networks, while reports of flood deaths joined other reports from the Mediterranean basin, Australia, South Africa, and South America of threatening flooding. Japan lost half its population, while myriad islands were submerged.
    
  "Oh, wait, my dears," Raya sang cheerfully as she approached Hannes Vetter's house, "it's a water curse. Water is found everywhere, not just in the sea. Wait, the fallen Cunospaston is a water demon. You could drown in your own bathtubs!"
    
  This was the final starfall that Ophar witnessed after Penekal heard of rising sea levels in Egypt. But Raya knew what was coming, for he was the architect of this chaos. The exhausted Wizard sought only to remind humanity of their insignificance in the eyes of the universe, of the countless eyes that glared at them every night. And to top it all off, he relished the destructive power he controlled and the youthful thrill of being the only one who knew why.
    
  Of course, the latter was just his opinion on matters. The last time he shared knowledge with humanity, it resulted in the Industrial Revolution. After that, he didn't have much to do. People discovered science in a new light, engines replaced most vehicles, and technology required the blood of the Earth to effectively compete in the race to destroy other countries in the competition for power, money, and evolution. As he expected, people used knowledge for destruction-a delightful wink at evil incarnate. But Raya grew bored with repetitive wars and monotonous greed, so he decided to do something more... something definitive... to dominate the world.
    
  "Mr. Raya, so nice to see you. Hannes Vetter, at your service." The antique dealer smiled as the strange man walked up the steps to his front door.
    
  "Good afternoon, Mr. Vetter," Raya greeted gracefully, shaking the man's hand. "I look forward to receiving my prize."
    
  "Of course. Come in," Hannes replied calmly, grinning from ear to ear. "My shop is in the basement. Here you are." He gestured for Raya to lead the way down a very luxurious staircase, adorned with beautiful, expensive ornaments on stands that ran along the banister. Above them, some woven items glittered in the gentle breeze of the small fan Hannes used to keep the place cool.
    
  "This is an interesting little place. Where are your clients?" Raya asked. The question puzzled Hannes slightly, but he assumed the Egyptian was simply more inclined to do things the old way.
    
  "My customers usually order online and we ship the goods to them," Hannes explained.
    
  "They trust you?" the thin Wizard began with genuine surprise. "How do they pay you? And how do they know you'll keep your word?"
    
  The salesman let out a puzzled laugh. "This way, Mr. Raya. In my office. I decided to leave the jewelry you asked for there. It has provenance, so you're sure of the authenticity of your purchase," Hannes replied politely. "And here's my laptop."
    
  "Yours what?" the polite dark Mage asked coldly.
    
  "My laptop?" Hannes repeated, pointing to the computer. "Where can you transfer funds from your account to pay for the goods?"
    
  "Oh!" Raya understood. "Of course, yes. I"m sorry. I had a long night."
    
  "Women or wine?" the cheerful Hannes chuckled.
    
  "I'm afraid I walk. You see, now that I'm older, it's even more tiring," Raya remarked.
    
  "I know. I know it all too well," Hannes said. "I ran marathons when I was younger, and now I can barely walk up the stairs without stopping to catch my breath. Where have you been?"
    
  "Ghent. I couldn't sleep, so I walked to visit you," Raya explained matter-of-factly, looking around the office in surprise.
    
  "Excuse me?" Hannes gasped. "You walked from Ghent to Antwerp? Over fifty kilometers?"
    
  "Yes".
    
  Hannes Vetter was amazed, but noted that the client's appearance seemed rather eccentric, someone who seemed unfazed by most things.
    
  "This is impressive. Would you like some tea?"
    
  "I would like to see a picture," Raya said firmly.
    
  "Oh, of course," Hannes said, walking over to the wall safe to retrieve the twelve-inch statuette. When he returned, Raya's black eyes immediately spotted six identical diamonds hidden in the sea of gemstones that made up the statuette's exterior. It was a hideous-looking demon, with bared teeth and long black hair. Carved from black ivory, the object boasted two facets on each side of the main facet, though it only had one body. A diamond was set into the forehead of each facet.
    
  "Like me, this little devil is even uglier in real life," Raya said with a pained smile, taking the figurine from a laughing Hannes. The seller wasn't about to dispute his buyer's point, as it was largely true. But his sense of propriety was saved from embarrassment by Raya's curiosity. "Why does it have five sides? One would be enough to deter intruders."
    
  "Ah, this," Hannes said, eager to describe its origins. "Judging by its provenance, it's only had two previous owners. A king from Sudan owned them in the second century, but claimed they were cursed, so he donated them to a church in Spain during the Alboran campaign, near Gibraltar."
    
  Raya looked at the man with a confused expression. "So that's why it has five sides?"
    
  "No, no, no," Hannes laughed. "I'm still getting to that. This decoration was modeled after the Indian god of evil, Ravana, but Ravana had ten heads, so it was probably an inaccurate ode to the god-king."
    
  "Or maybe it"s not a god-king at all," Raya smiled, counting the remaining diamonds as six of the Seven Sisters, the demonesses from the Testament of King Solomon.
    
  "What do you mean?" Hannes asked.
    
  Rayya rose to his feet, still smiling. In a soft, instructive tone, he said, "Watch."
    
  One by one, despite the antique dealer's furious objections, Raya extracted each diamond with his pocket knife, until he counted six in his palm. Hannes didn't know why, but he was too terrified of his visitor to do anything to stop him. A creeping fear gripped him, as if the devil himself stood in his presence, and he could do nothing but watch as his visitor persisted. The tall Egyptian gathered the diamonds into his palm. Like a parlor magician at a cheap party, he showed the stones to Hannes. "See these?"
    
  "Y-yes," Hannes confirmed, his forehead wet with sweat.
    
  "These are six of the seven sisters, demons bound by King Solomon to build his temple," Raya said with a showman's descriptiveness. "They were responsible for digging the foundations of the Jerusalem Temple."
    
  "Interesting," Hannes managed to say, trying to keep his voice level and avoid panicking. What his client had told him was both absurd and terrifying, which, in Hannes's eyes, made him look crazy. It gave him reason to believe Raya might be dangerous, so he played along for now. He realized he probably wouldn't get paid for the artifact.
    
  "Yes, this is very interesting, Mr. Vetter, but do you know what"s truly fascinating?" Raya asked, while Hannes stared blankly. With his other hand, Raya pulled Celeste from his pocket. The smooth, gliding movements of his elongated arms were quite beautiful to behold, like a ballet dancer"s. But Raya"s eyes darkened as he brought his hands together. "Now you"re about to see something truly fascinating. Call it alchemy; the alchemy of the Grand Design, the transmutation of the gods!" Raya cried, drowning out the ensuing rumble that came from all directions. A reddish glow spread within his claws, between his slender fingers and the creases of his palms. He raised his hands, proudly displaying the power of his strange alchemy to Hannes, who clutched his chest in horror.
    
  "Postpone that heart attack, Mr. Vetter, until you see the foundation of your own temple," Raya said cheerfully. "Look!"
    
  The terrifying command to watch proved too much for Hannes Vetter, and he sank to the floor, clutching his oppressed chest. Above him, the evil Wizard was delighted by the crimson glow in his hands as Celeste met the six diamond sisters, triggering their attack. Beneath them, the ground trembled, and the tremors dislodged the supporting pillars of the building where Hannes lived. He heard the growing earthquake shattering glass and the floor crumbling into large chunks of concrete and steel bars.
    
  Outside, seismic activity increased sixfold, shaking all of Antwerp like an earthquake's epicenter, and then spread across the earth's surface in all directions. Soon, they would arrive in Germany and the Netherlands, contaminating the ocean floor of the North Sea. Raya got what he needed from Hannes, leaving the dying man under the rubble of his home. The magician was forced to rush to Austria to meet a man in the Salzkammergut region who claimed to have the most sought-after stone after Celeste.
    
  "See you soon, Mr. Karsten."
    
    
  26
  Releasing a scorpion on the Snake
    
    
  Nina finished the last of her beer before the Hercules began circling the makeshift airstrip near the Dansha clinic in the Tigray region. It was early evening, as they had planned. With the help of his administrative aides, Perdue had recently secured permission to use the abandoned airstrip after he and Patrick had discussed strategy. Patrick had taken it upon himself to inform Colonel Yeeman how he was obligated to act under the plea bargain Perdue's legal team had struck with the Ethiopian government and its representatives.
    
  "Drink up, boys," she said. "We"re behind enemy lines now..." she glanced at Perdue, "...again." She sat down as they all cracked open their last cold beer before returning the Sacred Box to Axum. "So, just to be clear, Paddy, why aren"t we landing at the excellent airport in Axum?"
    
  "Because that's what they, whoever they are, expect," Sam winked. "There's nothing like an impulsive change of plans to keep the enemy on their toes."
    
  "But you told Yeemen," she countered.
    
  "Yes, Nina. But most of the civilians and archaeological experts who are angry with us won't be notified soon enough to make the trip all the way here," Patrick explained. "By the time they get here by word of mouth, we'll be on our way to Mount Yeha, where Perdue discovered the Sacred Box. We'll be traveling in an unmarked 'Two and a Half Grand' truck with no noticeable colors or emblems, making us virtually invisible to Ethiopian citizens." He shared a grin with Perdue.
    
  "Great," she replied. "But why here, if it"s important, to ask?"
    
  "Well," Patrick pointed to the map beneath the pale light fixed to the roof of the ship, "you"ll see that Dansha is roughly in the center, halfway between Axum, right here," he pointed to the city"s name and ran the tip of his index finger down the paper to the left. "And your destination is Lake Tana, right here, southwest of Axum."
    
  "So, we're doubling down as soon as we drop the box?" Sam asked before Nina could question Patrick's use of the word "your" instead of "our."
    
  "No, Sam," Perdue smiled, "our beloved Nina will join you on your journey to Tana Kirkos, the island where the diamonds are found. Meanwhile, Patrick, Ajo, and I will travel to Axum with the Sacred Box, maintaining propriety before the Ethiopian government and the people of Yimenu."
    
  "Wait, what?" Nina gasped, grabbing Sam's hip as she leaned forward, frowning. "Sam and I are going alone to steal the damn diamonds?"
    
  Sam smiled. "I like it."
    
  "Oh, get off," she groaned, leaning back against the plane"s belly as it thundered into a bank, preparing to land.
    
  "Go ahead, Dr. Gould. Not only would it save us time delivering the stones to the Egyptian stargazers, but it would also serve as the perfect cover," Perdue urged.
    
  "And the next thing you know, I'll be arrested and become Oban's most notorious citizen again," she frowned, pressing her full lips to the neck of the bottle.
    
  "Are you from Oban?" the pilot asked Nina without turning around as he checked the controls in front of him.
    
  "Yes," she replied.
    
  "Terrible about those people from your town, huh? What a shame," the pilot said.
    
  Perdue and Sam also perked up with Nina, both as distracted as she was. "What people?" she asked. "What happened?"
    
  "Oh, I saw it in the paper in Edinburgh about three days ago, maybe longer," the pilot reported. "The doctor and his wife were killed in a car accident. Drowned in Loch Lomond after their car crashed or something."
    
  "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, looking horrified. "Did you recognize the name?"
    
  "Yeah, let me think," he shouted over the roar of the engines. "We were still saying his name had something to do with water, you know? The irony is, they drown, you know? Uh..."
    
  "The beach?" she choked out, desperate to know but dreading any confirmation.
    
  "That's it! Yes, Beach, that's it. Dr. Beach and his wife," he snapped his thumb and ring finger before realizing the worst. "My God, I hope they weren't your friends."
    
  "Oh, Jesus," Nina cried into her palms.
    
  "I'm so sorry, Dr. Gould," the pilot apologized as he turned to prepare for landing in the thick darkness that had recently pervaded North Africa. "I had no idea you hadn't heard."
    
  "It"s okay," she breathed out, devastated. "Of course, you couldn"t have known that I knew about them. It"s okay. It"s... okay."
    
  Nina wasn't crying, but her hands were shaking, and her eyes were filled with sadness. Purdue put his arm around her. "You know, they wouldn't be dead now if I hadn't run off to Canada and caused all this mess with the person who led to her kidnapping," she whispered, gritting her teeth against the guilt that tormented her heart.
    
  "Bullshit, Nina," Sam protested softly. "You know that's bullshit, right? That Nazi bastard would still kill anyone in his path just to..." Sam paused to state the horrific obvious, but Purdue finished accusing him. Patrick remained silent and decided to remain so for now.
    
  "On the way to my destruction," Purdue muttered, fear in his confession. "It wasn't your fault, my dear Nina. As always, your cooperation with me made you an innocent target, and Dr. Beach's involvement in my rescue attracted the attention of his family. Jesus Christ! I'm just a walking omen of death, aren't I?" he said, more introspective than self-pitying.
    
  He released Nina's trembling body, and for a moment she wanted to pull him back, but she abandoned him to his thoughts. Sam could understand very well what was taxing both his friends. He glanced at Adjo, sitting across from him, as the plane's wheels slammed with Hercules-like force into the cracked, somewhat overgrown asphalt of the old runway. The Egyptian blinked very slowly, signaling Sam to relax and not react so quickly.
    
  Sam nodded subtly and mentally prepared himself for the upcoming trip to Lake Tana. Soon, the Super Hercules gradually came to a stop, and Sam saw Perdue staring at the "Sacred Box" relic. The silver-haired billionaire explorer was no longer as cheerful as before, but instead sat lamenting his obsession with historical artifacts, his clasped hands dangling loosely between his thighs. Sam sighed deeply. This was the worst possible time for mundane inquiries, but this was also vital information he needed. Choosing the most tactful moment he could, Sam glanced briefly at the silent Patrick before asking Perdue, "Do Nina and I have a car to get to Lake Tana, Perdue?"
    
  "You understand. It"s a nondescript little Volkswagen. I hope you don"t mind," Perdue said weakly. Nina"s wet eyes rolled back and fluttered as she tried to stop the tears before stepping off the enormous plane. She took Perdue"s hand and squeezed it. Her voice wavered as she whispered to him, but her words were far less upsetting. "All we can do now is make sure that two-faced bastard gets what he deserves, Perdue. People connect with you because of you, because you"re enthusiastic about existence and interested in beautiful things. You"re paving the way for a better standard of living with your genius, your inventions."
    
  Against the backdrop of her mesmerizing voice, Perdue could faintly discern the creak of the back lid opening and the sound of others steadily preparing to remove the Sacred Casket from the depths of Mount Yeha. He could hear Sam and Ajo discussing the relic's weight, but all he really heard were Nina's final sentences.
    
  "We all decided to partner with you long before the checks cleared, my boy," she confessed. "And Dr. Beach decided to save you because he knew how important you were to the world. My God, Purdue, you"re more than a star in the sky to the people who know you. You"re the sun that keeps us all balanced, warming us, and making us thrive in orbit. People crave your magnetic presence, and if I have to die for that privilege, so be it."
    
  Patrick didn't want to interrupt, but he had a schedule to adhere to, and he slowly approached them to signal it was time to leave. Perdue wasn't sure how to react to Nina's words of devotion, but he could see Sam standing there in all his stern glory, arms crossed over his chest and smiling, as if he supported Nina's feelings. "Let's do this, Perdue," Sam said eagerly. "Let's get their damn box back and get to the Wizard."
    
  "I must admit, I want Karsten more," Perdue admitted bitterly. Sam approached him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. As Nina followed Patrick after the Egyptian, Sam secretly shared a special comfort with Perdue.
    
  "I was saving this news for your birthday," Sam mentioned, "but I have some information that might calm your vengeful side for now."
    
  "What?" Perdue asked, already interested.
    
  "You remember asking me to record all the transactions, right? I wrote down all the information we gathered about this entire excursion, as well as about the Magician. You remember asking me to keep an eye on the diamonds your men acquired, and so on," Sam continued, trying to keep his voice especially low, "because you want to plant them at Karsten's mansion to frame the head of Black Sun, right?"
    
  "Yeah? Yeah, yeah, what of it? We still need to find a way to do this once we're done dancing to the whistles of the Ethiopian authorities, Sam," Perdue snapped, his tone betraying the stress he was drowning in.
    
  "I remember you said you wanted to catch the snake with your enemy's hand or something," Sam explained. "So, I took the liberty of spinning this ball for you."
    
  Perdue's cheeks flushed with intrigue. "How?" he whispered harshly.
    
  "I had a friend-don't ask-who found out where the Magician's victims were getting his services," Sam quickly shared before Nina could start looking. "And just as my new, experienced friend managed to hack the Austrian's computer servers, it so happened that our esteemed friend from Black Sun apparently invited the unknown alchemist to his home for a lucrative deal."
    
  Perdue's face lit up and a semblance of a smile appeared on it.
    
  "All we have to do now is deliver the advertised diamond to Karsten's estate by Wednesday, and then we'll watch the snake get stung by the scorpion until there's no poison left in our veins," Sam grinned.
    
  "Mr. Cleve, you're a genius," Purdue remarked, planting a deep kiss on Sam's cheek. Nina, entering, stopped dead in her tracks and crossed her arms. Raising an eyebrow, she could only speculate. "Scots. As if wearing skirts wasn't enough of a test of their masculinity."
    
    
  27
  Humid desert
    
    
  As Sam and Nina packed their jeep for the trip to Tana Kirkos, Perdue spoke with Ajo about the local Ethiopians who would accompany them to the archaeological site behind Mount Yeha. Patrick soon joined them to discuss the details of their transportation with minimal fuss.
    
  "I'll call Colonel Yeeman to let him know when we arrive. He'll just have to be satisfied with that," Patrick said. "As long as he's there when the Holy Casket is returned, I don't see why we should tell him which side we're on."
    
  "Too true, Paddy," Sam agreed. "Just remember, whatever Perdue and Ajo's reputations, you represent the United Kingdom under the command of the tribunal. No one is allowed to harass or assault anyone there to retrieve the relic."
    
  "That's right," Patrick agreed. "This time, we have an international exception as long as we stick to the deal, and even Yimenu has to stick to it."
    
  "I really like the taste of this apple," Perdue sighed as he helped Ajo and three of Patrick's men lift the fake Ark into the military truck they had prepared for its transport. "That seasoned trigger man drives me nuts every time I look at him."
    
  "Ah!" Nina exclaimed, turning up her nose at Perdue. "Now I understand. You're sending me away from Axum so Yimenu and I don't get in each other's way, hey? And you're sending Sam to make sure I don't get out of hand."
    
  Sam and Perdue stood side by side, choosing to remain silent, but Ajo chuckled, and Patrick stepped between her and the men to salvage the moment. "This really is for the best, Nina, don't you think? I mean, we really need to deliver the remaining diamonds to the Egyptian Dragon Nation..."
    
  Sam winced, trying not to laugh at Patrick's misrepresentation of the Stargazer Order as "poor," but Perdue smiled openly. Patrick glanced back at the men reproachfully before turning back to the intimidating little historian. "They need the stones urgently, and with the artifact delivered..." he continued, trying to reassure her. But Nina simply raised her hand and shook her head. "Leave it, Patrick. Never mind. I'll go and steal something else from that poor country in the name of Britain, just to avoid the diplomatic nightmare I'm sure to conjure up if I see that misogynistic idiot again."
    
  "We have to go, Effendi," said Ajo Perdue, thankfully breaking the looming tension with his sobering statement. "If we delay, we won't get there in time."
    
  "Yes! Everyone better hurry," Purdue suggested. "Nina, you and Sam will meet us here in exactly twenty-four hours with the diamonds from the island monastery. Then we must return to Cairo in record time."
    
  "Call me nitpicking," Nina frowned, "but am I missing something? I thought these diamonds were supposed to be the property of the professor. The Egyptian Archaeological Society of Imru."
    
  "Yes, that was the deal, but my brokers received the list of stones from the professor. Imru's people are in the community, while Sam and I were in direct contact with Master Penekal," Perdue explained.
    
  "Oh, God, I smell a double-cross," she said, but Sam gently grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Purdue with a hearty, "Hello, old man! Come on, Dr. Gould. We have a crime to commit, and we have very little time to do it."
    
  "Oh God, the rotten apples of my life," she moaned as Purdue waved at her.
    
  "Don't forget to look at the sky!" Perdue joked before opening the passenger door of the idling old truck. Patrick and his men watched the relic from the backseat, while Perdue rode on the shotgun with Ajo at the wheel. The Egyptian engineer was still the best guide in the region, and Perdue thought that if he were driving himself, he wouldn't have to give directions.
    
  Under cover of night, a group of men transported the Holy Casket to the excavation site on Mount Yeha, determined to return it as quickly as possible with as little disruption from the enraged Ethiopians as possible. The large, dirty-colored truck creaked and roared along the potholed road, heading east toward the famed city of Axum, believed to be the resting place of the biblical Ark of the Covenant.
    
  Heading southwest, Sam and Nina raced towards Lake Tana, a journey that would take them at least seven hours in the jeep they were provided with.
    
  "Are we doing the right thing, Sam?" she asked, unwrapping a candy bar. "Or are we just chasing Purdue's shadow?"
    
  "I heard what you told him in Hercules, my love," Sam replied. "We"re doing this because it"s necessary." He looked at her. "You really meant what you said to him, didn"t you? Or did you just want to make him feel less like crap?"
    
  Nina answered reluctantly, using chewing as a way to stall for time.
    
  "I only know one thing," Sam shared, "and that is that Perdue was tortured by Black Sun and left for dead... and that alone sets all systems on fire."
    
  After Nina swallowed the candy, she looked up at the stars emerging one by one above the unknown horizon they were heading toward, wondering how many of them were potentially evil. "The nursery rhyme makes more sense now, you know? Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder who you are."
    
  "I've never really thought about it that way, but there's some mystery to it. You're right. And wishing on a shooting star," he added, looking at the beautiful Nina, who was sucking on her fingertips to savor the chocolate. "It makes you wonder why a shooting star might, like a genie, grant your wishes."
    
  "And you know how evil those bastards really are, right? If you base your desires on the supernatural, I think you're definitely going to get your ass kicked. You shouldn't use fallen angels, or demons, or whatever the hell they're called, to fuel your greed. That's why anyone who uses..." She paused. "Sam, is that the rule you and Purdue apply to the professor? Imr or Karsten?"
    
  "What rule? There is no rule," he defended himself politely, his eyes fixed on the difficult road ahead in the gathering darkness.
    
  "Perhaps Karsten's greed will lead him to his doom, using the Wizard and King Solomon's Diamonds to rid the world of him?" she suggested, sounding terribly confident. It was time for Sam to confess. The brash historian was no fool, and besides, she was part of their team, so she deserved to know what was going on between Purdue and Sam and what they hoped to achieve.
    
  Nina slept for about three hours straight. Sam didn't complain, though he was completely exhausted and struggling to stay awake on the monotonous road, which at best resembled a crater with severe acne. By eleven o'clock, the stars shone with a pristine glow against the unblemished sky, but Sam was too busy admiring the marshy areas lining the dirt road they took to the lake.
    
  "Nina?" he said, exciting her as gently as possible.
    
  "Are we there yet?" she muttered, stunned.
    
  "Almost," he replied, "but I need you to see something."
    
  "Sam, I'm not in the mood for your juvenile sexual advances right now," she frowned, still croaking like a living mummy.
    
  "No, I"m serious," he insisted. "Look. Just look out your window and tell me if you see what I see."
    
  She complied with difficulty. "I see darkness. It"s the middle of the night."
    
  "The moon is full, so it's not completely dark. Tell me what you notice about this landscape," he insisted. Sam seemed both confused and upset, something completely out of character for him, so Nina knew it must be important. She looked more closely, trying to figure out what he meant. Only when she remembered that Ethiopia is largely arid and desert-like landscape did she understand what he meant.
    
  "Are we driving on water?" she asked cautiously. Then the full force of the strangeness hit her, and she cried out, "Sam, why are we driving on water?"
    
  The jeep's tires were wet, though the road wasn't flooded. On either side of the gravel road, the moon illuminated the rolling sandbanks that swayed in the gentle breeze. Because the road was slightly elevated above the harsh surrounding ground, it wasn't yet as deeply submerged as the rest of the surrounding area.
    
  "We shouldn't be like that," Sam replied with a shrug. "As far as I know, this country is known for its droughts, and the landscape should be bone-dry."
    
  "Wait," she said, turning on the roof light to check the map Ajo had given them. "Let me see, where are we now?"
    
  "We just passed Gondar about fifteen minutes ago," he replied. "We should be near Addis Zemen now, which is about fifteen minutes' drive from Vereta, our destination before we take the boat across the lake."
    
  "Sam, this road is about seventeen kilometers from the lake!" she gasped, measuring the distance between the road and the nearest body of water. "That can't be lake water. Could it?"
    
  "Nope," Sam agreed. "But what amazes me is that, according to preliminary research by Ajo and Perdue during this two-day garbage collection, there hasn't been rain in this region for over two months! So, I'd like to know where the hell the lake got the extra water to pave this damn road."
    
  "This," she shook her head, unable to make sense of it, "isn"t... natural."
    
  "You understand what this means, right?" Sam sighed. "We'll have to get to the monastery exclusively by water."
    
  Nina didn't seem too displeased with the new developments: "I think it's a good thing. Moving entirely in water has its advantages-it'll be less noticeable than doing tourist things."
    
  "What do you mean?"
    
  "I propose we get a canoe in Verete and make the whole journey from there," she suggested. "No change of transport. And we don't need to meet the locals for that, understand? We take the canoe, put on some clothes, and report this to our brothers, the diamond guardians."
    
  Sam smiled in the pale light falling from the roof.
    
  "What?" she asked, no less surprised.
    
  "Oh, nothing. I just appreciate your newfound criminal integrity, Dr. Gould. We must be careful not to lose you completely to the Dark Side." He chuckled.
    
  "Oh, fuck off," she said, smiling. "I"m here to do a job. Besides, you know how I hate religion. Anyway, why the hell are these monks hiding diamonds anyway?"
    
  "Good point," Sam admitted. "I can't wait to rob a group of humble, polite people of the last of their world's riches." As he'd feared, Nina didn't appreciate his sarcasm and replied evenly, "Yes."
    
  "By the way, who's going to give us a canoe at one o'clock in the morning, Dr. Gould?" Sam asked.
    
  "No one, I suppose. We'll just have to borrow one. It'll be a good five hours before they wake up and notice they're missing. By then, we'll be culling the monks, right?" she ventured.
    
  "Godless," he smiled, shifting the jeep into low gear to negotiate the tricky potholes hidden by the strange tide of water. "You're absolutely godless."
    
    
  28
  Grave Robbing 101
    
    
  By the time they reached Vereta, the jeep was threatening to sink three feet into the water. The road disappeared several miles back, but they continued toward the edge of the lake. For their successful infiltration of Tana Kirkos, they needed cover from the night before too many people got in their way.
    
  "We'll have to stop, Nina," Sam sighed hopelessly. "What worries me is how we'll get back to the meeting point if the jeep sinks."
    
  "Worries for another time," she replied, placing a hand on Sam's cheek. "Right now, we have to finish the job. Just take one feat at a time, otherwise we'll, pardon the pun, drown in worry and fail the mission."
    
  Sam couldn't argue with that. She was right, and her suggestion of not overloading themselves until a solution emerged made sense. He'd stopped the car at the entrance to town early in the morning. From there, they'd need to find some kind of boat to get to the island as quickly as possible. It was a long way even to reach the shores of the lake, let alone row it out.
    
  The city was in chaos. Houses were disappearing under the onslaught of water, and most people were shouting "witchcraft" because there had been no rain to cause the flooding. Sam asked a local sitting on the steps of the town hall where he could find a canoe. The man refused to speak to the tourists until Sam pulled out a wad of Ethiopian birr to pay.
    
  "He told me there were power outages in the days leading up to the floods," Sam told Nina. "To top it all off, all the power lines went down an hour ago. These people had begun evacuating in earnest hours before, so they knew things would get bad."
    
  "Poor things. Sam, we have to stop this. Whether all this is really being done by an alchemist with special skills is still a bit far-fetched, but we have to do everything we can to stop the bastard before the entire world is destroyed," Nina said. "Just in case he somehow has the ability to use transmutation to cause natural disasters."
    
  With compact bags slung over their backs, they followed the lone volunteer for several blocks to the Agricultural College, all three wading through knee-deep water. Around them, residents were still trudging, shouting warnings and suggestions to each other, some trying to save their homes while others sought to escape to higher ground. The young man who had led Sam and Nina finally stopped in front of a large warehouse on the campus and pointed to a workshop.
    
  "Here, this is the metal fabrication shop where we teach classes on building and assembling farm equipment. Maybe you can find one of the tankwas the biologists keep in the shed, mister. They use it to take samples from the lake."
    
  "Tan-?" Sam tried to repeat.
    
  "Tankwa," the young man smiled. "The boat we make from, um, papyrus? They grow in the lake, and we've been making boats out of them since our ancestors," he explained.
    
  "And you? Why are you doing all this?" Nina asked him.
    
  "I'm waiting for my sister and her husband, ma'am," he replied. "We're all walking east to the family farm, hoping to get away from the water."
    
  "Well, be careful, okay?" Nina said.
    
  "You too," said the young man, hurrying back to the town hall stairs where they had found him. "Good luck!"
    
  After several awkward minutes of infiltrating the small warehouse, they finally stumbled upon something worth the effort. Sam dragged Nina through the water for a long time, lighting the way with his flashlight.
    
  "You know, it"s a gift from God that it"s not raining," she whispered.
    
  "I was thinking the same thing. Can you imagine this journey across the water, with the dangers of lightning and pouring rain impairing our vision?" he agreed. "There! Up there. It looks like a canoe."
    
  "Yes, but they're awfully tiny," she lamented at the sight. The handcrafted vessel was barely big enough for Sam alone, let alone both of them. Unable to find anything else even remotely useful, the two were faced with an inevitable decision.
    
  "You'll have to go alone, Nina. We simply don't have time for nonsense. Dawn will break in less than four hours, and you're light and small. You'll travel much faster alone," Sam explained, dreading sending her off alone into an unknown place.
    
  Outside, several women screamed as the roof of the house collapsed, prompting Nina to take the diamonds and end the innocent suffering. "I really don't want to," she admitted. "The thought terrifies me, but I'll go. I mean, what could a bunch of peace-loving, celibate monks possibly want with a pale heretic like me?"
    
  "Other than burning you at the stake?" Sam said without thinking, trying to be funny.
    
  A slap on the hand conveyed Nina's confusion at his rash assumption before she gestured for him to launch the canoe. For the next forty-five minutes, they pulled her through the water until they found an open space with no buildings or fences to block her path.
    
  "The moon will light your path, and the lights on the monastery walls will show your destination, my love. Be careful, okay?" He thrust his Beretta, a fresh clip, into her hand. "Beware of the crocodiles," Sam said, lifting her into his arms and holding her tightly. In truth, he was terribly concerned about her solitary endeavor, but he didn't dare add to her fears with the truth.
    
  As Nina draped the burlap cloak over her petite frame, Sam felt a lump in his throat at the dangers she had to face alone. "I'll be right here, waiting for you at the town hall."
    
  She didn't look back as she began to row, and she didn't utter a single word. Sam took this as a sign that she was focused on her task, though in reality she was crying. He could never have known how terrified she was, traveling alone to an ancient monastery, with no idea what awaited her there, while he was too far away to save her if anything happened. It wasn't just the unknown destination that frightened Nina. The thought of what lurked in the swollen waters of the lake-the lake from which the Blue Nile originated-terrified her beyond belief. Fortunately for her, however, many of the townspeople had the same idea, and she wasn't alone on the vast stretch of water that now hid the real lake. She had no idea where the real Lake Tana began, but as Sam had instructed, she could only search for the flames of the firepots along the monastery walls on Tana Kirkos.
    
  It was eerie to be afloat among so many canoe-like boats, hearing people speak around her in languages she didn't understand. "I guess this is what it's like to cross the River Styx," she said to herself with satisfaction as she rowed at a strong pace to reach her destination. "All the voices; all the whispers of many. Men and women and different dialects, all floating in the darkness on black waters by the grace of the gods."
    
  The historian looked up at the clear, starry sky. Her dark hair fluttered in the gentle wind over the water, peeking out from under her hood. "Twinkle, twinkle, Little Star," she whispered, clutching the butt of her firearm as tears quietly rolled down her cheeks. "Damn evil-that's what you are."
    
  Only the cries echoing across the water reminded her that she wasn't bitterly alone, and in the distance she spotted the faint glow of the fires Sam had mentioned. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang, and at first it seemed to disturb the people in the boats. But then they began singing. At first, it was a multitude of different melodies and keys, but gradually the people of the Amhara region began to sing in unison.
    
  "Is that their national anthem?" Nina wondered out loud, but didn't dare ask for fear of giving away her identity. "No, wait. It's... the anthem."
    
  In the distance, a somber bell-ringing echoed across the water as new waves seemed to rise out of nowhere. She heard some people pause in their song to exclaim in terror, while others sang louder. Nina closed her eyes as the water rippled violently, leaving her with no doubt that it must have been a crocodile or a hippopotamus.
    
  "Oh, my God!" she cried out as her tankwa tilted. Gripping the paddle with all her might, Nina paddled faster, hoping that whatever monster was down there would choose another canoe and allow her to live a few more days. Her heart pounded as she heard people screaming somewhere behind her, along with the loud noise of splashing water, ending in a mournful howl.
    
  Some creature had taken over a boat full of people, and Nina was horrified to think that in a lake that size, every living thing had brothers and sisters. There were bound to be many more attacks under the indifferent moon, where fresh meat had appeared tonight. "And I thought you were joking about the crocodiles, Sam," she said, breathless with fear. Unconsciously, she imagined the culprit beast as exactly what it was. "Water demons, all of them," she croaked, her chest and arms burning from the effort of paddling through the treacherous waters of Lake Tana.
    
  By four o'clock in the morning, Nina's tankwa had delivered her to the shores of Tana Kirkos Island, where the remaining diamonds of King Solomon were hidden in a cemetery. She knew the location, but she still had no idea where the stones would be kept. In a case? In a sack? In a coffin, God forbid? As she approached the fortress, built in ancient times, the historian felt a sense of relief due to one unpleasant fact: it turned out that the rising water had led her directly to the monastery wall, and she wouldn't have to navigate dangerous terrain swarming with unknown guardians or animals.
    
  Using her compass, Nina pinpointed the location of the wall she needed to breach and, using a climbing rope, secured her canoe to a protruding buttress. The monks were feverishly busy receiving people at the main entrance and moving their food supplies to the higher towers. All this chaos benefited Nina's mission. Not only were the monks too busy to pay attention to intruders, but the ringing of the church bell ensured that her presence would never be detected by sound. Essentially, she didn't need to sneak or be quiet as she made her way into the cemetery.
    
  Rounding the second wall, she was delighted to find the cemetery exactly as Purdue had described. Unlike the rough map she'd been given indicating the section she was supposed to find, the cemetery itself was considerably smaller in scale. In fact, she found it easily at first glance.
    
  It's too easy, she thought, feeling a little uneasy. Maybe you're just so used to digging through crap that you can't appreciate what's called a happy accident.
    
  Perhaps she will be lucky long enough for the abbot who saw her transgression to catch her.
    
    
  29
  Bruichladdich's Karma
    
    
  With her recent obsession with fitness and strength training, Nina couldn't argue with the benefits now that she had to use her conditioning to avoid detection. Most of the physical exertion was accomplished quite comfortably as she scaled the barrier of the inner wall to find her way to the lower section adjacent to the hall. Stealthily, Nina gained access to a row of graves resembling narrow trenches. It reminded her of eerie railroad cars lined up in a row, located lower than the rest of the cemetery.
    
  What was unusual was that the third grave from her, marked on the map, had a remarkably new marble slab installed, especially compared to the obviously worn and dirty coverings of all the others in the row. She suspected this was an access sign. As she approached it, Nina noticed that the main stone read "Ephippas Abizitibod."
    
  "Eureka!" she said to herself, pleased that the find was exactly where it was supposed to be. Nina was one of the world's foremost historians. Although she was a leading expert on World War II, she also had a passion for ancient history, apocrypha, and mythology. The two words carved into the ancient granite did not represent the name of some monk or canonized benefactor.
    
  Nina knelt on the marble and ran her fingers over the names. "I know who you are," she sang cheerfully, as the monastery began to draw water from cracks in the outer walls. "Ephippas, you are the demon King Solomon hired to lift the heavy cornerstone of his temple, a huge slab much like this one," she whispered, scrutinizing the tombstone for some device or lever to open it. "And Abizifibod," she declared proudly, wiping the dust off the name with her palm, "you were the mischievous bastard who aided the Egyptian magicians against Moses..."
    
  Suddenly, the slab began to shift beneath her knees. "Holy shit!" Nina exclaimed, stepping back and looking straight at the giant stone cross mounted on the roof of the main chapel. "Excuse me."
    
  Note to self, she thought, call Father Harper when this is all over.
    
  Although there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the water continued to rise. While Nina was apologizing to the cross, another shooting star caught her eye. "Oh, damn!" she groaned, crawling through the mud to get out of the way of the gradually coming-to-life marble. They were so thick in width that they would have instantly crushed her feet.
    
  Unlike the other tombstones, this one bore the names of demons bound by King Solomon, irrefutably stating that this was where the monks had hidden their lost diamonds. As the slab scraped against the granite casing, Nina winced, wondering what she would see. True to her fears, she encountered a skeleton lying on a purple bed of what had once been silk. A golden crown, encrusted with rubies and sapphires, gleamed on the skull. It was pale yellow, genuine unprocessed gold, but Dr. Nina Gould didn't care about the crown.
    
  "Where are the diamonds?" she frowned. "Oh, God, don't tell me the diamonds were stolen. No, no." With all the respect she could afford at the time and under the circumstances, she began examining the grave. Picking up the bones one by one and muttering anxiously, she didn't notice how water flooded the narrow channel of graves where she was busy searching. The first grave filled when the fence wall collapsed under the weight of the rising lake. Prayers and lamentations came from the people on the higher side of the fort, but Nina was adamant about getting the diamonds before all was lost.
    
  As soon as the first grave was filled, the loose earth it had been covered with turned to mud. The casket and gravestone sank, allowing the current to flow unimpeded to the second grave, just behind Nina.
    
  "Where the hell do you keep your diamonds, for heaven"s sake?" she screamed as the church bell rang maddeningly.
    
  "For heaven"s sake?" someone said above her. "Or for Mammon"s sake?"
    
  Nina didn't want to look up, but the cold tip of the pistol's barrel forced her to comply. A tall young monk towered over her, looking decidedly enraged. "Of all the nights to desecrate a grave in search of treasure, you choose this one? May God have mercy on you for your devilish greed, woman!"
    
  He was dispatched by the abbot while the chief monk concentrated his efforts on saving souls and delegating for evacuation.
    
  "No, please! I can explain everything! My name is Dr. Nina Gould!" Nina screamed, throwing up her hands in surrender, unaware that Sam"s Beretta, tucked into his belt, was in plain sight. He shook his head. The monk"s finger fiddled with the trigger of the M16 he held, but his eyes widened and froze on her body. That"s when she remembered the gun. "Listen, listen!" she begged. "I can explain."
    
  The second grave sank into the loose, shifting sand formed by the vicious current of the murky lake water that was approaching the third grave, but neither Nina nor the monk realized this.
    
  "You're not explaining anything," he exclaimed, looking clearly unsettled. "Shut up! Let me think!" She had no idea he was staring at her chest, where her buttoned shirt had parted, revealing a tattoo that also fascinated Sam.
    
  Nina didn't dare touch the pistol she carried, but she desperately wanted to find the diamonds. She needed a distraction. "Careful, water!" she shouted, feigning panic and looking past the monk to deceive him. When he turned to look, Nina jumped up and calmly cocked the hammer with the butt of her Beretta, hitting him in the base of the skull. The monk fell to the ground with a dull thud, and she frantically rummaged through the skeleton's bones, even tearing the satin fabric, but to no avail.
    
  She sobbed furiously in defeat, waving the purple cloth in rage. The movement severed her skull from her spine with a grotesque crack that twisted her skull. Two small, untouched stones fell from her eye socket onto the cloth.
    
  "No way, damn it!" Nina groaned happily. "You let all this get to your head, didn't you?"
    
  The water washed away the young monk's limp body and took his assault rifle, dragging it into the muddy grave below, while Nina gathered the diamonds, stuffed them back into her skull, and wrapped her head in a purple cloth. When the water spilled onto the third grave, she stuffed the prize into her bag and slung it back onto her back.
    
  A mournful groan came from a drowning monk a few meters away. He was upside down in a funnel-shaped tornado of murky water flowing down into the basement, but the drainage grate prevented him from passing through. So he was left to drown, caught in a downward spiral of suction. Nina was forced to leave. It was almost dawn, and the water was inundating the entire sacred island, along with the unfortunate souls who had sought refuge there.
    
  Her canoe bounced wildly against the wall of the second tower. If she hadn't hurried, she would have sunk with the landmass and lain dead beneath the lake's murky fury, like the other bodies tied to the cemetery. But the gurgling cries that occasionally issued from the churning water above the basement appealed to Nina's compassion.
    
  He was going to shoot you. Fuck him, her inner bitch urged. If you bother helping him, the same thing will happen to you. Besides, he probably just wants to grab you and hold you for hitting him with the baton right then. I know what I would have done. Karma.
    
  "Karma," Nina muttered, realizing something after her night in the hot tub with Sam. "Bruich, I told you Karma would waterboard me. I have to fix this."
    
  Cursing herself for her mere superstition, she hurried through the powerful current to reach the drowning man. His arms flailing wildly, his face submerged as the historian rushed toward him. The main problem Nina encountered was her small frame. She simply wasn't heavy enough to save a grown man, and the water knocked her off her feet as soon as she stepped into the swirling whirlpool, into which even more lake water was pouring.
    
  "Hold on!" she screamed, trying to grab hold of one of the iron bars that barred the narrow windows leading into the basement. The water was fierce, plunging her underwater and tearing through her esophagus and lungs without resistance, but she did her best not to loosen her grip as she reached for the monk"s shoulder. "Grab my hand! I"ll try to pull you out!" she screamed as water entered her mouth. "I owe that damn cat some payback," she said to no one in particular as she felt his hand close around her forearm, squeezing her lower arm.
    
  She pulled him up with all her might, even just to help him catch his breath, but Nina's tired body began to fail her. Again she tried in vain, watching as the basement walls cracked under the weight of the water, soon to collapse on them both, to their inevitable death.
    
  "Come on!" she screamed, this time deciding to brace her boot against the wall and use her body as leverage. The effort was too much for Nina's physical capabilities, and she felt her shoulder dislocate as the monk's weight, combined with the shock, ripped it from its rotator cuff. "Jesus Christ!" she screamed in agony just before a flood of mud and water engulfed her.
    
  Like the churning, liquid madness of a crashing ocean wave, Nina's body jerked violently and was thrown toward the bottom of the crumbling wall, but she still felt the monk's hand holding her tightly. As her body slammed against the wall a second time, Nina grabbed the counter with her good hand. "Just keep your chin up," her inner voice urged. "Just pretend this is a really hard blow, because if you don't, you'll never see Scotland again."
    
  With a final roar, Nina lifted herself off the surface of the water, freeing herself from the force holding the monk, and he surged upward like a buoy. He lost consciousness for a moment, but when he heard Nina's voice, his eyes opened. "Are you with me?" she cried. "Please, grab onto something, because I can't support your weight anymore! My arm is badly damaged!"
    
  He did as she asked, keeping himself on his feet by holding onto one of the bars of the neighboring window. Nina was exhausted to the point of unconsciousness, but she had the diamonds, and she wanted to find Sam. She wanted to be with Sam. He made her feel safe, and right now she needed that more than anything.
    
  Leading the wounded monk, she climbed to the top of the enclosure wall to follow it to the buttress where her canoe awaited. The monk didn't pursue her, but she jumped onto the small craft and paddled furiously across Lake Tana. Looking back desperately every few steps, Nina raced back to Sam, hoping he hadn't drowned with the rest of the Vereta. In the pale morning light, with prayers against predators on her lips, Nina sailed away from the diminished island, now nothing more than a lonely beacon in the distance.
    
    
  30
  Judas, Brutus and Cassius
    
    
  Meanwhile, while Nina and Sam struggled with their own difficulties, Patrick Smith was tasked with arranging the delivery of the Holy Casket to its resting place on Mount Yeha, near Axum. He prepared documents to be signed by Colonel Yeaman and Mr. Carter for delivery to MI6 headquarters. Mr. Carter's administration, as head of MI6, would then submit the documents to the Purdue court to close the case.
    
  Joe Carter had arrived at Axum Airport a few hours earlier to meet with Colonel J. Yimenu and legal representatives of the Ethiopian government. They would oversee the delivery, but Carter was wary of being in David Perdue's company again, fearing the Scottish billionaire would attempt to reveal Carter's true identity as Joseph Karsten, a first-level member of the sinister Order of the Black Sun.
    
  During the drive to the tent camp at the foot of the mountain, Karsten's mind raced. Perdue was becoming a serious liability not only to him but to Black Sun as a whole. Their rescue of the Wizard to plunge the planet into a terrible pit of catastrophe was proceeding like clockwork. Their plan could only fail if Karsten's double life and the organization were exposed, and these problems had only one trigger: David Perdue.
    
  "Have you heard about the floods in Northern Europe that are now ravaging Scandinavia?" Colonel Yimena asked Karsten. "Mr. Carter, I apologize for the inconvenience the power outages are causing, but most of North Africa, as well as Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and even Syria, are suffering from darkness."
    
  "Yes, I heard that. First of all, it must be a terrible burden on the economy," said Karsten, brilliantly playing the role of ignorant, while he was the architect of the current global dilemma. "I'm sure that if we all pool our wits and financial reserves, we could save what's left of our countries."
    
  After all, this was the Black Sun's goal. Once the world was ravaged by natural disasters, industrial failures, and security threats that led to large-scale looting and destruction, the organization would be crippled enough to topple all superpowers. With their limitless resources, skilled professionals, and collective wealth, the Order would be able to take over the world under a new fascist regime.
    
  "I don't know what the government will do if this darkness, and now the floods, cause more damage, Mr. Carter. I just don't know," Yeeman lamented over the rattling sound of the ride. "I assume the UK has some form of emergency measure?"
    
  "They must," Karsten replied, looking hopefully at Yimena, his eyes betraying no contempt for those he considered inferior. "As for the military, I suppose we'll use our resources as best we can against God's will." He shrugged, appearing sympathetic.
    
  "It"s true," Yimenu replied. "These are the actions of God; a cruel and angry God. Who knows, perhaps we are on the brink of extinction."
    
  Karsten had to suppress a smile, feeling like Noah, watching the dispossessed meet their fate at the hands of a god they hadn't sufficiently worshipped. Trying not to get carried away by the moment, he said, "I'm confident the best of us will survive this apocalypse."
    
  "Sir, we've arrived," the driver said to Colonel Yeaman. "It looks like Purdue's team has already arrived and taken the Sacred Box inside."
    
  "Is there no one here?" Col. Yimenu squealed.
    
  "Yes, sir. I see Special Agent Smith waiting for us by the truck," the driver confirmed.
    
  "Oh, good," Colonel. Yimenu sighed. "This man is rising to the occasion. I must congratulate you on Special Agent Smith, Mr. Carter. He's always one step ahead, ensuring all orders are carried out."
    
  Karsten winced at Yimenu Smith's praise, feigning a smile. "Oh, yes. That's why I insisted that Special Agent Smith accompany Mr. Perdue on this trip. I knew he'd be the only person for the job."
    
  They got out of the car and met Patrick, who informed them that the early arrival of the Purdue group was due to a change in the weather, which forced them to take an alternative route.
    
  "I found it odd that your Hercules wasn't at Axum Airport," Karsten remarked, hiding how furious he was that his designated assassin was left without a target at his designated airport. "Where did you land?"
    
  Patrick didn't like his superior's tone, but since he hadn't been privy to his boss's true identity, he had no idea why the esteemed Joe Carter was so insistent on trivial logistics. "Well, sir, the pilot dropped us off at Dunsha and proceeded to another runway to oversee repairs to the damage sustained during landing."
    
  Karsten had no objection to this. It sounded perfectly logical, especially considering that most roads in Ethiopia were unreliable, let alone difficult to maintain during the dry floods that had recently ravaged the countries of the continents around the Mediterranean. He wholeheartedly accepted Patrick's clever lie to Colonel Yimenu and suggested they head into the mountains to make sure Purdue wasn't up to some kind of scam.
    
  Col. Then Yimenu received a call on his satellite phone and, excusing himself, left, gesturing for the MI6 delegates to continue their inspection of the facility. Once inside, Patrick and Karsten, along with two of Patrick's assigned men, followed the sound of Perdue's voice to find their way.
    
  "This way, sir. Thanks to the kindness of Mr. Ajo Kira, they were able to secure the area to ensure the Sacred Box was returned to its original location without fear of collapse," Patrick informed his superior.
    
  "Does Mr. Kira know how to prevent avalanches?" Karsten asked. With great condescension, he added, "I thought he was just a guide."
    
  "That"s right, sir," Patrick explained. "But he"s also a qualified civil engineer."
    
  A winding, narrow corridor led them down to the hall where Perdue had first encountered the locals, just before stealing the Sacred Casket, mistaken for the Ark of the Covenant.
    
  "Good evening, gentlemen," Karsten greeted, his voice ringing in Perdue's ears like a song of terror, tearing his soul apart with hatred and horror. He kept reminding himself that he was no longer a prisoner, that he was in the safe company of Patrick Smith and his men.
    
  "Oh, hello," Perdue greeted cheerfully, fixing Karsten with his icy blue gaze. He mockingly emphasized the charlatan's name. "So nice to see you... Mr. Carter, isn't it?"
    
  Patrick frowned. He'd thought Perdue knew his boss's name, but being the perceptive guy he was, Patrick quickly realized there was something more going on between Perdue and Carter.
    
  "I see you started without us," Karsten noted.
    
  "I explained to Mr. Carter why we came early," Patrick Perdue said. "But now all we have to worry about is getting this relic back so we can all go home, okay?"
    
  Despite maintaining a friendly tone, Patrick felt the tension tightening around them like a noose around his neck. He claimed it was simply an uncalled-for emotional outburst, driven by the bad taste the theft of the relic had left in everyone's mouths. Karsten noticed that the Sacred Box was properly replaced, and when he turned to look behind him, he realized that Colonel J. Yimenu, fortunately, had not yet returned.
    
  "Special Agent Smith, would you please join Mr. Purdue at the Sacred Box?" he instructed Patrick.
    
  "Why?" Patrick frowned.
    
  Patrick immediately recognized the truth about his superior's intentions. "Because I damn well told you so, Smith!" he roared furiously, drawing his pistol. "Give me your gun, Smith!"
    
  Perdue froze in place, raising his hands in surrender. Patrick was stunned, but nevertheless obeyed his superior. His two subordinates fidgeted uncertainly, but soon calmed down, deciding to keep their weapons holstered and remain motionless.
    
  "Finally showing your true colors, Karsten?" Perdue mocked. Patrick frowned in confusion. "You see, Paddy, this man you know as Joe Carter is actually Joseph Karsten, head of the Austrian branch of the Order of the Black Sun."
    
  "Oh, my God," Patrick muttered. "Why didn"t you tell me?"
    
  "We didn't want you to get involved, Patrick, so we kept you in the dark," Perdue explained.
    
  "Good job, David," Patrick groaned. "I could have avoided this."
    
  "No, you couldn't do that!" Karsten shouted, his fat, red face trembling with mockery. "There's a reason I'm head of British military intelligence and you're not, lad. I plan ahead and do my homework."
    
  "Boy?" Perdue chuckled. "Stop pretending you're worthy of the Scots, Karsten."
    
  "Karsten?" Patrick asked, frowning at Purdue.
    
  "Joseph Karsten, Patrick. Order of the Black Sun, first degree, and a traitor to whom Iscariot himself could not compare."
    
  Karsten pointed his service weapon directly at Purdue, his hand shaking violently. "I should have finished you off at your mother's house, you overprivileged termite!" he hissed through his thick, maroon cheeks.
    
  "But you were too busy running away to save your mother, weren't you, you despicable coward," Perdue said calmly.
    
  "Shut your mouth, traitor! You were Renatus, leader of the Black Sun...!" he screamed.
    
  "By default, not by choice," Perdue corrected for Patrick.
    
  "...and you chose to give up all this power to instead make it your life's work to destroy us. We! The great Aryan bloodline, nurtured by the gods, chosen to rule the world! You are a traitor!" Karsten roared.
    
  "So, what are you going to do, Karsten?" Perdue asked as the Austrian madman nudged Patrick in the side. "Are you going to shoot me in front of your own agents?"
    
  "No, of course not," Karsten chuckled. He quickly turned and pumped two bullets into each of Patrick's MI6 support staff. "There will be no witnesses. This malice ends right here, forever."
    
  Patrick felt sick. The sight of his men lying dead on the cave floor in a foreign land enraged him. He was responsible for them all! He should have known who the enemy was. But Patrick soon realized that people in his position could never know for sure how things would turn out. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was now as good as dead.
    
  "Yimenu will be back soon," Karsten announced. "And I'll be returning to the UK to claim your property. After all, this time you won't be presumed dead."
    
  "Just remember one thing, Karsten," Perdue retorted, "you have a lot to lose. I don't know. You have estates, too."
    
  Karsten pulled back the trigger of his gun. "What are you playing at?"
    
  Perdue shrugged. This time, he was freed from any fear of the consequences of what he was about to say, for he had accepted whatever fate awaited him. "You," Perdue smiled, "have a wife and daughters. Won't they be home in Salzkammergut in, oh," Perdue sang, glancing at his watch, "about four o'clock?"
    
  Karsten's eyes grew wild, his nostrils flared, and he let out a strangled cry of extreme frustration. Unfortunately, he couldn't shoot Perdue, because it had to look like an accident so that Karsten would be exonerated, so that Yimena and the locals would believe him. Only then could Karsten play the victim of circumstance to divert attention from himself.
    
  Perdue quite liked Karsten's stunned, horrified look, but he could hear Patrick breathing heavily next to him. He felt sorry for his best friend, Sam, who was once again on the brink of death because of his connection to Perdue.
    
  "If anything happens to my family, I'll send Clive to give your girlfriend, that bitch Gould, the time of her life... before he takes it!" Karsten warned, spitting through his thick lips, his eyes burning with hatred and defeat. "Come on, Ajo."
    
    
  31
  Flight from Vereta
    
    
  Karsten headed for the mountain's exit, leaving Perdue and Patrick completely stunned. Adjo followed Karsten, but he paused at the tunnel entrance to decide Perdue's fate.
    
  "What the hell!" Patrick growled as his connection to all the traitors was severed. "You? Why you, Ajo? How? We saved you from the damn Black Sun, and now you're their favorite?"
    
  "Don"t take this personally, Smith-Efendi," Ajo warned, his thin, dark hand resting just below a palm-sized stone key. "You, Perdue Efendi, could take this very personally. Because of you, my brother Donkor was killed. I was nearly killed to help you steal this relic, and then?" he howled angrily, his chest heaving with rage. "Then you left me for dead before your accomplices kidnapped me and tortured me to find out where you were! I endured all this for you, Efendi, while you joyfully chased what you found in that Sacred Casket! You have every reason to take my betrayal personally, and I hope that tonight you slowly perish under a heavy stone." He looked around the cell. "This is the place where I was cursed to meet you, and this is the place where I curse you to be buried."
    
  "God, you sure know how to make friends, David," Patrick muttered next to him.
    
  "You built this trap for him, didn"t you?" Perdue guessed, and Ajo nodded, confirming his fears.
    
  Outside, they could hear Karsten shouting to the colonel. Yimen's men must flee. This was Ajo's signal, and he pressed the dial beneath his hand, causing a terrible rumble in the rock above them. The support stones Ajo had carefully erected in the days leading up to the meeting in Edinburgh collapsed. He disappeared into the tunnel, running past the cracking walls of the corridor. He stumbled in the night air, already covered in debris and dust from the collapse.
    
  "They're still inside!" he screamed. "Other people will be crushed! You have to help them!" Ajo grabbed the colonel by the shirt, pretending to desperately persuade him. But the colonel... Yimenu pushed him away, knocking him to the ground. "My country is underwater, threatening the lives of my children, and becoming more destructive as we speak, and you're keeping me here because of a cave-in?" Yimenu reprimanded Ajo and Karsten, suddenly losing his sense of diplomacy.
    
  "I understand, sir," Karsten said dryly. "Let's consider this unfortunate incident the end of Relic's debacle for now. After all, as you say, you need to look after the children. I completely understand the urgency of saving your family."
    
  With these words, Karsten and Adjo watched the colonel. Yimenu and his driver departed into the pinkish hint of dawn on the horizon. It was almost time for the Sacred Box to be returned. Soon, the local construction workers would be in high spirits, anticipating, as they thought, Perdue's arrival, planning to give the gray-haired villain who had plundered their country's treasures a good beating.
    
  "Go and see if they've collapsed correctly, Ajo," Karsten ordered. "Hurry, we have to go."
    
  Ajo Kira hurried to what had been the entrance to Mount Yeha to ensure its collapse was complete and final. He didn't see Karsten follow in his footsteps, and unfortunately, bending over to assess the success of his work cost him his life. Karsten lifted one of the heavy stones over his head and brought it down on the back of Ajo's head, instantly crushing it.
    
  "There are no witnesses," Karsten whispered, dusting off his hands and heading toward Purdue's truck. Behind him, Adjo Kira's body covered the loose rock and rubble in front of the collapsed entrance. With his crushed skull leaving a grotesque mark in the desert sand, there was no doubt he would look like another rockfall victim. Karsten turned around in Purdue's 'Two and a Half' military truck, racing back to his home in Austria before the rising waters of Ethiopia could trap him.
    
  Further south, Nina and Sam were less fortunate. The entire region around Lake Tana was underwater. People were furious, panicking not only because of the flooding but also because of the inexplicable nature of the waters. Rivers and wells flowed without any source of power. There was no rain, but fountains gushed out of nowhere from the dry riverbeds.
    
  Cities around the world suffered from power outages, earthquakes, and floods, destroying important buildings. The UN headquarters, the Pentagon, the World Court in The Hague, and numerous other institutions responsible for order and progress were destroyed. By now, they feared the airstrip in Dansha might be undermined, but Sam was hopeful, as the community was far enough away that Lake Tana wouldn't be directly affected. It was also far enough inland that it would be some time before the ocean could reach it.
    
  In the ghostly haze of early dawn, Sam saw the night's destruction in all its horrific reality. He filmed the remnants of the tragedy as often as he could, careful to conserve the battery in his compact video camera, while he anxiously waited for Nina to return to him. Somewhere in the distance, he kept hearing a strange buzzing sound he couldn't identify but chalked it up to some kind of auditory hallucination. He hadn't slept for over twenty-four hours and could feel the effects of fatigue, but he had to stay awake for Nina to find him. Besides, she was doing hard work, and he owed it to her to be there when, not if, she returned. He abandoned the negative thoughts that plagued him about her safety on a lake full of treacherous creatures.
    
  Through his lens, he empathized with the citizens of Ethiopia, who were now forced to leave their homes and their lives to survive. Some cried bitterly from the rooftops of their homes, others bandaged their wounds. From time to time, Sam encountered floating bodies.
    
  "Jesus Christ," he muttered, "this really is the end of the world."
    
  He photographed the vast expanse of water that seemed to stretch endlessly before his eyes. As the eastern sky tinted the horizon pink and yellow, he couldn't help but notice the beauty of the backdrop against which this dreadful play was staged. The smooth water had ceased to churn and fill the lake for the moment, beautifying the landscape; birdlife populated the liquid mirror. Many were still in their tankwas, fishing for food or simply swimming. But among them, only one small boat was moving-really moving. It seemed to be the only vessel heading somewhere, for the amusement of the spectators on the other boats.
    
  "Nina," Sam smiled. "I just know it's you, baby!"
    
  He zoomed in on the rapidly moving boat, hearing the irritating howl of an unknown sound, but when the lens adjusted for better vision, Sam's smile vanished. "Oh my God, Nina, what have you done?"
    
  Five equally hasty boats followed, slowed only by Nina's head start. Her expression spoke for itself. Panic and painful effort contorted her beautiful features as she rowed away from the pursuing monks. Sam jumped from his perch in the town hall and discovered the source of the strange sound that had been baffling him.
    
  Military helicopters flew in from the north to pick up civilians and transport them to dry land further southeast. Sam counted about seven helicopters, landing periodically to pick people up from their temporary holds. One, a CH-47F Chinook, stood a few blocks away while the pilot gathered several people for the airlift.
    
  Nina had almost reached the outskirts of the city, her face pale and wet from fatigue and wounds. Sam had waded through the difficult waters to reach her before the monks following her trail could. She had slowed considerably, as her arm had begun to fail her. Sam used his arms with all his might to propel himself, negotiating potholes, sharp objects, and other underwater obstacles he couldn't see.
    
  "Nina!" he shouted.
    
  "Help me, Sam! I've dislocated my shoulder!" she groaned. "There's nothing left in me. P-please, it's just..." she stammered. When she reached Sam, he scooped her up in his arms and, turning, slipped into a group of buildings south of the town hall to find a place to hide. Behind them, monks shouted for people to help them catch the thieves.
    
  "Oh shit, we"re in deep shit right now," he croaked. "Can you still run, Nina?"
    
  Her dark eyes fluttered and she groaned, clutching her hand. "If you could just plug this back in, I could really make an effort."
    
  Over all his years of fieldwork, filming, and reporting in war zones, Sam had learned valuable skills from the EMTs he worked with. "I'm not going to lie, sweetheart," he warned. "This is going to hurt like hell."
    
  As willing citizens trudged through the narrow alleys to find Nina and Sam, they were forced to remain quiet while performing Nina's shoulder replacement. Sam handed her his bag so she could bite the strap, and while their pursuers screamed in the water below, Sam stepped on her chest with one foot, holding her trembling hand in both.
    
  "Ready?" he whispered, but Nina only closed her eyes and nodded. Sam tugged hard on her arm, slowly pulling it away from his body. Nina screamed in agony under the tarp, tears streaming from beneath her eyelids.
    
  "I hear them!" someone exclaimed in their native tongue. Sam and Nina didn't need to know the language to understand the statement, and he gently turned her arm until it aligned with her rotator cuff before softening. Nina's muffled cry wasn't loud enough to be heard by the monks searching for them, but two men were already climbing a ladder jutting out of the water to find them.
    
  One of them was armed with a short spear and advanced straight toward Nina's weak body, aiming the weapon at her chest, but Sam intercepted the stick. He punched him square in the face, temporarily knocking him unconscious, while the other attacker leaped from the windowsill. Sam swung the spear like a baseball hero, shattering the man's cheekbone on impact. The man he had struck came to his senses. He snatched the spear from Sam and struck him in the side.
    
  "Sam!" Nina howled. "Chin up!" She tried to stand, but was too weak, so she threw his Beretta at him. The journalist grabbed the firearm and, with one movement, submerged the attacker's head, putting a bullet in the back of his neck.
    
  "They must have heard the shot," he told her, pressing on his stab wound. A commotion erupted in the flooded streets, amid the deafening flight of military helicopters. Sam peered out from his perch on the rise and saw that the helicopter was still standing.
    
  "Nina, can you walk?" he asked again.
    
  She sat up with difficulty. "I can walk. What"s the plan?"
    
  "Judging by your disgrace, I take it you managed to get hold of King Solomon"s diamonds?"
    
  "Yes, in the skull in my backpack," she replied.
    
  Sam didn't have time to ask about the skull mention, but he was glad she'd won the prize. They moved to the adjacent building and waited for the pilot to return to the Chinook before quietly limping toward him while the rescued men were being seated. On their trail, no less than fifteen monks from the island and six men from Vetera pursued them through the turbulent waters. As the co-pilot prepared to close the door, Sam pressed the barrel of his pistol to his temple.
    
  "I really don"t want to do this, my friend, but we have to go north, and we have to do it now!" Sam chuckled, holding Nina"s hand and keeping her behind him.
    
  "No! You can't do this!" the co-pilot protested sharply. The cries of the enraged monks grew closer. "You're being left behind!"
    
  Sam couldn't let anything stop them from boarding the helicopter, and he had to prove he was serious. Nina glanced back at the angry crowd hurling rocks at them as they approached. A rock struck Nina in the temple, but she didn't fall.
    
  "Jesus!" she screamed, finding blood on her fingers where she'd touched her head. "You stone women at every opportunity, you fucking primitive..."
    
  The gunshot silenced her. Sam shot the co-pilot in the leg, to the horror of the passengers. He aimed at the monks, stopping them in their tracks. Nina couldn't see the monk she'd saved among them, but while she was searching for his face, Sam grabbed her and pulled her into the helicopter, filled with terrified passengers. The co-pilot lay groaning on the floor next to her, and she removed his seat belt to bandage his leg. In the cockpit, Sam, holding his pistol, barked orders at the pilot, ordering him to head north to Dansha, to the rendezvous point.
    
    
  32
  Flight from Axum
    
    
  At the foot of Mount Yeha, several locals gathered, horrified by the sight of the dead Egyptian guide, whom they all knew from excavation sites. Another shocking event for them was a colossal rockfall that sealed the mountain's interior. Unsure of what to do, the group of diggers, archaeological assistants, and vengeful locals investigated the unexpected event, muttering among themselves to try to figure out what exactly had happened.
    
  "There are deep tire tracks here, so a heavy truck was here," one worker suggested, pointing to the marks in the ground. "There were two, maybe three vehicles here."
    
  "It might just be the Land Rover Dr. Hessian uses every few days," another suggested.
    
  "No, there it is, right there, just where he left it before he went to Mekele yesterday to get new tools," the first worker countered, pointing to the visiting archaeologist"s Land Rover, parked under the canvas roof of a tent a few meters away.
    
  "Then how will we know if the box was returned? It's Ajo Kira. Dead. Perdue killed him and took the box!" one man shouted. "That's why they destroyed the camera!"
    
  His aggressive deduction caused quite a stir among the locals in the neighboring villages and in the tents near the excavation site. Some of the men tried to reason, but most desired nothing more than pure revenge.
    
  "You hear that?" Perdue asked Patrick where they had emerged from the eastern slope of the mountain. "They're trying to skin us alive, old man. Can you run on that leg?"
    
  "Holy shit," Patrick grimaced. "My ankle is broken. Look."
    
  The collapse caused by Ajo didn't kill the two men because Perdue remembered a key feature of all of Ajo's designs-a mailbox exit hidden beneath a false wall. Fortunately, the Egyptian told Perdue about ancient methods of constructing traps in Egypt, particularly inside ancient tombs and pyramids. This is how Perdue, Ajo, and Ajo's brother, Donkor, escaped with the Sacred Box in the first place.
    
  Covered in scratches, ruts, and dust, Perdue and Patrick carefully crawled behind several large boulders at the base of the mountain to avoid detection. Patrick cringed as a sharp pain in his right ankle stabbed through him with every dragging movement.
    
  "Could... c-could we just take a little break?" he asked Purdue. The gray-haired researcher looked back at him.
    
  "Look, buddy, I know it hurts like hell, but if we don't hurry, they'll find us. I don't need to tell you what kind of weapons those guys are wielding, do I? Shovels, spikes, hammers..." Perdue reminded his companion.
    
  "I know. This Landy is too far for me. They'll catch me before I even take my second step," he admitted. "My leg is trash. Go ahead, get their attention, or get out and call for help."
    
  "Bullshit," Perdue replied. "We're going to get this Landy guy together and get the hell out of here."
    
  "How do you propose we do that?" Patrick gasped.
    
  Perdue pointed to some digging tools nearby and smiled. Patrick followed his gaze. He would have laughed along with Perdue if his life didn't depend on the outcome.
    
  "No fucking way, David. No! Are you crazy?" he whispered loudly, slapping Perdue's arm.
    
  "Can you imagine a better wheelchair here on the gravel?" Perdue grinned. "Be ready. When I get back, we'll head to Landy."
    
  "And I suppose you"ll have time to connect it then?" Patrick asked.
    
  Purdue pulled out his trusty little tablet, which served as several gadgets in one.
    
  "Oh, you of little faith," he smiled at Patrick.
    
  Purdue typically used its infrared and radar functions or used it as a communication device. However, he was constantly improving the device, adding new inventions and refining its technology. He showed Patrick a small button on the side of the device. "Electrical surge. We have a psychic, Paddy."
    
  "What is he doing?" Patrick frowned, his eyes occasionally darting past Purdue to stay alert.
    
  "It starts the machines," Perdue said. Before Patrick could think about his answer, Perdue jumped up and rushed toward the tool shed. He moved stealthily, leaning his lanky body forward to avoid being seen.
    
  "So far so good, you crazy bastard," Patrick whispered as he watched Perdue take the car. "But you know this thing's going to cause a stir, right?"
    
  Bracing himself for the upcoming chase, Perdue took a deep breath and assessed how far the crowd was from him and Patrick. "Let's go," he said, and pressed the button to start the Land Rover. There were no indicators on it except those on the dashboard, but some people near the mouth of the mountain could hear the engine idling. Perdue decided he should use their momentary confusion to his advantage, and he rushed toward Patrick with the screeching car.
    
  "Jump! Faster!" he shouted at Patrick as he was about to reach him. The MI6 agent lunged at the car, nearly tipping it over with his speed, but Purdue's adrenaline kept it in place.
    
  "There they are! Kill those bastards!" the man roared, pointing at two men racing towards the Land Rover with the car.
    
  "God, I hope he"s got a full tank!" Patrick yelled, driving a rickety metal bucket right into the passenger door of a 4x4. "My spine! My bones in my ass, Purdue. Jesus, you"re killing me here!" was all the crowd could hear as they rushed toward the fleeing men.
    
  When they reached the passenger door, Perdue smashed the window with a rock and opened the door. Patrick struggled to get out of the car, but the approaching madmen convinced him to use his reserve strength, and he threw himself into the car. They took off, spinning the wheels, hurling rocks at anyone in the crowd who got too close. Then Perdue finally put his foot down and closed some distance between them and the gang of bloodthirsty locals.
    
  "How much time do we have to get to Dunsha?" Perdue asked Patrick.
    
  "About three hours before Sam and Nina are supposed to meet us there," Patrick informed him. He glanced at the gas gauge. "Oh my God! This won't get us any further than 200 kilometers."
    
  "We're fine as long as we're getting away from Satan's beehive hot on our trail," Perdue said, still glancing in the rearview mirror. "We'll have to contact Sam and find out where they are. Maybe they can bring the Hercules closer to pick us up. God, I hope they're still alive."
    
  Patrick groaned every time the Land Rover hit a pothole or jerked when changing gear. His ankle was killing him, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
    
  "You knew about Carter all along. Why didn't you tell me?" Patrick asked.
    
  "I told you, we didn't want you to be an accomplice. If you didn't know, you couldn't have been involved."
    
  "And this business with his family? Did you send someone to take care of them too?" Patrick asked.
    
  "Oh my God, Patrick! I'm not a terrorist. I was bluffing," Perdue assured him. "I needed to rattle his cage, and thanks to Sam's research and the mole in Carsten... Carter's office, we received information that his wife and daughters are on their way to his home in Austria."
    
  "I can't fucking believe it," Patrick replied. "You and Sam should sign up as Her Majesty's agents, understand? You're insane, reckless, and secretive to the point of hysteria, you two. And Dr. Gould isn't far behind."
    
  "Well, thank you, Patrick," Perdue smiled. "But we like our freedom to, you know, do our dirty work quietly."
    
  "No fucking way," Patrick sighed. "Who was Sam using as a mole?"
    
  "I don"t know," Perdue replied.
    
  "David, who the hell is this mole? I won't slap the guy, trust me," Patrick snapped.
    
  "No, I really don't know," Perdue insisted. "He approached Sam as soon as he discovered Sam's clumsy hacking of Karsten's personal files. Instead of framing him, he offered to get us the information we needed on the condition that Sam expose Karsten for who he is."
    
  Patrick turned the information over in his head. It made sense, but after this mission, he was no longer sure who he could trust. "Did 'The Mole' give you Karsten's personal information, including the location of his property and so on?"
    
  "Right down to his blood type," Perdue said, smiling.
    
  "How does Sam plan to expose Karsten, though? He could legally own the property, and I'm sure the head of military intelligence knows how to cover up the bureaucratic red tape," Patrick suggested.
    
  "Oh, that's true," Perdue agreed. "But he picked the wrong snakes to play with Sam, Nina, and me. Sam and his mole hacked the server communications systems that Karsten uses for his own personal gain. As we speak, the alchemist responsible for the diamond murders and global catastrophes is heading to Karsten's mansion in Salzkammergut."
    
  "For what?" Patrick asked.
    
  "Karsten announced he had a diamond for sale," Perdue shrugged. "A very rare prime stone called the Sudanese Eye. Like the Celeste and Pharaoh prime stones, the Sudanese Eye can interact with any of the smaller diamonds King Solomon crafted after completing his Temple. Prime numbers are needed to release each plague bound by King Solomon's Seventy-Two."
    
  "Fascinating. And now what we're experiencing here forces us to reconsider our cynicism," Patrick noted. "Without prime numbers, the Magician can't perform his diabolical alchemy?"
    
  Perdue nodded. "Our Egyptian friends at the Dragon Watchers informed us that, according to their scrolls, King Solomon's magicians assigned each stone to a specific celestial body," he relayed. "Of course, the text, which predates the familiar scriptures, claims there were two hundred fallen angels, and that seventy-two of them were summoned by Solomon. This is where the star maps associated with each diamond come into play."
    
  "Does Karsten have a Sudanese eye?" Patrick asked.
    
  "No, I have it. It's one of two diamonds my brokers managed to acquire, respectively, from a Hungarian baroness on the brink of bankruptcy and an Italian widower looking to start a new life away from his mafia relatives. Can you believe it? I have two of the three prime numbers. The other one, the Celeste, is in the possession of the Wizard."
    
  "And Karsten put them up for sale?" Patrick frowned, trying to make sense of it all.
    
  "Sam did it using Karsten's personal email," Perdue explained. "Karsten has no idea that the Wizard, Mr. Raya, is coming to buy his next top-quality diamond from him."
    
  "Oh, that's good!" Patrick smiled, clapping his hands. "As long as we can deliver the remaining diamonds to Master Penekal and Ofar, Raya can't spring any other surprises. I pray to God that Nina and Sam manage to get them."
    
  "How do we contact Sam and Nina? My devices got lost back there at the circus," Patrick asked.
    
  "Here," Perdue said. "Just scroll down to Sam's name and see if the satellites can connect us."
    
  Patrick did as Perdue asked. The small speaker clicked erratically. Suddenly, Sam's voice crackled faintly over the speaker: "Where the hell have you been? We've been trying to connect for hours!"
    
  "Sam," Patrick said, "we're on our way from Axum, empty. When you get there, could you pick us up if we send you the coordinates?"
    
  "Look, we're in deep shit here," Sam said. "I," he sighed, "I kind of... fooled a pilot and hijacked a military rescue helicopter. Long story."
    
  "Oh my God!" Patrick squealed, throwing his hands into the air.
    
  "They just landed here at the airstrip in Dansha, like I forced them to, but they're going to arrest us. There are soldiers everywhere, so I don't think we can help you," Sam lamented.
    
  In the background, Perdue could hear the whirring of a helicopter and people screaming. To him, it sounded like a war zone. "Sam, did you get the diamonds?"
    
  "Nina got them, but now they'll probably be confiscated," Sam said, sounding absolutely miserable and furious. "Anyway, confirm your coordinates."
    
  Perdue's face contorted into focus, as it always did when he was trying to formulate a plan to get out of a tight spot. Patrick took a deep breath. "Fresh out of the frying pan."
    
    
  33
  Apocalypse over Salzkammergut
    
    
  Under the drizzling rain, Karsten's vast, green gardens were impeccably beautiful. In the gray shroud of the rain, the colors of the flowers seemed almost luminescent, and the trees towered majestically in lush fullness. Yet for some reason, all this natural beauty couldn't suppress the heavy sense of loss and doom that hung in the air.
    
  "My God, what a pathetic paradise you live in, Joseph," Liam Johnson remarked as he parked the car under a shady clump of silver birch and lush fir trees on the hill above the property. "Just like your father, Satan."
    
  In his hand, he held a small bag containing several cubic zirconias and one rather large stone, which Purdue's assistant had provided at her boss's request. Under Sam's direction, Liam had visited Raichtischusis two days earlier to retrieve the stones from Purdue's private collection. The attractive forty-something woman, who managed Purdue's finances, had been kind enough to alert Liam to the disappearance of the certified diamonds.
    
  "Steal this, and I'll cut your balls off with a dull nail clipper, okay?" the charming Scottish lady said to Liam, handing him the bag he was supposed to plant at Karsten's mansion. It was a truly pleasant memory, as she, too, looked like the type-sort of like... Miss Moneypenny Meets American Mary.
    
  Finding himself inside the easily accessible country estate, Liam recalled how he'd carefully studied the house plans to find his way to the study where Karsten conducted all his secret business. Outside, mid-level security personnel could be heard chatting with the housekeeper. Karsten's wife and daughters had arrived two hours earlier, and all three had retired to their bedrooms for some sleep.
    
  Liam entered the small vestibule at the end of the east wing of the first floor. He easily picked the office lock and gave his entourage another spy before entering.
    
  "Holy shit!" he whispered, pushing his way inside, almost forgetting to watch the cameras. Liam felt his stomach twist as he closed the door behind him. "Nazi Disneyland!" he breathed under his breath. "Oh my God, I knew you were up to something, Carter, but this? This is next-level shit!"
    
  The entire office was decorated with Nazi symbols, paintings of Himmler and Göring, and several busts of other high-ranking SS commanders. A banner hung on the wall behind his chair. "No way! The Order of the Black Sun," Liam confirmed, creeping closer to the grisly symbol embroidered in black silk thread on red satin fabric. Most disturbing to Liam were the recurring video clips of awards ceremonies held by the Nazi Party in 1944, which played constantly on the flat-screen monitor. Inadvertently, it had morphed into another painting, this one depicting the hideous face of Yvette Wolff, daughter of SS-Obergruppenführer Karl Wolff. "That's her," Liam muttered quietly, "Mother."
    
  Pull yourself together, kid, Liam's inner voice urged. You don't want to spend your last moment in that pit, do you?
    
  For a seasoned covert operations specialist and technological espionage expert like Liam Johnson, cracking Karsten's safe was child's play. Inside, Liam found another document with the Black Sun symbol on it, an official memorandum for all members stating that the Order had tracked down the exiled Egyptian Freemason Abdul Raya. Karsten and his high-ranking colleagues had arranged for Raya's release from a Turkish sanatorium after research revealed his work during World War II.
    
  His age alone, the fact that he was still alive and well, were incomprehensible traits that fascinated Black Sun. In the opposite corner of the room, Liam also installed a CCTV monitor with audio, similar to Karsten's personal cameras. The only difference was that this one sent messages to Mr. Joe Carter's security service, where they could easily be intercepted by Interpol and other government agencies.
    
  Liam's mission was a carefully orchestrated operation to expose the backstabbing MI6 leader and expose his closely guarded secret on live television, just as Purdue activated it. Combined with the information obtained by Sam Cleave for his exclusive report, Joe Carter's reputation was in grave danger.
    
  "Where are they?" Karsten's shrill voice echoed through the house, startling the creeping MI6 intruder. Liam quickly placed the bag of diamonds in the safe and closed it as quickly as he could.
    
  "Who, sir?" asked the security officer.
    
  "My wife! M-m-my daughters, you're fucking idiots!" he barked, his voice carrying past the office door and whining all the way up the stairs. Liam could hear the intercom next to the looped recording on the office monitor.
    
  "Herr Karsten, there's a man here who wants to see you, sir. Is his name Abdul Raya?" a voice announced over the intercoms in the building.
    
  "What?" Karsten's squeal came from above. Liam could only laugh at his successful framing job. "I don't have an appointment with him! He's supposed to be in Bruges, wreaking havoc!"
    
  Liam crept toward the office door, listening to Karsten's objections. This way, he could track the traitor's whereabouts. The MI6 agent slipped out of the second-floor restroom window to avoid the main areas now frequented by paranoid security personnel. Laughing, he jogged away from the ominous walls of the terrifying paradise where a horrific confrontation was about to take place.
    
  "Are you crazy, Raya? Since when do I have diamonds to sell?" Karsten barked, standing in the doorway of his office.
    
  "Mr. Karsten, you contacted me offering to sell the Sudanese eye stone," Raya replied calmly, his black eyes twinkling.
    
  "The Sudanese Eye? What in the name of all that's holy are you talking about?" Karsten hissed. "We didn't free you for this, Raya! We freed you to do our bidding, to bring the world to its knees! Now you come and bother me with this absurd crap?"
    
  Raya's lips curled, revealing vile teeth as he approached the fat pig talking down to him. "Be very careful who you treat like a dog, Mr. Karsten. I think you and your organization have forgotten who I am!" Raya seethed. "I am the great sage, the sorcerer responsible for the locust plague in North Africa in 1943, a favor I extended to the Nazi forces toward the Allied forces stationed in the godforsaken, barren land where they shed blood!"
    
  Karsten leaned back in his chair, sweating profusely. "I... I don't have any diamonds, Mr. Raya, I swear!"
    
  "Prove it!" Raya rasped. "Show me your safes and chests. If I find nothing, and you've wasted my precious time, I'll turn you inside out while you're still alive."
    
  "Oh, my God!" Karsten howled, staggering toward the safe. His gaze fell on the portrait of his mother, gazing intently at him. He recalled Perdue's words about his spineless flight, abandoning the old woman when her home was invaded to rescue Perdue. After all, when news of her death reached the Order, questions had already arisen about the circumstances, since Karsten had been with her that night. How was it that he had escaped and she had not? Black Sun was an evil organization, but all its members were men and women of powerful intellect and potent means.
    
  When Karsten opened his safe in relative safety, he was confronted with a terrifying vision. Several diamonds glinted from a discarded bag in the darkness of the wall safe. "It's impossible," he said. "It's impossible! It's not mine!"
    
  Rayya pushed the trembling fool aside and gathered the diamonds into his palm. Then he turned to Karsten with a chilling scowl. His haggard face and black hair gave him the distinct appearance of some harbinger of death, perhaps the Reaper himself. Karsten called for his security detail, but no one answered.
    
    
  34
  The best hundred pounds
    
    
  As the Chinook landed on an abandoned airstrip outside Dansha, three military jeeps were parked in front of the Hercules aircraft Purdue had rented for the Ethiopian tour.
    
  "We're screwed," Nina muttered, still clutching the wounded pilot's leg with her bloodied hands. His health was in no danger, as Sam had aimed for his outer thigh, leaving him with nothing more than a minor wound. The side door opened, and the civilians were released before soldiers arrived to take Nina. Sam had already been disarmed and thrown into the backseat of one of the jeeps.
    
  They confiscated two bags that Sam and Nina had and handcuffed them.
    
  "You think you can come into my country and steal?" the Captain shouted at them. "You think you can use our air patrol as your personal taxi? Hey?"
    
  "Look, it'll be a tragedy if we don't get to Egypt soon!" Sam tried to explain, but got punched in the gut for it.
    
  "Please listen!" Nina begged. "We have to get to Cairo to stop the floods and power outages before the whole world collapses!"
    
  "Why not stop the earthquakes at the same time, huh?" The captain taunted her, squeezing Nina's graceful jaw with his rough hand.
    
  "Captain Ifili, take your hands off the woman!" a male voice ordered, urging the captain to comply immediately. "Let her go. And the man, too."
    
  "With all due respect, sir," the captain said, not leaving Nina's side, "she robbed the monastery, and then that ingrate," he growled, kicking Sam, "had the nerve to hijack our rescue helicopter."
    
  "I know very well what he did, Captain, but if you don't hand them over right now, I'll court-martial you for insubordination. I may be retired, but I'm still the Ethiopian Army's number one financial contributor," the man roared.
    
  "Yes, sir," the captain replied, gesturing for the men to release Sam and Nina. As he stepped aside, Nina couldn't believe who had rescued her. "Col. Yimenu?"
    
  His personal retinue, four in total, waited beside him. "Your pilot informed me of the purpose of your visit to Tana Kirkos, Dr. Gould," Yimenu told Nina. "And since I'm in your debt, I have no choice but to clear the way for you to Cairo. I'll leave two of my men at your disposal, along with security clearance for operations from Ethiopia through Eritrea and Sudan to Egypt."
    
  Nina and Sam exchanged glances of confusion and disbelief. "Um, thank you, Colonel," she said cautiously. "But may I ask why you're helping us? It's no secret we're both off on the wrong side of the bed."
    
  "Despite your terrible judgment of my culture, Dr. Gould, and your vicious attacks on my privacy, you saved my son's life. For that, I cannot help but absolve you of any vendetta I may have had against you," Col. Yimenu conceded.
    
  "Oh my God, I feel like shit right now," she muttered.
    
  "Excuse me?" he asked.
    
  Nina smiled and extended her hand to him. "I said, I'd like to apologize to you for my assumptions and my harsh statements."
    
  "Did you save someone?" Sam asked, still reeling from the punch to the stomach.
    
  Col. Yimenu looked at the journalist, allowing him to withdraw his statement. "She saved my son from certain drowning when the monastery was flooded. Many died last night, and my Cantu would have been among them if Dr. Gould hadn"t pulled him from the water. He called me just as I was about to join Mr. Perdue and the others inside the mountain to oversee the recovery of the Sacred Casket, calling it the Angel of Solomon. He told me her name and that she stole the skull. I would say that"s hardly a crime worthy of the death penalty."
    
  Sam glanced at Nina over the viewfinder of his compact video camera and winked. It would be better if no one knew what the skull contained. Soon after, Sam set out with one of Yimenu's men to pick up Perdue and Patrick, where their stolen Land Rover had run out of diesel fuel. They managed to get more than halfway there before stopping, so it didn't take long for Sam's car to find them.
    
    
  Three days later
    
    
  With Yimen's permission, the group soon reached Cairo, where the Hercules finally landed near the University. "Angel of Solomon, huh?" Sam teased. "Why, pray tell?"
    
  "I have no idea," Nina smiled as they entered the ancient walls of the Dragon Watchers" sanctuary.
    
  "Have you seen the news?" Perdue asked. "They found Karsten's mansion completely abandoned, save for the soot-stained fire that had burned into the walls. He's officially missing, along with his family."
    
  "And these diamonds we... he... put in the safe?" Sam asked.
    
  "Gone," Perdue replied. "Either the Wizard took them, not immediately realizing they were fake, or the Black Sun took them when they came to collect their traitor, to answer for his mother's abandonment."
    
  "Whatever form the Wizard left him in," Nina cringed. "You heard what he did to Madame Chantal, her assistant, and her housekeeper that night. God knows what he planned for Karsten."
    
  "Whatever happens to that Nazi pig, I'm thrilled about it and don't feel bad at all," Perdue said. They climbed the final flight, still feeling the effects of their painful journey.
    
  After a grueling journey back to Cairo, Patrick was admitted to a local clinic to have his ankle reset and remained at the hotel while Perdue, Sam, and Nina climbed the stairs to the observatory where Masters Penekal and Ofar were waiting.
    
  "Welcome!" Ofar rang out, folding his hands. "I heard you might have good news for us?"
    
  "I hope so, otherwise by tomorrow we will be under the desert, and above us there will be an ocean," Penekal"s cynical grumble came from the heights where he was looking through a telescope.
    
  "Looks like you guys survived another world war," Ofar remarked. "I hope you didn't sustain any serious injuries."
    
  "They will leave scars, Master Ofar," Nina said, "but we are still alive and well."
    
  The entire observatory was decorated with antique maps, loom tapestries, and old astronomical instruments. Nina sat on the sofa next to Ofar, opening her bag, and the natural light of the yellow afternoon sky gilded the entire room, creating a magical atmosphere. When she showed the stones, the two astronomers immediately approved.
    
  "These are real. King Solomon's diamonds," Penekal smiled. "Thank you all so much for your help."
    
  Ofar looked at Perdue. "But weren"t they promised to Prof. Imru?"
    
  "Could you take the chance and leave them at his disposal, along with the alchemical rituals he knows?" Perdue asked Ofar.
    
  "Absolutely not, but I thought that was your deal," Ofar said.
    
  "Prof. Imru will find out that Joseph Karsten stole them from us when he tried to kill us on Mount Yeha, so we won't be able to get them back, understand?" Perdue explained with great amusement.
    
  "So we can store them here in our vaults to thwart any other sinister alchemy?" Ofar asked.
    
  "Yes, sir," Perdue confirmed. "I acquired two of the three plain diamonds through private sales in Europe, and as you know, under the terms of the deal, what I purchased remains mine."
    
  "Fair enough," Penecal said. "I'd prefer you keep them for yourself. That way, the prime numbers will be kept separate from..." he quickly appraised the diamonds, "...the other sixty-two King Solomon's diamonds."
    
  "So, so far the Wizard has used ten of them to cause the plague?" Sam asked.
    
  "Yes," Ofar confirmed. "Using one prime number, 'Celeste.' But they've already been released, so he can't do any more harm until he can get those and Mr. Perdue's two prime numbers."
    
  "Good show," Sam said. "And now your alchemist will destroy the plagues?"
    
  "Not to undo, but to stop the ongoing damage, unless the Wizard lays hands on them before our alchemist has transformed their composition to render them powerless," Penekal replied.
    
  Ofar wanted to change the sensitive topic. "I heard you did a whole exposé on the corruption failures in MI6, Mr. Cleave."
    
  "Yes, it's airing on Monday," Sam said proudly. "I had to edit and retell the whole thing in two days while I was suffering from a knife wound."
    
  "Excellent work," Penecal smiled. "Especially when it comes to military matters, the country shouldn't be left in the dark... so to speak." He looked at Cairo, still bereft of power. "But now that the missing head of MI6 is going to be shown on international television, who will take his place?"
    
  Sam grinned, "It looks like Special Agent Patrick Smith is in for a promotion for his outstanding performance in bringing Joe Carter to justice. And Col. Yimena also backed him up for his impeccable performance on camera."
    
  "That's wonderful," Ofar rejoiced. "I hope our alchemist will hurry," he sighed, thinking. "I have a bad feeling when he's late."
    
  "You always have a bad feeling when people are late, my old friend," Penecal said. "You worry too much. Remember, life is unpredictable."
    
  "This is definitely for the unprepared," came a nasty voice from the top of the stairs. They all turned, feeling the air chill with malevolence.
    
  "Oh my God!" Perdue exclaimed.
    
  "Who is it?" Sam asked.
    
  "This... this... is a sage!" Ofar replied, shaking and clutching his chest. Penekal stood before his friend as Sam stood before Nina. Perdue stood before everyone.
    
  "Will you be my opponent, tall man?" the Magician asked politely.
    
  "Yes," Perdue replied.
    
  "Purdue, what do you think you"re doing?" Nina hissed in horror.
    
  "Don't do this," Sam Perdue said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You can't be a martyr out of guilt. People choose to do shit to you, remember. We choose!"
    
  "I've run out of patience, and my course has been sufficiently delayed by that pig's double defeat in Austria," Raya growled. "Now hand over the Solomon Stones, or I'll flay you all alive."
    
  Nina held the diamonds behind her back, unaware that the unnatural creature had a sense for them. With incredible force, he threw Perdue and Sam aside and reached for Nina.
    
  "I'm going to break every bone in your little body, Jezebel," he growled, baring those horrific teeth in Nina's face. She couldn't defend herself, her hands tightly gripping the diamonds.
    
  With terrifying force, he grabbed Nina and spun her around. She pressed her back against his stomach, and he pulled her closer to pry her hands free.
    
  "Nina! Don't give them to him!" Sam barked, rising to his feet. Perdue was creeping up on them from the other side. Nina cried in terror, her body shaking in the Mage's terrifying embrace as his claw painfully squeezed her left breast.
    
  A strange scream erupted from him, turning into a cry of horrific agony. Ofar and Penekal retreated, and Perdue stopped crawling to investigate. Nina couldn't escape him, but his grip on her quickly weakened, and his screeching grew louder.
    
  Sam frowned in confusion, having no idea what was going on. "Nina! Nina, what"s going on?"
    
  She just shook her head and mouthed, I don't know.
    
  It was then that Penekal gathered the courage to circle around to determine what was happening to the screeching Wizard. His eyes widened when he saw the tall, thin sage's lips part along with his eyelids. His hand lay on Nina's chest, shedding skin as if electrocuted. The smell of burning flesh filled the room.
    
  Ofar exclaimed and pointed to Nina"s chest: "This is a mark on her skin!"
    
  "What?" Penecal asked, looking more closely. He noticed what his friend was talking about, and his face lit up. "Dr. Gould's Mark is destroying the Sage! Look! Look," he smiled, "it's the Seal of Solomon!"
    
  "What?" I asked. "Perdue asked, holding out his hands to Nina.
    
  "The Seal of Solomon!" Penecal repeated. "A demon trap, a weapon against demons, said to have been given to Solomon by God."
    
  Finally, the unfortunate alchemist fell to his knees, dead and withered. His corpse collapsed to the floor, leaving Nina unharmed. All the men stood frozen in stunned silence for a moment.
    
  "Best hundred pounds I've ever spent," Nina said matter-of-factly, stroking her tattoo, seconds before fainting.
    
  "The best moment I never filmed," Sam lamented.
    
  Just as they were all beginning to recover from the incredible madness they'd just witnessed, Penecal's appointed alchemist sauntered up the stairs. In a completely indifferent tone, he announced, "Sorry, I'm late. Renovations at Talinki's Fish & Chips delayed my dinner. But now my belly is full, and I'm ready to save the world."
    
    
  ***END***
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
  Preston W. Child
  The Atlantis Scrolls
    
    
  Prologue
    
    
    
  Serapeum, temple - 391 CE
    
    
  An ominous gust of wind rose from the Mediterranean, shattering the silence that had fallen over the peaceful city of Alexandria. In the middle of the night, only oil lamps and the light of fires were visible on the streets as five figures, disguised as monks, moved swiftly through the city. From a high stone window, a boy barely out of his teens watched them as they walked, mute as monks were known to be. He pulled his mother close and pointed at them.
    
  She smiled and assured him they were heading to midnight mass at one of the city's churches. The boy's large brown eyes followed the tiny specks beneath him, fascinated, tracing their shadows as the black, elongated shapes lengthened each time they passed the fire. He could clearly see one person in particular, hiding something beneath their clothing, something substantial, the shape of which he couldn't discern.
    
  It was a mild late summer night, the streets crowded with people, the warm lights reflecting the merriment. Above them, stars twinkled in the clear sky, while below, massive merchant ships rose like breathing giants on the rising and falling waves of the turbulent sea. Every now and then, a burst of laughter or the clink of a broken wine jug would break the atmosphere of anxiety, but the boy had grown accustomed to it. A breeze played through his dark hair as he leaned over the windowsill to get a better look at the mysterious group of holy men he had been so enchanted by.
    
  When they reached the next intersection, he saw them suddenly scatter, albeit at the same speed, in different directions. The boy frowned, wondering if they were each attending different ceremonies in different parts of the city. His mother was talking to her guests and told him to go to bed. Fascinated by the strange movements of the holy men, the boy donned his own robe and crept past his family and their guests into the main room. Barefoot, he descended the wide stone steps on the wall to the street below.
    
  He was determined to follow one of these men and see what this strange formation was. Monks were known to travel in groups and attend mass together. With a heart filled with ambiguous curiosity and an unreasonable thirst for adventure, the boy followed one of the monks. The robed figure passed by the church where the boy and his family often worshiped as Christians. To his surprise, the boy noticed that the route the monk was taking led to a pagan temple, the Temple of Serapis. Fear pierced his heart at the thought of even setting foot on the same ground as a pagan place of worship, but his curiosity only intensified. He had to know why.
    
  Across the quiet alley, the majestic temple lay in full view. Still hot on the heels of the thieving monk, the boy eagerly followed his shadow, hoping to remain close to the man of God at such a time as this. His heart pounded with awe before the temple, where he had heard his parents speak of the Christian martyrs the pagans had held there to inspire rivalry in the minds of the pope and king. The boy lived during a time of great upheaval, when the conversion of paganism to Christianity was evident across the continent. In Alexandria, conversion had become bloody, and he feared to be even so close to such a powerful symbol, the very home of the pagan god Serapis.
    
  He could see two other monks on the side streets, but they were simply keeping watch. He followed the robed figure into the flat, square façade of the mighty structure, almost losing sight of him. The boy wasn't as fast as the monk, but in the darkness he could follow his steps. Before him lay a large courtyard, and across it stood a lofty structure on majestic columns, representing the full splendor of the temple. When the boy's astonishment subsided, he realized he was alone and had lost track of the holy man who had brought him here.
    
  Yet, driven by the fantastic prohibition he suffered, by the excitement that only the forbidden could provide, he remained. Voices could be heard nearby, where two pagans, one of whom was a priest of Serapis, were heading toward the building of the great columns. The boy moved closer and began to listen.
    
  "I will not submit to this delusion, Salodius! I will not allow this new religion to rob us of the glory of our ancestors, our gods!" a man resembling a priest hoarsely whispered. He carried a collection of scrolls, while his companion carried a golden statue of a half-human, half-breed creature under his arm. He clutched a stack of papyrus as they headed toward the entrance in the right corner of the courtyard. From what he could hear, this was the chambers of the man, Salodius.
    
  "You know I will do everything in my power to protect our secrets, Your Grace. You know I will give my life," Salodius said.
    
  "I fear this oath will soon be tested by the Christian horde, my friend. They will attempt to destroy every last vestige of our existence in their heretical purge disguised as piety," the priest chuckled bitterly. "For this very reason, I will never convert to their faith. What hypocrisy could be greater than treason when you make yourself a god over men, when you claim to serve the god of men?"
    
  All this talk of Christians claiming power under the banner of the Almighty greatly unsettled the boy, but he had to hold his tongue for fear of being discovered by such vile people who dared to blaspheme on the soil of his great city. Outside the Salodius quarters stood two plane trees, where the boy chose to sit while the men went inside. A dim lamp illuminated the doorway from within, but with the door closed, he couldn't see what they were doing.
    
  Driven by a growing interest in their affairs, he decided to enter and see for himself why the two men had become silent, as if they were merely the lingering ghosts of a previous event. But from where he was hiding, the boy heard a brief commotion and froze in his place to avoid detection. To his amazement, he saw the monk and two other robed men quickly pass him, and in quick succession, they entered the room. A few minutes later, the astonished boy watched them emerge, bloodstained on the brown cloth they wore to camouflage their uniforms.
    
  "They're not monks! They're the papal guard of the Coptic Pope Theophilus!" he exclaimed silently, causing his heart to beat faster with terror and awe. Too terrified to move, he waited for them to leave to find more pagans. He ran toward the quiet room, his legs bent, moving crouched to ensure his presence in this horrific place, hallowed by pagans. He slipped into the room unnoticed and closed the door behind him, to hear if anyone entered.
    
  The boy cried out involuntarily when he saw the two dead men, the very voices from which he had drawn wisdom a few minutes ago had fallen silent.
    
  So it was true. Christian guards were as bloodthirsty as the heretics their faith condemned, the boy thought. This sobering revelation broke his heart. The priest was right. Pope Theophilus and his servants of God did this only for power over people, not to exalt their father. Doesn't that make them as evil as the pagans?
    
  At his age, the boy was incapable of accepting the barbarity perpetrated by people who claimed to serve the doctrine of love. He shuddered in horror at the sight of their slit throats and choked on the smell, which reminded him of the sheep his father had slaughtered, a warm, coppery stench that his mind forced him to recognize as human.
    
  A God of love and forgiveness? Is this how the Pope and his church love their fellow man and forgive those who sin? He struggled with it, but the more he thought about it, the more compassion he felt for the murdered men on the floor. Then he remembered the papyrus they carried with them and began rummaging through it as quietly as he could.
    
  Outside, in the courtyard, the boy heard more and more noise, as if the stalkers had now abandoned their secrecy. Every now and then, he heard someone scream in agony, often followed by the clash of steel on steel. Something was happening to his city that night. He knew it. He sensed it in the whisper of the sea breeze, drowning out the creaking of the merchant ships, that ominous premonition that this night was unlike any other.
    
  Frantically tearing open chest lids and cabinet doors, he couldn't find the documents he'd seen Salodius bring to his home. Finally, amid the growing din of the furious religious war in the temple, the boy fell to his knees in exhaustion. Beside the dead pagans, he wept bitterly, shaken by the truth and the betrayal of his faith.
    
  "I no longer wish to be a Christian!" he cried, unafraid of being found. "I will be a pagan and defend the old ways! I renounce my faith and place it in the path of the first peoples of this world!" he lamented. "Make me your protector, Serapis!"
    
  The clash of weapons and the screams of the slain were so loud that his cries would have been misinterpreted as just another sound of carnage. The frantic cries warned him that something far more devastating had occurred, and he ran to the window to see the columns in the section of the great temple above crumbling one by one. But the real threat came from the very building he occupied. Searing heat touched his face as he peered out the window. Flames as tall as tall trees licked the buildings, while statues fell with mighty thuds that sounded like the tread of giants.
    
  Petrified and sobbing, the terrified boy searched for an escape route, but as he leaped over Salodius's lifeless corpse, his foot caught the man's arm, and he fell heavily to the floor. Recovering from the impact, the boy saw a panel beneath the cabinet he had been searching. It was a wooden panel, hidden in the concrete floor. With great difficulty, he pushed the wooden cabinet aside and lifted the lid. Inside, he discovered a pile of ancient scrolls and maps he had been searching for.
    
  He looked at the dead man, who he believed had pointed him in the right direction, both literally and spiritually. "My gratitude to you, Salodius. Your death will not be in vain," he smiled, clutching the scrolls to his chest. Using his small frame as an asset, he slipped through one of the water conduits that ran beneath the temple as a storm drain and disappeared undetected.
    
    
  Chapter 1
    
    
  Bern stared at the vast blue expanse above him, seemingly stretching on forever, broken only by a pale brown line where the flat plain marked the horizon. His cigarette was the only sign of a wind blowing, blowing its misty white smoke eastward, while his steely blue eyes scanned the perimeter. He was exhausted, but he didn't dare show it. Such absurdities would undermine his authority. As one of three captains in the camp, he had to maintain his coldness, inexhaustible cruelty, and inhuman ability to never sleep.
    
  Only men like Berne could make the enemy shudder and preserve the name of their unit in the murmuring whispers of the locals and the hushed tones of those far across the oceans. His hair was shaved short, his scalp visible beneath a black-gray stubble undisturbed by the gusty wind. Clenched between pursed lips, his cigarette flared with a momentary orange flame before he swallowed its shapeless poison and tossed the butt over the balcony railing. Below the barricade where he stood, a sheer drop of several hundred feet descended to the foot of the mountain.
    
  It was the perfect vantage point for arriving guests, welcome and otherwise. Bern ran his fingers through his black, gray-streaked mustache and beard, stroking them repeatedly until they were neat and free of any traces of ash. He didn't need a uniform-none of them did-but their strict discipline betrayed their past and their training. His men were strictly regimented, each trained to excellence in various fields; their membership depended on knowledge of a little bit of everything and specialization in most. That they lived in seclusion and observed strict fasting in no way meant they possessed the morality or chastity of monks.
    
  In reality, Bern's men were a bunch of tough, multi-ethnic bastards who enjoyed everything most savages did, but they learned to embrace their pleasures. While each man performed his task and every mission with diligence, Bern and his two comrades allowed their pack to be the dogs they were.
    
  This gave them excellent cover, the appearance of mere brutes, carrying out the orders of military brands and desecrating anything that dared to cross their fence without good reason or carry any currency or flesh. However, every man under Bern's command was highly skilled and educated. Historians, armorers, medical professionals, archaeologists, and linguists stood shoulder to shoulder with assassins, mathematicians, and lawyers.
    
  Bern was 44 years old and his past was the envy of marauders the world over.
    
  A former member of the Berlin unit of the so-called New Spetsnaz (Secret GRU), Bern endured several grueling mind games, as heartless as his physical training regimen, during his years serving in the Russian special forces. Under his wing, he was gradually oriented by his immediate commander toward secret missions for a secret German order. After becoming a highly effective agent for this secret group of German aristocrats and global magnates with nefarious plans, Bern was finally offered an entry-level mission, which, if successful, would grant him fifth-level membership.
    
  When it became clear he was to kidnap the young child of a British Council member and kill the child unless the parents complied with the organization's terms, Berne realized he was serving a powerful and vile group and refused. However, when he returned home to find his wife raped and murdered and his child missing, he vowed to overthrow the Order of the Black Sun by any means necessary. He had reliable sources who knew that its members operated within various government agencies, their tentacles reaching far beyond Eastern European prisons and Hollywood studios, all the way to imperial banks and real estate in the United Arab Emirates and Singapore.
    
  In fact, Bern soon recognized them as the devil, the shadows; all things that were invisible but omnipresent.
    
  Leading a rebellion of like-minded operatives and second-tier members with immense personal power, Bern and his colleagues defected from the order and decided to make their sole goal the extermination of every single Black Sun subordinate and high council member.
    
  Thus was born a renegade brigade, rebels responsible for the most successful opposition the Order of the Black Sun had ever faced, the only enemy terrible enough to deserve a warning within the order's ranks.
    
  Now the Renegade Brigade made its presence known at every opportunity, reminding the Black Sun that they had a terrifyingly competent enemy, one that, while not as powerful in the world of information technology and finance as the Order, was superior in tactical approach and intelligence. The latter were skills that could uproot and destroy governments, even without the aid of boundless wealth and resources.
    
  Bern passed through an archway in the bunker-like floor two stories below the main living quarters, passing through two tall, black iron gates that welcomed those condemned to the belly of the beast, where the children of the Black Sun were executed with prejudice. And yet, he was working on the hundredth piece, the one who claimed to know nothing. Bern had always admired how their displays of loyalty never gained them anything, and yet they seemed obligated to sacrifice themselves for the organization that kept them on a leash and repeatedly proved to dismiss their efforts as nothing. For what?
    
  In any case, the psychology of these slaves demonstrated how some invisible force of malicious intent had managed to transform hundreds of thousands of normal, good people into masses of uniformed tin soldiers marching for the Nazis. Something in the Black Sun operated with the same fear-induced brilliance that drove decent men under Hitler's command to burn living infants and watch the children suffocate in gas fumes while they cried out for their mothers. Every time he destroyed one of them, he felt relief; not so much from being rid of the presence of another enemy, but from the fact that he was not like them.
    
    
  Chapter 2
    
    
  Nina choked on her solyanka. Sam couldn't help but chuckle at her sudden jolt and the strange expression she made, and she gave him a narrowed, condemning look that quickly brought him back to his senses.
    
  "Sorry, Nina," he said, trying vainly to hide his amusement, "but she just told you the soup was hot, and you just go and shove a spoonful into it. What do you think was going to happen?"
    
  Nina's tongue was numb from the scalding soup she'd tasted too early, but she could still curse.
    
  "Need I remind you how damn hungry I am?" she chuckled.
    
  "Yes, at least fourteen more times," he said with his irritatingly boyish manner, making her clutch her spoon tightly under the blinding light in Katya Strenkova's kitchen. It smelled of mildew and old fabric, but for some reason, Nina found it very cozy, as if it were her home from another life. Only the insects, spurred on by the Russian summer, bothered her in her comfort zone, but otherwise she enjoyed the warm hospitality and gruff efficiency of Russian families.
    
  Two days had passed since Nina, Sam, and Alexander had crossed the continent by train and finally reached Novosibirsk, where Alexander had given them all a lift in a rented car that was not roadworthy, which had taken them to Strenkov's farm on the Argut River, just north of the border between Mongolia and Russia.
    
  With Perdue having abandoned their company in Belgium, Sam and Nina were now at the mercy of Alexander's experience and loyalty, by far the most reliable of all the unreliable men they'd dealt with recently. The night Perdue disappeared with the captive Renata of the Order of the Black Sun, Nina gave Sam his nanite cocktail, the same one Perdue had given her to rid them both of the all-seeing eye of the Black Sun. She hoped this was as frank as he could be, considering she'd chosen Sam Cleve's affections over Dave Perdue's wealth. By leaving, he assured her he was far from abandoning his claim to her heart, despite it not being his. But such were the ways of the millionaire playboy, and she had to give him credit-he was as ruthless in his love as he was in his adventures.
    
  Now they lay low in Russia while they planned their next move, gaining access to the renegade compound where Black Sun's rivals held their stronghold. It would be a very dangerous and grueling mission, as they no longer had their trump card-the soon-to-be deposed Black Sun member Renata. Yet Alexander, Sam, and Nina knew the defector clan was their only refuge from the order's relentless pursuit of them, determined to find and kill them.
    
  Even if they managed to convince the rebel leader that they weren't spies for Renata of the Order, they had no idea what the Renegade Brigade had in mind to prove it. That in itself was a terrifying idea at best.
    
  The men who guarded their stronghold at Mönkh Saridag, the highest peak in the Sayan Mountains, were not to be trifled with. Their reputation was well known to Sam and Nina, as they had learned during their imprisonment at Black Sun headquarters in Bruges less than two weeks earlier. Still fresh in their minds was the memory of Renata planning to send Sam or Nina on a fateful mission to infiltrate the Renegade Brigade and steal the coveted Longinus, a weapon about which little had been revealed. To this day, they had never determined whether the so-called Longinus mission was legitimate or simply a ruse, intended to satisfy Renata's wicked appetite for sending her victims into cat-and-mouse games, making their deaths more entertaining and sophisticated for her amusement.
    
  Alexander set out alone on a reconnaissance mission to see what kind of security the Renegade Brigade provided on their territory. With his technical knowledge and survival skills, he was hardly a match for the likes of the renegades, but he and his two comrades couldn't remain holed up on Katya's farm forever. Eventually, they had to contact a rebel group, otherwise they would never be able to return to their normal lives.
    
  He assured Nina and Sam that it would be best if he went alone. If the Order were somehow still tracking the three of them, they certainly wouldn't be looking for a lone farmer in a battered light-duty vehicle (LDV) on the plains of Mongolia or along a Russian river. Besides, he knew his homeland like the back of his hand, which would facilitate faster travel and a better command of the language. If one of his colleagues were interrogated by officials, their lack of language skills could seriously hinder the plan, unless they were captured or shot.
    
  He drove along a deserted, small gravel road that wound toward the mountain ridge that marked the border and silently proclaimed Mongolia's beauty. The small vehicle was a battered, old, light-blue contraption that creaked with every turn of the wheels, causing the rosary beads on the rearview mirror to swing like a sacred pendulum. Only because it was Katya's ride did Alexander tolerate the annoying clicking of the beads against the dashboard in the quiet cabin; otherwise, he would have ripped the relic from the mirror and tossed it out the window. Besides, the area was rather forlorn. There would be no salvation in the rosary beads.
    
  His hair fluttered in the cold wind that blew through the open window, and the skin on his forearm began to burn from the cold. He cursed the battered handle that couldn't lift the window to offer him any comfort from the chill breath of the flat wasteland he was crossing. A quiet voice inside him chided him for his ingratitude at still being alive after the heartbreaking events in Belgium, where his beloved Axelle had been murdered and he had narrowly escaped the same fate.
    
  Ahead, he could see the border post where, fortunately, Katya's husband worked. Alexander glanced quickly at the rosary beads scrawled on the dashboard of the shaking car, and he knew they, too, reminded him of this happy blessing.
    
  "Yes! Yes! I know. I fucking know," he croaked, looking at the swinging thing.
    
  The border post was nothing more than another dilapidated building, surrounded by extravagantly long, old barbed wire and patrolling men with long guns, simply waiting for action. They strolled lazily back and forth, some lighting cigarettes for their friends, others questioning the odd tourist trying to get through.
    
  Alexander spotted Sergei Strenkov among them, taking a photo with a loud-mouthed Australian woman who insisted on learning to say "fuck you" in Russian. Sergei was a deeply religious man, like his wild cat Katya, but he indulged the lady and instead taught her to say "Hail Mary," convincing her that it was the phrase she'd asked for. Alexander had to laugh and shake his head as he listened to the conversation while he waited to speak to the security guard.
    
  "Oh, wait, Dima! I'll take this one!" Sergey shouted at his colleague.
    
  "Alexander, you should have come last night," he muttered under his breath, pretending to ask for his friend's documents. Alexander handed him his and replied, "I would have, but you're finishing up before then, and I don't trust anyone but you to know what I'm planning on doing on the other side of this fence, understand?"
    
  Sergei nodded. He had a thick mustache and bushy black eyebrows, which made him look even more intimidating in his uniform. Sibiryak, Sergei, and Katya had all been childhood friends of the crazy Alexander and had spent many nights in jail because of his reckless ideas. Even then, the skinny, strong boy was a threat to anyone who aspired to lead an organized and secure life, and the two teenagers quickly realized that Alexander would soon get them into serious trouble if they continued to agree to join him on his illicit, joyous adventures.
    
  But the three remained friends even after Alexander left to serve in the Persian Gulf War as a navigator in a British unit. His years as a reconnaissance officer and survival expert helped him quickly rise through the ranks until he became an independent contractor, quickly earning the respect of all the organizations that employed him. Meanwhile, Katya and Sergey were confidently advancing in their academic careers, but a lack of funding and political unrest in Moscow and Minsk, respectively, forced them both to return to Siberia, where they reunited again, almost ten years after their departure, for more pressing matters that never materialized.
    
  Katya inherited her grandparents' farm when her parents were killed in an explosion at the munitions factory where they worked while she was a second-year IT student at Moscow University. She had to return to claim the farm before it was sold to the state. Sergei joined her, and the two settled there. Two years later, when the unstable Alexander was invited to their wedding, the three became reacquainted, recounting their adventures over a few bottles of moonshine, until they recalled those wild days as if they had lived them.
    
  Katya and Sergei found the rural life pleasant and eventually became church-going citizens, while their wild friend chose a life of danger and constant change. Now he called on them to shelter him and two Scottish friends until he could sort things out, leaving out, of course, the extent of the danger he, Sam, and Nina actually found themselves in. Kind-hearted and always happy to have good company, the Strenkovs invited the three friends to stay with them for a while.
    
  Now the time had come to do what he had come for, and Alexander promised his childhood friends that he and his companions would soon be out of danger.
    
  "Go through the left gate; that one's falling apart. The padlock's fake, Alex. Just pull the chain and you'll see. Then go to the house by the river, there-" he pointed at nothing in particular, "about five kilometers away. There's a ferryman, Kosta. Give him some liquor or whatever you have in that flask. He's sinfully easy to bribe," Sergei laughed, "and he'll take you where you need to go."
    
  Sergei put his hand deep into his pocket.
    
  "Oh, I saw that," Alexander joked, embarrassing his friend with a healthy blush and a silly laugh.
    
  "No, you're an idiot. Here," Sergei handed Alexander the broken rosary.
    
  "Oh, Jesus, not another one of them," Alexander groaned. He saw the hard look Sergei gave him for his blasphemy and raised his hand apologetically.
    
  "This one's different from the one on the mirror. Listen, give this to one of the guards at the camp, and he'll take you to one of the captains, okay?" Sergei explained.
    
  "Why are the beads broken?" Alexander asked, looking completely puzzled.
    
  "It's a renegade symbol. The Renegade Brigade uses it to identify each other," his friend replied nonchalantly.
    
  "Wait, how are you-?"
    
  "Don't worry about it, my friend. I was a soldier too, you know? I'm not an idiot," Sergei whispered.
    
  "I never meant it, but how the hell did you know who we wanted to see?" Alexander asked. He wondered if Sergei was just another leg of the Black Sun spider and whether he could even be trusted. Then he thought of Sam and Nina, unsuspecting, at the estate.
    
  "Listen, you show up at my house with two strangers who have practically nothing on them: no money, no clothes, no fake documents... And you think I can't spot a refugee when I see one? Besides, they're with you. And you don't hang out with safe people. Now get on with it. And try to get back to the farm before midnight," Sergei said. He rapped on the roof of the wheeled trash heap and whistled to the guard at the gate.
    
  Alexander nodded in gratitude, placing the rosary on his lap as the car drove through the gate.
    
    
  Chapter 3
    
    
  Purdue's glasses reflected the circuitry in front of him, illuminating the darkness in which he sat. It was quiet, a dead night in his part of the world. He missed Reichtischus, he missed Edinburgh and the carefree days he spent in his mansion, dazzling guests and clients with his inventions and unrivaled genius. The attention had been so innocent, so gratuitous, given his already-famous and obscenely impressive fortune, but he'd missed it. Back then, before he'd gotten himself into deep trouble with the Deep Sea One revelations and his poor choice of business partners in the Parashant Desert, life had been one long, interesting adventure and romantic swindle.
    
  Now his wealth barely supported his survival, and the safety of others fell on his shoulders. Try as he might, he found it nearly impossible to hold everything together. Nina, his beloved, the recently lost ex-lover he intended to fully recapture, was somewhere in Asia with the man she thought she loved. Sam, his rival for Nina's affections and (let's face it) a recent winner of similar competitions, was always there to assist Purdue in his endeavors-even when it was unjustified.
    
  His own safety was at risk, regardless of his own, especially now that he'd temporarily halted Black Sun's leadership. The Council overseeing the order's leadership was likely watching him and, for some reason, was currently maintaining its ranks, and this made Perdue exceptionally nervous-and he was by no means a nervous man. All he could do was keep his head down until he'd devised a plan to join Nina and take her to safety, until he could figure out what to do if the Council acted.
    
  His head was pounding from the severe nosebleed he'd suffered just minutes earlier, but now he couldn't stop. Too much was at stake.
    
  Dave Purdue tinkered with the device on his holographic screen again and again, but there was something wrong that he simply couldn't see. His concentration wasn't as sharp as usual, even though he'd only recently woken from nine hours of uninterrupted sleep. He already had a headache when he woke, but that wasn't surprising, since he'd drunk almost an entire bottle of red Johnnie Walker all by himself while sitting in front of the fireplace.
    
  "For heaven's sake!" Purdue shouted silently, so as not to wake any of his neighbors, and slammed his fists on the table. It was completely out of character for him to lose his cool, especially over such a trivial task as a simple electronic circuit, the likes of which he had already mastered at fourteen. His sullen demeanor and impatience were a result of the last few days, and he knew he had to admit that leaving Nina with Sam had finally gotten to him.
    
  Usually, his money and charm could easily seize any prey, and to top it all off, he'd had Nina for over two years, yet he'd taken it for granted and vanished from the radar without bothering to inform her he was alive. He was used to this behavior, and most people dismissed it as part of his eccentricity, but now he knew it was the first serious blow to their relationship. His appearance only upset her further, mainly because she knew then that he'd deliberately kept her in the dark, and then, with the fatal blow, dragged her into her most threatening confrontation with the powerful "Black Sun" to date.
    
  Perdue removed his glasses and placed them on the small barstool next to him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, trying to clear his mind of jumbled thoughts and return his brain to technical mode. The night was mild, but the wind made the dead trees lean toward the window and scratch like a cat trying to get in. Something lurked outside the small bungalow where Perdue was staying indefinitely until he could plan his next move.
    
  It was difficult to distinguish between the relentless tapping of storm-driven tree branches and the fumbling of a lock pick or the click of a spark plug against a windowpane. Purdue paused to listen. He wasn't usually a man of intuition, but now, obeying his own nascent instinct, he encountered a serious sarcasm.
    
  He knew better than to peek, so he used one of his untested devices before escaping his Edinburgh mansion under cover of night. It was a kind of spyglass, modified for more diverse purposes than simply clearing distances to scrutinize the actions of those unaware. It contained an infrared function, complete with a red laser beam reminiscent of a task force rifle, but this laser could cut through most surfaces within a hundred yards. With the flick of a switch under his thumb, Purdue could configure the spyglass to detect heat signatures, so while it couldn't see through walls, it could detect any human body temperature moving beyond its wooden walls.
    
  He quickly climbed the nine steps of the wide, homemade staircase leading to the second floor of the hut and tiptoed to the very edge of the floor, where he could peer through the narrow gap where it met the thatched roof. Putting his right eye to the lens, he scanned the area immediately beyond the building, slowly moving from corner to corner.
    
  The only source of heat he could detect was his jeep's engine. Other than that, there was no sign of any immediate threat. Confused, he sat there for a moment, mulling over his newfound sixth sense. He was never wrong about these things. Especially after his recent encounters with mortal enemies, he had learned to recognize an impending threat.
    
  When Perdue reached the cabin's first floor, he closed the hatch leading to the room above him and leaped the last three steps. He landed hard on his feet. When he looked up, a figure was sitting in his chair. He instantly recognized it, and his heart stopped. Where had she come from?
    
  Her large blue eyes seemed unearthly in the bright light of the colorful hologram, but she was looking through the diagram straight at him. The rest of her faded into shadow.
    
  "I never thought I"d see you again," he said, unable to hide his genuine surprise.
    
  "Of course you didn't, David. I bet you were more likely to wish for it than to consider its actual severity," she said. That familiar voice sounded so strange to Purdue's ears after all this time.
    
  He moved closer to her, but the shadows prevailed, hiding her from him. Her gaze slid down and traced the lines of his drawing.
    
  "Your cyclic quadrilateral here is incorrect, did you know?" she said matter-of-factly. Her eyes were fixed on Purdue's error, and she forced herself to remain silent despite his barrage of questions about other topics, such as her presence there, until he came to correct the error she had noticed.
    
  It was just typical of Agatha Purdue.
    
  Agatha's personality, a genius with obsessive quirks that made her twin brother seem completely ordinary, was an acquired taste. If one hadn't known she had a staggering IQ, she might well have been mistaken for something of a madwoman. Unlike her brother's polite application of his intellect, Agatha was borderline certified when she focused on a problem that needed solving.
    
  And in this, the twins differed greatly. Purdue successfully used his talent for science and engineering to acquire wealth and a reputation as a king among his academic peers. But Agatha was nothing less than a pauper compared to her brother. Her unattractive introversion, which sometimes reached the point of being a monstrous figure with a staring gaze, made men simply find her strange and intimidating. Her self-esteem was largely based on correcting the errors she effortlessly found in others' work, and this was precisely what dealt a serious blow to her potential whenever she attempted to work in the competitive fields of physics or the natural sciences.
    
  Eventually, Agatha became a librarian, but not just any librarian, forgotten amid the towers of literature and the dim light of archive chambers. She did indeed display some ambition, striving to become something greater than her antisocial psychology dictated. Agatha had a side career as a consultant for various wealthy clients, primarily those who invested in arcane books and the inevitable occult pursuits that came with the grisly trappings of classical literature.
    
  For people like them, the latter was a novelty, nothing more than a prize in an esoteric writing contest. None of her clients had ever shown genuine appreciation for the Old World or the scribes who recorded events that new eyes would never see. This infuriated her, but she couldn't refuse a random six-figure reward. It would have been simply idiotic, no matter how much she strove to remain faithful to the historical significance of the books and the places to which she so freely led them.
    
  Dave Perdue looked at the problem his annoying sister pointed out.
    
  How the hell did I miss that? And why the hell did she have to be here to show me? he thought, establishing a paradigm, secretly testing her reaction with each redirect he performed on the hologram. Her expression was blank, and her eyes barely moved as he completed his round. That was a good sign. If she sighed, shrugged, or even blinked, he would know she was refuting what he was doing-in other words, it would mean she would sanctimoniously patronize him in her own way.
    
  "Happy?" he dared to ask, just waiting for her to find another mistake, but she simply nodded. Her eyes finally opened like a normal person's, and Purdue felt the tension ease.
    
  "So, to what do I owe this invasion?" he asked as he went to get another bottle of liquor from his travel bag.
    
  "Ah, polite as ever," she sighed. "I assure you, David, my intrusion is very well-founded."
    
  He poured himself a glass of whiskey and handed the bottle to her.
    
  "Yes, thank you. I"ll take some," she replied, leaning forward and pressing her palms together, sliding them between her thighs. "I need your help with something."
    
  Her words rang in his ears like shards of glass. As the fire crackled, Perdue turned to face his sister, ashen-gray with disbelief.
    
  "Oh, come on, be melodramatic," she said impatiently. "Is it really so incomprehensible that I might need your help?"
    
  "No, not at all," Purdue replied, pouring her a glass of trouble. "It's inconceivable that you even bothered to ask."
    
    
  Chapter 4
    
    
  Sam hid his memoirs from Nina. He didn't want her to know such deeply personal things about him, though he didn't know why. It was clear she knew almost everything about his fiancée's horrific death at the hands of an international weapons organization led by Nina's ex-husband's best friend. Many times before, Nina had lamented her connection to the heartless man who had stopped Sam's dreams in their tracks when he brutally murdered the love of his life. However, his notes contained a certain subconscious resentment; he didn't want Nina to see if she'd read them, so he decided to keep them from her.
    
  But now, as they waited for Alexander to return with word of how to join the ranks of the renegades, Sam realized that this period of boredom in the Russian countryside north of the border would be a good time to continue his memoirs.
    
  Alexander went boldly, perhaps foolishly, to speak with them. He would offer his assistance, along with Sam Cleave and Doctor Nina Gould, to confront the Order of the Black Sun and ultimately find a way to crush the organization once and for all. If the rebels had not yet received word of the delay in the official expulsion of the Black Sun leader, Alexander planned to exploit this momentary weakness in the order's operations to strike an effective blow.
    
  Nina helped Katya in the kitchen and learned how to cook dumplings.
    
  Every now and then, as Sam jotted down his thoughts and painful memories in his tattered notebook, he'd hear the two women burst into shrill laughter. This would be followed by an admission of some ineptitude on Nina's part, while Katya would deny her own shameful mistakes.
    
  "You're very good..." Katya screamed, falling into her chair with a hearty laugh: "For a Scotsman! But we'll still make a Russian out of you!"
    
  "I doubt it, Katya. I'd offer to teach you how to cook Highland haggis, but frankly, I'm not very good at that either!" Nina burst out laughing.
    
  This all sounded a little too festive, Sam thought, closing the notebook and tucked it safely into his bag along with his pen. He rose from his wooden single bed in the guest room he shared with Alexander and walked down the wide hallway and down the short stairs toward the kitchen, where the women were making a hellish noise.
    
  "Look! Sam! I created... oh... I made a whole batch... of many? Many things...?" She frowned and gestured for Katya to help her.
    
  "Dumplings!" Katya exclaimed joyfully, pointing her hands at the mess of dough and scattered meat on the wooden kitchen table.
    
  "So many!" Nina giggled.
    
  "Are you girls drunk, by any chance?" he asked, amused by the two beautiful women he'd been lucky enough to be stuck with in the middle of nowhere. Had he been a more unceremonious man with a lewd outlook, there might well have been a dirty thought in his mind, but being Sam, he simply plopped down on a chair and watched Nina attempt to cut the dough properly.
    
  "We're not drunk, Mr. Cleve. We're just tipsy," Katya explained, approaching Sam with a plain glass jam jar half-filled with a sinister, clear liquid.
    
  "Ah!" he exclaimed, running his hands through his thick dark hair, "I"ve seen this before, and it"s what we Cleave people would call the shortest route to Slocherville. A little early for me, thank you."
    
  "Early?" Katya asked, genuinely confused. "Sam, it's still an hour until midnight!"
    
  "Yes! We started drinking as early as 7 p.m.," Nina interjected, her hands splattered with pork, onion, garlic, and parsley she"d been chopping to fill the dough pockets.
    
  "Don't be stupid!" Sam was astonished as he rushed to the small window and saw that the sky was too bright for what his watch showed. "I thought it was much earlier, and I was just being a lazy bastard, wanting to fall into bed."
    
  He looked at the two women, as different as day and night, but as beautiful as the other.
    
  Katya looked exactly as Sam had first imagined her when he heard her name, just before they arrived at the farm. With large blue eyes sunken into bony sockets and a wide, full-lipped mouth, she looked stereotypically Russian. Her cheekbones were so prominent that they cast shadows across her face in the harsh overhead light, and her straight blonde hair fell over her shoulders and forehead.
    
  Slender and tall, she towered over the petite figure of the dark-eyed Scottish girl beside her. Nina had finally regained her natural hair color, the rich, dark chestnut he'd so loved to drown his face in when she'd mounted him in Belgium. Sam was relieved to see that her pale, haggard appearance had vanished, and she could once again show off her graceful curves and rosy skin. Time away from the clutches of the Black Sun had healed her just a little.
    
  Perhaps it was the country air, far away from Bruges, that calmed them both, but they felt more invigorated and rested in their damp Russian surroundings. Everything here was much simpler, and the people were polite but stern. This land wasn't for prudence or sensitivity, and Sam liked that.
    
  Looking out over the flat plains turning purple in the fading light and listening to the merriment in the house with him, Sam couldn't help but wonder how Alexander was doing.
    
  All Sam and Nina could hope for was that the rebels on the mountain would trust Alexander and not mistake him for a spy.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  "You're a spy!" the skinny Italian rebel shouted, patiently pacing around Alexander's prostrate body. This gave the Russian a terrible headache, only made worse by his upside-down position over the bath.
    
  "Listen to me!" Alexander pleaded for the hundredth time. His skull was bursting from the rush of blood rushing to the back of his eyeballs, and his ankles were slowly threatening to dislocate under the weight of his body, which hung from the crude rope and chains attached to the stone ceiling of the cell. "If I were a spy, why the hell would I come here? Why would I come here with information that would help your case, you stupid fucking spaghetti?"
    
  The Italian didn't appreciate Alexander's racial insults and, without protest, simply plunged the Russian's head back into the ice-cold bath, leaving only his jaw exposed. His colleagues chuckled at the Russian's reaction as they sat drinking near the padlocked gate.
    
  "You better know what to say when you get back, stronzo! Your life depends on this smut, and this interrogation is already taking up my drinking time. I'll fucking let you drown, I will!" he screamed, kneeling next to the bathtub so the immersed Russian could hear him.
    
  "Carlo, what's the matter?" Bern called from the corridor he was approaching from. "You seem unnaturally tense," the captain said bluntly. His voice grew louder as he approached the arched entrance. The other two men snapped to attention at the sight of their leader, but he waved dismissively at them to relax.
    
  "Captain, this idiot says he has information that can help us, but he only has Russian documents that appear to be fake," the Italian said as Bern unlocked the sturdy black gates to enter the interrogation area, or more accurately, the torture chamber.
    
  "Where are his papers?" the captain asked, and Carlo pointed to the chair to which he'd first tied the Russian. Bern glanced at the well-forged border pass and identification card. Without taking his eyes off the Russian inscription, he calmly said, "Carlo."
    
  "Si, capitano?"
    
  "The Russian is drowning, Carlo. Let him rise."
    
  "Oh, my God!" Carlo jumped up and lifted the gasping Alexander. The drenched Russian desperately gasped for air, coughing violently before vomiting up the excess water in his body.
    
  "Alexander Arichenkov. Is that your real name?" Bern asked his guest, but then realized the man's name was irrelevant to their motivations. "I suppose it doesn't matter. You'll be dead before midnight."
    
  Alexander knew he had to plead his case to his superiors before being left at the mercy of his attention-deficit-stricken tormentor. Water still pooled in the back of his nostrils and burned his nasal passages, making speech nearly impossible, but his life depended on it.
    
  "Captain, I'm not a spy. I want to join your company, that's all," the wiry Russian said incoherently.
    
  Bern turned on his heel. "And why do you want to do this?" He motioned to Carlo to introduce the subject to the bottom of the tub.
    
  "Renata has been deposed!" Alexander shouted. "I was part of a conspiracy to overthrow the Order of the Black Sun's leadership, and we succeeded... sort of."
    
  Bern raised his hand to stop the Italian from carrying out his final order.
    
  "You don't have to torture me, Captain. I'm here to freely provide you with information!" the Russian explained. Carlo glared at him, his hand twitching on the pulley that controlled Alexander's fate.
    
  "In exchange for this information, you want...?" Bern asked. "Do you want to join us?"
    
  "Yes! Yes! Two friends and I, also fleeing from the Black Sun. We know how to find members of the Higher Order, and that's why they're trying to kill us, Captain," he stuttered, struggling to find the right words, the water in his throat still making it difficult to breathe.
    
  "And where are those two friends of yours? Are they hiding, Mr. Arichenkov?" Bern asked sarcastically.
    
  "I came alone, Captain, to find out if the rumors about your organization are true; if you're still active," Alexander muttered quickly. Bern knelt beside him and looked him up and down. The Russian was middle-aged, short and skinny. A scar on the left side of his face gave him the appearance of a fighter. The stern captain ran his index finger over the scar, now purple against the Russian's pale, damp, cold skin.
    
  "I hope this wasn't the result of a car accident or something?" he asked Alexander. The drenched man's pale blue eyes were bloodshot from the pressure and near-drowning as he looked at the captain and shook his head.
    
  "I have many scars, Captain. And none of them were caused by a crash, I assure you of that. Mostly bullets, shrapnel, and hot-tempered women," Alexander replied, his blue lips trembling.
    
  "Women. Oh yeah, I like that. You sound like my type, friend," Bern smiled and cast a silent but heavy glance at Carlo, which unsettled Alexander a little. "Fine, Mr. Arichenkov, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I mean, we're not fucking animals!" he growled, much to the amusement of the men present, and they snarled ferociously in agreement.
    
  And Mother Russia greets you, Alexander, his inner voice echoed in his head. I hope I don't wake up dead.
    
  As the relief of not dying washed over Alexander, accompanied by the howls and cheers of the pack of beasts, his body went limp and he fell into oblivion.
    
    
  Chapter 5
    
    
  Shortly before two o'clock in the morning, Katya laid her last card on the table.
    
  "I'm folding."
    
  Nina chuckled playfully, squeezing her hand so Sam couldn't read her expression on her unreadable face.
    
  "Come on. Get it, Sam!" Nina laughed as Katya kissed her cheek. Then the Russian beauty kissed the top of Sam's head and mumbled inaudibly, "I'm going to bed. Sergey will be back from his shift soon."
    
  "Good night, Katya," Sam smiled, placing his hand on the table. "Two pairs."
    
  "Ha!" Nina exclaimed. "The house is full. Pay up, partner."
    
  "Damn," Sam muttered and took off his left sock. Strip poker sounded better until he discovered the ladies were better at it than he'd originally thought when he'd agreed to play. In his shorts and one sock, he shivered at the table.
    
  "You know it's a scam, and we only allowed it because you were drunk. It would be terrible of us to take advantage of you, right?" she lectured him, barely containing herself. Sam wanted to laugh, but he didn't want to ruin the moment by putting on his best pathetic slouch.
    
  "Thank you for being so kind. There are so few decent women left on this planet these days," he said with obvious amusement.
    
  "That's true," Nina agreed, pouring a second jar of moonshine into her glass. But just a few drops spilled unceremoniously to the bottom of the glass, proving, to her horror, that the fun and games of the night had come to a blunt conclusion. "And I only let you cheat because I love you."
    
  God, I wish she was sober when she said that, Sam wished as Nina cupped his face in her hands, the soft scent of her perfume mingling with the noxious onslaught of distilled spirits as she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
    
  "Come sleep with me," she said, leading the wobbly, Y-shaped Scotsman out of the kitchen as he carefully gathered his clothes on the way out. Sam said nothing. He thought he'd escort Nina to her room to make sure she didn't take a bad fall down the stairs, but when they entered her tiny room around the corner from the others, she closed the door behind them.
    
  "What are you doing?" she asked when she saw Sam trying to pull up his jeans, his shirt thrown over his shoulder.
    
  "I'm freezing as hell, Nina. Just give me a second," he replied, desperately struggling with the zipper.
    
  Nina's slender fingers closed around his trembling hands. She slipped her hand into his jeans, again pushing the brass teeth of the zipper apart. Sam froze, captivated by her touch. He involuntarily closed his eyes and felt her warm, soft lips press against his.
    
  She pushed him back onto her bed and turned off the light.
    
  "Nina, you're drunk, girl. Don't do anything you'll regret in the morning," he warned, simply as a disclaimer. In reality, he wanted her so badly he could burst.
    
  "The only thing I'll regret is that I'll have to do it quietly," she said, her voice surprisingly sober in the darkness.
    
  He could hear her boots being kicked aside, and then the chair being pushed to the left of the bed. Sam felt her lunging at him, her weight clumsily crushing his genitals.
    
  "Careful!" he groaned. "I need them!"
    
  "Me too," she said, kissing him passionately before he could respond. Sam tried not to lose his composure as Nina pressed her small body against his, breathing on his neck. He gasped when her warm, bare skin touched his, still cold from a two-hour shirtless poker game.
    
  "You know I love you, right?" she whispered. Sam's eyes rolled back in reluctant ecstasy at the words, but the alcohol that accompanied each syllable ruined his bliss.
    
  "Yes, I know," he reassured her.
    
  Sam had selfishly allowed her to have free reign of his body. He knew he would feel guilty about it later, but for now he told himself he was giving her what she wanted; that he was merely the fortunate recipient of her passion.
    
  Katya wasn't sleeping. Her door creaked softly as Nina began to moan, and Sam tried to silence her with deep kisses, hoping they wouldn't disturb her. But amid all this, he wouldn't have cared if Katya had entered the room, turned on the light, and invited him to join her-as long as Nina was doing her thing. His hands caressed her back, and he traced a scar or two, each of which he could recall the cause of.
    
  He was there. Ever since they met, their lives had spiraled relentlessly into a dark, endless well of danger, and Sam wondered when they would reach solid, waterless ground. But he didn't care, as long as they crashed together. Somehow, with Nina by his side, Sam felt safe, even in the clutches of death. And now, with her in his arms right here, her attention was momentarily focused on him and only him; he felt invincible, untouchable.
    
  Katya's footsteps came from the kitchen, where she was unlocking the door for Sergei. After a brief pause, Sam heard their muffled conversation, which he wouldn't have been able to make out anyway. He was grateful for their conversation in the kitchen, so he could enjoy Nina's muffled cries of pleasure as he pinned her against the wall under the window.
    
  Five minutes later, the kitchen door closed. Sam listened to the direction of the sounds. Heavy boots followed Katya's graceful steps into the master bedroom, but the door no longer creaked. Sergey remained silent, but Katya said something and then knocked cautiously on Nina's door, unaware that Sam had been with her.
    
  "Nina, can I come in?" she asked clearly from the other side of the door.
    
  Sam sat up, ready to grab his jeans, but in the darkness, he had no idea where Nina had thrown them. Nina was unconscious. Her orgasm had lifted the fatigue the alcohol had wrought all night, and her wet, limp body pressed blissfully against him, motionless as a corpse. Katya knocked again: "Nina, I need to talk to you, please? Please!"
    
  Sam frowned.
    
  The request from the other side of the door sounded too insistent, almost alarmed.
    
  Ah, to hell with it! he thought. So, I beat up Nina. What would it have mattered anyway? he thought, groping in the darkness with his hands on the floor, searching for something resembling clothing. He barely had time to pull on his jeans when the doorknob turned.
    
  "Hey, what's going on?" Sam asked innocently as he appeared in the dark crack of the opening door. Katya's hand brought the door to a screeching halt as Sam braced his foot against it from the other side.
    
  "Oh!" she jerked, startled to see the wrong face. "I thought Nina was here."
    
  "She's like that. Passed out. All those homegrown guys kicked her ass," he replied with a shy chuckle, but Katya didn't look surprised. In fact, she looked downright terrified.
    
  "Sam, just get dressed. Wake up Dr. Gould and come with us," Sergei said ominously.
    
  "What happened? Nina's drunk as hell, and it looks like she won't wake up until judgment day," Sam told Sergey more seriously, but he was still trying to get even.
    
  "Oh, my God, we don't have time for this crap!" a man shouted from behind the couple. A Makarov appeared at Katya's head, and a finger pulled the trigger.
    
  Click!
    
  "The next click will be made of lead, comrade," the shooter warned.
    
  Sergei began sobbing, muttering madly to the men standing behind him, pleading for his wife's life. Katya covered her face with her hands and fell to her knees in shock. From what Sam had gathered, they weren't Sergei's colleagues, as he had initially assumed. Although he didn't understand Russian, he deduced from their tone that they were very serious about killing them all unless he woke Nina and went with them. Seeing the argument escalating dangerously, Sam raised his hands and left the room.
    
  "Okay, okay. We'll go with you. Just tell me what's going on, and I'll wake up Dr. Gould," he reassured the four angry-looking thugs.
    
  Sergei hugged his crying wife and shielded her.
    
  "My name is Bodo. I must believe that you and Dr. Gould accompanied a man named Alexander Arichenkov to our beautiful plot of land," the gunman asked Sam.
    
  "Who wants to know?" Sam snapped.
    
  Bodo cocked his pistol and took aim at the cowering couple.
    
  "Yes!" Sam yelled, reaching out to Bodo. "Jesus, can you relax? I"m not running away. Point that fucking thing at me if you need target practice at midnight!"
    
  The French thug lowered his weapon, while his comrades held theirs at the ready. Sam swallowed hard and thought of Nina, who had no idea what was happening. He regretted confirming her presence there, but if these intruders had discovered him, they would surely have killed Nina and the Strenkovs and hung him outside by his balls to be devoured by the wild animals.
    
  "Wake the woman, Mr. Cleve," Bodo ordered.
    
  "Okay. Just... just calm down, okay?" Sam nodded in surrender, slowly walking back into the dark room.
    
  "The light's on, the door's open," Bodo said firmly. Sam had no intention of endangering Nina with his wit, so he simply agreed and turned on the light, grateful for the cover he'd provided before opening the door for Katya. He didn't want to imagine what those beasts would have done to the naked, unconscious woman if she'd already been sprawled on the bed.
    
  Her small figure barely lifted the covers where she slept on her back, mouth agape in a drunken siesta. Sam hated having to ruin such a wonderful rest, but their lives depended on her waking up.
    
  "Nina," he said quite loudly as he leaned over her, trying to shield her from the vicious creatures that were hanging around in the doorway while one of them held the homeowners back. "Nina, wake up."
    
  "For heaven's sake, turn off the damn light. My head's killing me, Sam!" she whined and rolled over. He quickly cast an apologetic glance at the men in the doorway, who simply stared in surprise, trying to catch a glimpse of the sleeping woman who might put the sailor to shame.
    
  "Nina! Nina, we have to get up and get dressed right now! Do you understand?" Sam urged, rocking her with his heavy hand, but she only frowned and pushed him away. Out of nowhere, Bodo intervened and slapped Nina across the face so hard that her knot immediately bled.
    
  "Get up!" he roared. The deafening bark of his cold voice and the excruciating pain of his slap shook Nina, sobering her up like a shard of glass. She sat up, confused and furious. Swinging her hand at the Frenchman, she screamed, "Who the hell do you think you are?"
    
  "Nina! No!" Sam screamed, terrified that she had just gotten herself shot.
    
  Bodo caught her arm and backhanded her. Sam lunged forward, pinning the tall Frenchman against the cabinet along the wall. He unleashed three right hooks on Bodo's cheekbone, feeling his own knuckles shift back with each blow.
    
  "Don"t you ever dare hit a woman in front of me, you piece of shit!" he shouted, seething with anger.
    
  He grabbed Bodo by the ears and slammed the back of his head hard onto the floor, but before he could land a second blow, Bodo grabbed Sam in the same manner.
    
  "Do you miss Scotland?" Bodo laughed through bloodied teeth and pulled Sam's head down to his, delivering a debilitating headbutt that instantly knocked Sam unconscious. "It's called a Glasgow kiss... boy!"
    
  The men roared with laughter as Katya pushed through them to come to Nina's aid. Nina's nose was bleeding and her face was badly bruised, but she was so angry and disoriented that Katya had to restrain the petite historian. Unleashing a stream of curses and threats of imminent death in Bodø, Nina gritted her teeth as Katya covered her with a robe and hugged her tightly, trying to calm her down, for the good of them all.
    
  "Leave it, Nina. Let it go," Katya said in Nina's ear, pressing her so close that the men couldn't hear their words.
    
  "I'll fucking kill him. I swear to God, he'll die the moment I get my chance," Nina smirked into Katya's neck as the Russian woman hugged her.
    
  "You'll get your chance, but first you have to survive this, okay? I know you're going to kill him, sweetheart. Just stay alive, because..." Katya soothed her. Her tear-stained eyes glanced at Bodo through Nina's strands of hair. "Dead women can't kill."
    
    
  Chapter 6
    
    
  Agatha had a small hard drive she kept for any emergencies she might need while traveling. She connected it to Purdue's modem, and with unmatched ease, it took her just six hours to create a software platform with which she hacked Black Sun's previously inaccessible financial database. Her brother sat silently next to her on a frosty early morning, clutching a cup of hot coffee tightly. Few people could still impress Purdue with their technical savvy, but he had to admit that his sister was still quite capable of awe.
    
  It wasn't that she knew more than he did, but somehow she was more willing to use the knowledge they both possessed, while he constantly neglected some of his memorized formulas, forcing him to frequently rummage through his brain like a lost soul. It was one of those moments that made him doubt yesterday's schematics, and that's why Agatha was able to find the missing schematics so easily.
    
  She was now typing at lightning speed. Purdue could barely keep up with the codes she entered into the system.
    
  "What on earth are you doing?" he asked.
    
  "Tell me the details about those two friends of yours again. I"ll need their ID numbers and last names right now. Come on! Over there. You put it over there," she rambled, flicking her index finger as if she were writing her name in the air. What a miracle she was. Purdue had forgotten how funny her manners could be. He walked over to the dresser she"d pointed to and pulled out two folders where he"d kept Sam and Nina"s notes since he"d first used them to help him on his trip to Antarctica to find the fabled ice station Wolfenstein.
    
  "Can I have some more of this material?" she asked, taking the papers from him.
    
  "What kind of material is this?" he asked.
    
  "It"s... Dude, that thing you make with sugar and milk..."
    
  "Coffee?" I asked. He asked, stunned. "Agatha, do you know what coffee is?"
    
  "I know, damn it. The word just slipped my mind while all that code was going through my brain. As if you don't have glitches every now and then," she snapped.
    
  "Okay, okay. I'll make you some of that. What are you doing with Nina and Sam's data, may I ask?" Purdue called from the cappuccino machine behind his counter.
    
  "I'm unfreezing their bank accounts, David. I'm hacking into Black Sun's bank account," she smiled, chewing on a licorice stick.
    
  Perdue nearly had a fit. He rushed to his twin sister's side to see what she was doing on the screen.
    
  "Are you out of your mind, Agatha? Do you have any idea what kind of extensive security and technical alarm systems these people have all over the world?" he spat in panic-another reaction Dave Perdue would never have shown before.
    
  Agatha looked at him with concern. "How should I respond to your bitchy outburst... hm," she said calmly through the black candy between her teeth. "First of all, their servers, if I'm not mistaken, were programmed and firewalled using... you... huh?"
    
  Perdue nodded thoughtfully, "Yes?"
    
  "And only one person in this world knows how to hack your systems, because only one person knows how you code, what schemes and subservers you use," she said.
    
  "You," he sighed with some relief, sitting attentively like a nervous driver in the back seat.
    
  "That's right. Ten points to Gryffindor," she said sarcastically.
    
  "No need for melodrama," Purdue reprimanded her, but her lips curled into a smile as he went to finish her coffee.
    
  "You might do well to take your own advice, old man," Agatha teased.
    
  "That way they won't detect you on the main servers. You should launch a worm," he suggested with a mischievous grin, like old Purdue.
    
  "I have to!" She laughed. "But first, let's restore your friends' old statuses. That's one of the restores. Then we'll hack them again when we get back from Russia and hack their financial accounts. While their management is on a rocky path, a hit to their finances should give them a well-deserved prison fuck. Bend over, Black Sun! Aunt Agatha's got a hard-on!" she sang playfully, licorice between her teeth, as if she were playing Metal Gear Solid.
    
  Perdue roared with laughter along with his naughty sister. She was definitely a nasty little brat.
    
  She completed her intrusion. "I left a scramble to disable their thermal sensors."
    
  "Fine".
    
  Dave Perdue last saw his sister in the summer of 1996 in the southern lake region of Congo. Back then, he was still a little more shy and didn't have a tenth of the wealth he possessed today.
    
  Agatha and David Perdue accompanied a distant relative to learn a little about what the family called "culture." Unfortunately, neither of them shared their paternal great-uncle's penchant for hunting, but as much as they hated watching the old man kill elephants for his illegal ivory trade, they had no means of leaving the dangerous country without his guidance.
    
  Dave was enjoying the adventures that foreshadowed his escapades in his thirties and forties. Like his uncle, his sister's constant entreaties to stop killing grew tiresome, and soon they stopped speaking. Much as she wanted to leave, she considered accusing her uncle and brother of mindless poaching for money-the most unwelcome excuse for any Purdue man. When she saw that Uncle Wiggins and her brother were unmoved by her persistence, she told them she would do everything in her power to turn over her great-uncle's small business to the authorities when she returned home.
    
  The old man just laughed and told David not to think anything of intimidating the woman and that she was just upset.
    
  Somehow, Agatha's pleas for her to leave led to a falling out, and Uncle Wiggins bluntly promised Agatha he'd leave her right there in the jungle if he heard her complain again. At the time, it wasn't a threat he'd follow through on, but as time went on, the young woman became increasingly hostile to his methods. One early morning, Uncle Wiggins led David and his hunting party away, leaving Agatha in camp with the local women.
    
  After another day of hunting and an unexpected night spent in a jungle camp, Perdue's group boarded the ferry the following morning. "What's the matter?" Dave Perdue eagerly inquired as they rowed across Lake Tanganyika. But his great-uncle merely assured him that Agatha was being "well cared for" and would soon be transported by charter plane, which he had hired to pick her up at the nearest airfield, where she would join them at the port of Zanzibar.
    
  By the time they were driving from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam, Dave Perdue knew his sister was lost in Africa. In fact, he thought she was hardworking enough to find her way home on her own, and he did his best to put the matter out of his mind. Months passed, and Perdue tried to find Agatha, but his trail was going cold. His sources would report sightings, that she was alive and well, and that she was an activist in North Africa, Mauritius, and Egypt when they last heard of her. And so he eventually abandoned the matter, deciding that his twin sister had followed her passion for reform and conservation and therefore no longer needed rescuing, if she ever had one.
    
  It was rather a shock to see her again after decades of separation, but he enjoyed her company immensely. He was sure that with a little prodding, she would eventually reveal why she had resurfaced now.
    
  "So, tell me why you wanted me to get Sam and Nina out of Russia," Perdue insisted. He tried to get to the bottom of her largely hidden reasons for seeking his help, but Agatha had barely given him the full picture, and the way he knew her was all he could get until she decided otherwise.
    
  "You've always been preoccupied with money, David. I doubt you'll be interested in something you can't profit from," she replied coolly, sipping her coffee. "I need Dr. Gould to help me find what I was hired for. As you know, my business is books. And her story is history. I don't need much from you other than to summon the lady so I can utilize her expertise."
    
  "Is that all you want from me?" he asked, a smirk playing on his face.
    
  "Yes, David," she sighed.
    
  "For the past few months, Dr. Gould and other participants like me have been hiding incognito to avoid persecution from the Black Sun organization and its affiliates. These people are not to be trifled with."
    
  "No doubt something you did set them off," she said bluntly.
    
  He couldn't deny it.
    
  "Anyway, I need you to find her for me. She would be invaluable to my investigation and well rewarded by my client," Agatha said, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "And I don't have forever to get there, understand?"
    
  "So this isn't a social call to tell you all about what we've been up to?" he smiled sarcastically, playing on his sister's well-known intolerance of tardiness.
    
  "Oh, I'm aware of your activities, David, and I'm well informed. You haven't exactly been modest about your accomplishments and fame. It doesn't take a bloodhound to unearth what you've been involved in. Where do you think I heard about Nina Gould?" she asked, her tone very much like that of a boastful child on a crowded playground.
    
  "Well, I'm afraid we'll have to go to Russia to get her. While she's in hiding, I'm sure she doesn't have a phone and can't simply cross borders without acquiring some kind of fake identity," he explained.
    
  "Okay. Go and get her. I'll be waiting in Edinburgh, in your sweet home," she nodded mockingly.
    
  "No, they'll find you there. I'm sure the council's spies are all over my properties across Europe," he warned. "Why don't you come with me? That way, I can keep an eye on you and make sure you're safe."
    
  "Ha!" she mimicked with a sardonic laugh. "You? You can't even protect yourself! Look at you, hiding like a shriveled worm in the nooks and crannies of Elche. My friends in Alicante tracked you down so easily, I was almost disappointed."
    
  Perdue didn't like this low blow, but he knew she was right. Nina had said something similar to him the last time she'd gone for his throat. He had to admit to himself that all his resources and fortune weren't enough to protect those he cared about, and that included his own precarious security, which was now evident if he'd been so easily discovered in Spain.
    
  "And let us not forget, my dear brother," she continued, finally displaying the vindictive behavior he had originally expected from her when he first saw her there, "that the last time I trusted you with my safety on safari, I found myself in, to put it mildly, bad shape."
    
  "Agatha. Please?" Perdue asked. "I"m thrilled you"re here, and I swear to God, now that I know you"re alive and well, I intend to keep you that way."
    
  "Ugh!" she leaned back in her chair, placing the back of her hand on her forehead to emphasize the dramatic nature of his statement. "Please, David, don"t be such a drama queen."
    
  She giggled mockingly at his sincerity and leaned forward to meet his gaze, hatred in her eyes. "I'm going with you, dear David, so you don't suffer the same fate Uncle Wiggins inflicted on me, old man. We wouldn't want your evil Nazi family to find you now, would we?"
    
    
  Chapter 7
    
    
  Bern watched the little historian glare at him from her seat. She had seduced him in more than just a petty sexual way. Although he preferred women with stereotypical Nordic features-tall, thin, blue eyes, blond hair-she attracted him in a way he couldn't understand.
    
  "Dr. Gould, I can't express how shocked I am by the way my colleague treated you, and I promise you, I will see to it that he receives his just punishment," he said with gentle authority. "We are a bunch of rough men, but we don't hit women. And we do not condone the cruel treatment of female prisoners! Is that clear, Monsieur Baudot?" he asked the tall Frenchman with the bruised cheek. Baudot nodded passively, to Nina's surprise.
    
  She was housed in a proper room with all the necessary amenities. But she heard nothing about Sam, from what she gathered from eavesdropping on the small talk between the cooks who had brought her food the day before while she waited to meet the leader who had ordered the two of them brought here.
    
  "I understand our methods must shock you..." he began sheepishly, but Nina was tired of hearing all these smug types politely apologize. To her, they were all just well-mannered terrorists, thugs with large bank accounts, and, by all accounts, simply political hooligans, like the rest of the corrupt hierarchy.
    
  "Not really. I'm used to being treated like shit by people with bigger guns," she retorted sharply. Her face was a mess, but Bern could see she was very beautiful. He noticed her glare at the Frenchman, but he ignored it. After all, she had good reason to hate Bodo.
    
  "Your boyfriend's in the infirmary. He suffered a mild concussion, but he'll be fine," Bern said, hoping the good news would please her. But he didn't know Dr. Nina Gould.
    
  "He's not my boyfriend. I'm just fucking him," she said coldly. "God, I'd kill for a cigarette."
    
  The captain was clearly shocked by her reaction, but he tried to smile weakly and immediately offered her one of his cigarettes. With her sneaky response, Nina hoped to distance herself from Sam, preventing them from using them against each other. If she could convince them she wasn't emotionally attached to Sam in any way, they wouldn't be able to hurt him to influence her, if that was their goal.
    
  "Oh, then fine," Bern said, lighting Nina"s cigarette. "Bodo, kill the journalist."
    
  "Yes," Bodo barked and quickly left the office.
    
  Nina's heart stopped. Were they testing her? Or had she simply composed a dirge for Sam? She remained unperturbed, taking a deep drag on her cigarette.
    
  "Now, if you don't mind, Doctor, I'd like to know why you and your colleagues came all this way to see us if you weren't sent?" he asked her. He lit a cigarette himself and calmly waited for her answer. Nina couldn't help but wonder about Sam's fate, but she couldn't allow them to be close at any cost.
    
  "Look, Captain Bern, we're fugitives. Like you, we had a nasty run-in with the Order of the Black Sun, and it kind of left a bad taste in our mouths. They didn't take kindly to our choice not to join them or become pets. In fact, just recently, we came very close to that, and we were forced to look for you because you were the only alternative to a slow death," she hissed. Her face was still puffy, and a terrible scar on her right cheek was yellowing at the edges. The whites of Nina's eyes were a map of red veins, and the bags under her eyes testified to a lack of sleep.
    
  Bern nodded thoughtfully and took a drag on his cigarette before speaking again.
    
  "Mr. Arichenkov tells us that you were going to bring Renata to us, but... you... lost her?"
    
  "So to speak," Nina couldn"t help but chuckle, thinking about how Perdue had betrayed their trust and tied his fate to the council by kidnapping Renata at the last minute.
    
  "What do you mean, 'so to speak,' Dr. Gould?" the stern leader asked, his tone calm but laced with serious malice. She knew she'd have to give them something without revealing her closeness to Sam or Purdue-a very difficult feat, even for a smart girl like her.
    
  "Um, well, we were on our way-Mr. Arichenkov, Mr. Cleve, and I..." she said, deliberately omitting Perdue, "to deliver Renata to you in exchange for you joining our fight to overthrow the Black Sun once and for all."
    
  "Now go back to where you lost Renata. Please," Bern coaxed, but she detected a wistful impatience in his soft tone, the calm of which couldn't last much longer.
    
  "In the mad chase her peers were pursuing, we, of course, had a car accident, Captain Bern," she recounted thoughtfully, hoping that the simplicity of the incident would be enough reason for them to lose Renata.
    
  He raised one eyebrow, looking almost surprised.
    
  "And when we came to, she was gone. We assumed her people-the ones who were chasing us-had brought her back," she added, thinking about Sam and whether he had been killed at that moment.
    
  "And they didn't just put a bullet in each of your heads, just to be sure? They didn't bring back those of you who were still alive?" he asked with a certain streak of military-bred cynicism. He leaned forward over the table and shook his head angrily. "That's exactly what I would have done. And I was once part of the Black Sun. I know exactly how they operate, Dr. Gould, and I know they wouldn't have pounced on Renata and left you breathing."
    
  This time, Nina was speechless. Even her cunning couldn't save her by offering a plausible alternative to this story.
    
  Sam's still alive? she thought, desperately wishing she hadn't called the wrong man's bluff.
    
  "Dr. Gould, please don't test my politeness. I have a talent for spotting nonsense, and you're feeding me nonsense," he said with a cold politeness that made Nina's skin crawl under her oversized sweater. "Now, for the last time, how come you and your friends are still alive?"
    
  "We had help from our man," she said quickly, referring to Purdue, but she stopped short of naming him. This Bern, as far as she could judge people, wasn't a reckless man, but she could tell from his eyes that he belonged to the "don't-fuck-with" species; the "bad death" kind, and only a fool would lift that thorn. She was surprisingly quick with her answer and hoped she could offer other helpful suggestions right off the bat without screwing up and getting herself killed. For all she knew, Alexander, and now Sam, might well be dead already, so it would be to her advantage to be frank with the only allies they still had.
    
  "An inside man?" Bern asked. "Someone I know?"
    
  "We didn't even know," she replied. Technically, I'm not lying, baby Jesus. Until then, we didn't know he was in cahoots with the council, she silently prayed, hoping that a god who could hear her thoughts would show her favor. Nina hadn't thought about Sunday school since she'd escaped the church crowd as a teenager, but she'd never needed to pray for her life until now. She could almost hear Sam chuckling at her pathetic attempts to please some deity and mocking her all the way home for it.
    
  "Hmm," the burly leader considered, running her story through his fact-checking system. "And this... unknown... man dragged Renata away, making sure the pursuers didn't approach your car to check if you were dead?"
    
  "Yes," she said, still going over all the reasons in her head as she answered.
    
  He smiled cheerfully and flattered her: "It"s a stretch, Dr. Gould. They"re spread very thinly, these ones. But I"ll buy this... for now."
    
  Nina visibly sighed with relief. Suddenly, the large commandant leaned across the table and forcefully tangled his hand in Nina's hair, squeezing it tightly and pulling her violently toward him. She screamed in panic, and he pressed his face painfully against her sore cheek.
    
  "But if I find out you fucking lied to me, I'll feed your scraps to my men after I personally fuck you raw. Is that clear, Dr. Gould?" Bern hissed in her face. Nina felt her heart stop, and she almost fainted from fear. All she could do was nod.
    
  She'd never expected this to happen. Now she was certain Sam was dead. If the Renegade Brigade had been such psychopathic creatures, they certainly wouldn't have known mercy or restraint. She sat for a moment, stunned. So much for the cruel treatment of captives, she thought, praying to God she hadn't accidentally said it out loud.
    
  "Tell Bodo to bring the other two!" he shouted to the guard at the gate. He stood at the far end of the room, looking out at the horizon again. Nina's head was down, but her eyes lifted to look at him. Bern looked contrite as he turned around. "I... an apology would be unnecessary, I suppose. It's too late to try to be nice, but... I really feel bad about this, so... I'm sorry."
    
  "It"s okay," she managed, her words almost inaudible.
    
  "No, really. I..." he found it difficult to speak, humiliated by his own behavior, "I have an anger problem. I get upset when people lie to me. Really, Dr. Gould, I don't usually hurt women. It's a special sin I save for someone special."
    
  Nina wanted to hate him as much as she hated Bodo, but she simply couldn't. Strangely, she knew he was sincere, and instead, she found herself understanding his frustration all too well. In fact, that was precisely her predicament with Perdue. No matter how much she wanted to love him, no matter how much she understood he was flamboyant and loved danger, most of the time she just wanted to kick him in the balls. Her fierce temper was known to manifest itself senselessly when she was lied to, and Perdue was the man who unerringly detonated that bomb.
    
  "I understand. In fact, I want to," she said simply, frozen with shock. Bern noticed the change in her voice. This time it was raw and real. When she said she understood his anger, she was being brutally honest.
    
  "That's what I believe, Doctor Gould. I will strive to be as fair as possible in my judgments," he assured her. Like shadows receding from the rising sun, his demeanor returned to the impartial commander she'd been introduced to. Before Nina could even comprehend what he meant by "trial," the gates opened, revealing Sam and Alexander.
    
  They were a little battered, but otherwise appeared fine. Alexander looked tired and distant. Sam was still hurt from the blow to his forehead, and his right hand was bandaged. Both men looked serious at the sight of Nina's injuries. Their resignation masked anger, but she knew it was only for the greater good that they didn't attack the thug who had hurt her.
    
  Bern gestured for the two men to sit. They were both handcuffed behind their backs, unlike Nina, who was free.
    
  "Now that I've talked to all three of you, I've decided not to kill you. But-"
    
  "There's just one problem," Alexander sighed, not looking at Bern. His head hung hopelessly, his yellow-gray hair disheveled.
    
  "Of course, there's a catch, Mr. Arichenkov," Bern replied, sounding almost surprised by Alexander's obvious remark. "You want asylum. I want Renata."
    
  All three looked at him with disbelief.
    
  "Captain, there is no way we can arrest her again," Alexander began.
    
  "Without your inner man, yes, I know," Bern said.
    
  Sam and Alexander stared at Nina, but she shrugged and shook her head.
    
  "So I'm leaving someone here as a guarantee," Bern added. "The others, to prove their loyalty, will have to deliver Renata to me alive. To show you what a gracious host I am, I'll let you choose who stays with the Strenkovs."
    
  Sam, Alexander and Nina gasped.
    
  "Oh, relax!" Bern threw his head back dramatically, pacing back and forth. "They don't know they're targets. Safe in their cottage! My men are in place, ready to strike on my orders. You have exactly one month to return here with what I want."
    
  Sam looked at Nina. She mouthed, "We're screwed."
    
  Alexander nodded in agreement.
    
    
  Chapter 8
    
    
  Unlike the unfortunate prisoners who failed to appease the brigade commanders, Sam, Nina, and Alexander had the privilege of dining with the members that night. Everyone sat and chatted around a huge fire in the center of the fortress's carved-stone roof. Several guard booths were built into the walls, allowing them to constantly monitor the perimeter, while the obvious watchtowers, which stood at each corner facing the cardinal directions, stood empty.
    
  "Clever," said Alexander, observing the tactical deception.
    
  "Yeah," Sam agreed, biting deep into a big rib that he clutched in his hands like a caveman.
    
  "I realized that to deal with these people-just like with those other people-you have to constantly think about what you see, otherwise they'll catch you off guard every time," Nina observed pointedly. She sat next to Sam, holding a piece of freshly baked bread in her fingers and breaking it off to dip into the soup.
    
  "So you're staying here-are you sure, Alexander?" Nina asked with great concern, though she wouldn't have wanted anyone but Sam to go with her to Edinburgh. If they needed to find Renata, the best place to start would be Purdue. She knew he'd be exposed if she went to Raichtisusis and broke protocol.
    
  "I have to. I have to be there for my childhood friends. If they're going to be shot, I'll make sure to take at least half of those bastards with me," he said, raising his recently stolen flask in a toast.
    
  "You crazy Russian!" Nina laughed. "Was it full when you bought it?"
    
  "It was," boasted the Russian alcoholic, "but now it"s almost empty!"
    
  "Is this the same stuff Katya fed us?" Sam asked, grimacing disgustedly at the memory of the vile moonshine he'd been treated to during the poker game.
    
  "Yes! Made in this very region. Only in Siberia does everything turn out better than here, my friends. Why do you think nothing grows in Russia? All the herbs die when you spill your moonshine!" He laughed like a proud maniac.
    
  Across from the towering flames, Nina could see Bern. He was simply staring into the fire, as if watching a story unfold within it. His icy blue eyes could almost extinguish the flames before him, and she felt a twinge of sympathy for the handsome commandant. He was off duty now; one of the other leaders had assumed control for the night. No one spoke to him, and that suited him just fine. His empty plate lay by his boots, and he snatched it up just before one of the ridgebacks reached his scraps. That's when his eyes met Nina's.
    
  She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. He wanted to erase her memory of the threats he'd made to her when he'd lost his cool, but he knew he'd never be able to. Bern didn't know that Nina found the threat of being "roughly fucked" by such a strong and handsome German not entirely repulsive, but she could never let him know that.
    
  The music stopped amidst the incessant shouting and muttering. As Nina had expected, the music was typically Russian in melody, with an upbeat tempo that made her imagine a group of Cossacks springing out of nowhere into a line to form a circle. She couldn't deny that the atmosphere here was wonderful, safe, and cheerful, though she certainly couldn't have imagined it just a few hours ago. After Bern spoke with them in the main office, the three were sent to take hot showers, given clean clothes (more in keeping with the local flavor), and allowed to eat and rest for one night before departure.
    
  Meanwhile, Alexander would be treated as a core member of the renegade brigade until his friends convinced the leadership that their application was a charade. Then he and the Strenkov couple would be summarily executed.
    
  Bern stared at Nina with a strange longing that made her uneasy. Beside her, Sam was talking with Alexander about the layout of the area up to Novosibirsk, making sure they had their bearings. She heard Sam's voice, but the commander's captivating gaze made her body flare with a powerful desire she couldn't explain. Finally, he rose from his seat, plate in hand, and headed to what the men affectionately called the galley.
    
  Feeling obligated to speak with him alone, Nina excused herself and followed Bern. She descended the steps into a short corridor leading to the kitchen, and as she entered, he was leaving. Her plate hit him and shattered on the ground.
    
  "Oh my God, I"m so sorry!" she said, picking up the pieces.
    
  "No problem, Dr. Gould." He knelt down next to the little beauty, helping her, but his eyes never left her face. She felt his gaze and a familiar warmth rush through her. When they had collected all the larger shards, they headed to the galley to dispose of the broken plate.
    
  "I have to ask," she said with uncharacteristic shyness.
    
  "Yes?" he waited, brushing excess pieces of baked bread from his shirt.
    
  Nina was embarrassed by the mess, but he only smiled.
    
  "I need to know something... personal," she hesitated.
    
  "Absolutely. As you wish," he replied politely.
    
  "Really?" she accidentally blurted out her thoughts again. "Hmm, okay. I might be wrong about this, Captain, but you were looking at me a little too sideways. Is it just me?"
    
  Nina couldn't believe her eyes. The man blushed. It made her feel even more of a jerk for putting him in such a difficult position.
    
  But then again, he had told you in no uncertain terms that he would have sex with you as punishment, so don't worry too much about him, her inner voice told her.
    
  "It's just... you..." He struggled to reveal any vulnerability, making it nearly impossible to talk about the things the historian asked him to. "You remind me of my late wife, Dr. Gould."
    
  Okay, now you can feel like a real asshole.
    
  Before she could say anything else, he continued, "She looked almost exactly like you. Only her hair was down to her waist, and her eyebrows weren't as... as... groomed as yours," he explained. "She even acted like you."
    
  "I'm so sorry, Captain. I feel like crap for asking."
    
  "Call me Ludwig, please, Nina. I don't want to get to know you better, but we've gone beyond formalities, and I think those who exchanged threats should at least be addressed by name, right?" He smiled modestly.
    
  "I completely agree, Ludwig," Nina chuckled. "Ludwig. That's the last name I'd associate with you."
    
  "What can I say? My mother had a soft spot for Beethoven. Thank goodness she didn't like Engelbert Humperdinck!" he shrugged, pouring them drinks.
    
  Nina squealed with laughter, imagining a stern commander of the most vile creatures this side of the Caspian Sea with a name like Engelbert.
    
  "I have to give in! Ludwig, at least, is classic and legendary," she giggled.
    
  "Come on, let's go back. I don't want Mr. Cleve to think I'm invading his territory," he said to Nina, gently placing his hand on her back to guide her out of the kitchen.
    
    
  Chapter 9
    
    
  A freezing cold hung over the Altai Mountains. Only the guards were still muttering under their breath, exchanging lighters and whispering about all sorts of local legends, new visitors and their plans, and some even betting on the veracity of Alexander's claim about Renata.
    
  But none of them discussed Berne's affection for the historian.
    
  Some of his old friends, men who had deserted with him years earlier, knew what his wife looked like, and they found it almost eerie that this Scottish girl resembled Vera Byrne. They believed it was unlucky for their commandant to encounter a resemblance to his late wife, as it made him even more melancholy. Even when strangers and new recruits couldn't tell, some could clearly discern the difference.
    
  Just seven hours earlier, Sam Cleave and the stunning Nina Gould were escorted to the nearest town to begin their search, while the hourglass was turned to determine the fate of Alexander Arichenkov, Katya and Sergei Strenkov.
    
  With their disappearance, the Renegade Brigade waited in anticipation for the next month. Renata's kidnapping would undoubtedly be a remarkable feat, but once it was accomplished, the Brigade would have much to look forward to. The liberation of the Black Sun leader would undoubtedly be a historic moment for them. In fact, it would be the greatest progress their organization had ever made since its founding. And with her at their disposal, they had all the power to finally crush the Nazi scum worldwide.
    
  The wind turned nasty shortly before one in the morning, and most of the men went to bed. Under the cover of the gathering rain, another threat awaited the brigade's citadel, but the men were completely oblivious to the oncoming blow. A flotilla of vehicles approached from the direction of Ulangom, steadily forcing their way through the thick fog caused by the high slope, where clouds gathered to settle before falling over its edge and spilling like tears onto the earth.
    
  The road was bad and the weather even worse, but the fleet doggedly pressed on toward the mountain ridge, determined to overcome the difficult passage and remain there until its mission was accomplished. The trek was to lead first to the monastery of Mengu-Timur, from where the emissary would continue to Münkh Saridag to find the nest of the Brigade Renegade, for reasons unknown to the rest of the company.
    
  As thunder began to shake the sky, Ludwig Bern settled into his bed. He checked his list of duties; the next two days would be free from his role as First Chairman. Turning off the light, he listened to the rain and felt an incredible loneliness wash over him. He knew Nina Gould was bad news, but it wasn't her fault. The loss of his beloved had nothing to do with her, and he had to find his way to let it go. Instead, he thought of his son, lost to him years ago but never far from his daily thoughts. Bern thought it would be better to think of his son than of his wife. It was a different kind of love, one easier to cope with than the other. He had to leave women behind, because the memory of both of them only brought him more grief, not to mention how soft they had made him. Losing his edge would rob him of the ability to make tough decisions and take the occasional beating, and those were the very things that helped him survive and command.
    
  In the darkness, he allowed the sweet relief of sleep to wash over him for just a moment before he was brutally wrenched from it. From behind his door, he heard a loud cry-"Breshi!"
    
  "What?" he shouted loudly, but in the chaos of the sirens and the men at the post shouting orders, he received no answer. Bern jumped up and pulled on his pants and shoes, not bothering to put on his socks.
    
  He expected gunshots, even explosions, but there were only sounds of confusion and corrective action. He rushed out of his apartment, pistol in hand, ready for battle. He quickly moved from the south building to the lower east side, where the shops were located. Did this sudden disruption have anything to do with the three visitors? Nothing had ever penetrated the brigade's systems or the gates until Nina and her friends appeared in this part of the country. Could she have provoked this and used her capture as bait? A thousand questions raced through his head as he headed to Alexander's room to find out.
    
  "Ferryman! What's going on?" he asked one of the club members passing by.
    
  "Someone has breached the security system and entered the facility, Captain! They're still in the complex."
    
  "Quarantine! I declare quarantine!" Bern roared like an angry god.
    
  The technicians on guard entered their codes one by one, and within seconds the entire fortress was locked down.
    
  "Now Squads 3 and 8 can go hunt those rabbits," he ordered, fully recovered from the confrontational urge that always left him so agitated. Bern burst into Alexander's bedroom and found the Russian staring through his window. He grabbed Alexander and slammed him against the wall so hard that a trickle of blood flowed from his nose, his pale blue eyes wide and confused.
    
  "Is this your doing, Arichenkov?" Bern was seething.
    
  "No! No! I have no idea what"s going on, Captain! I swear it!" Alexander shrieked. "And I can promise you it has nothing to do with my friends either! Why would I do something like that while I"m here, at your mercy? Think about it."
    
  "Smarter people have done stranger things, Alexander. I don't trust anything like them!" Bern insisted, still pinning the Russian against the wall. His gaze caught movement outside. Releasing Alexander, he rushed to look. Alexander joined him at the window.
    
  They both saw two figures on horseback emerge from the cover of a nearby clump of trees.
    
  "Oh, my God!" Bern screamed, frustrated and seething. "Alexander, come with me."
    
  They headed to the control room, where technicians were checking the circuits one last time, switching to each CCTV camera for review. The commander and his Russian companion burst into the room with a bang, pushing past two technicians to reach the intercom.
    
  "Achtung! Daniels and Mackey, get to your horses! Intruders are advancing southeast on horseback! Repeat, Daniels and Mackey, pursue them on horseback! All snipers to the south wall, NOW!" he barked orders over the system that had been installed throughout the fortress.
    
  "Alexander, do you ride a horse?" he asked.
    
  "I believe you! I'm a tracker and scout, Captain. Where are the stables?" Alexander boasted eagerly. This type of action was what he was built for. His knowledge of survival and tracking would serve them all well tonight, and, strangely enough, this time he didn't care that there was no fee for his services.
    
  Downstairs, in a basement that reminded Alexander of a large garage, they turned the corner to the stables. Ten horses were permanently housed there in case of impassable terrain during floods and snowfalls, when vehicles couldn't navigate the roads. In the tranquility of the mountain valleys, the animals were led daily to pastures south of the cliff where the brigade's lair was located. The rain was icy, its spray lashing the open area. Even Alexander preferred to stay out of it and silently wished he were still in his warm bunk bed, but then the heat of the chase would have fueled him to stay warm.
    
  Bern gestured to the two men they met there. They were the two he'd summoned over the intercom for the ride, and their horses were already saddled.
    
  "Captain!" they both greeted.
    
  "This is Alexander. He will accompany us to find the trail of the attackers," Bern informed them as he and Alexander prepared their horses.
    
  "In this weather? You must be a fine fellow!" Mackey winked at the Russian.
    
  "We"ll find out soon enough," said Bern, buckling his stirrups.
    
  Four men set out into a fierce, cold storm. Bern was ahead of the other three, leading them along the trail he'd seen the fleeing attackers take. From the surrounding meadows, the mountain began to slope southeast, and in the pitch darkness, crossing the rocky terrain was extremely dangerous for their animals. The slow pace of their pursuit was necessary to maintain the horses' balance. Convinced that the fleeing riders had made an equally cautious journey, Bern still had to make up for the time lost by their advantage.
    
  They crossed a small stream at the base of the valley, walking across it to lead the horses over sizable boulders, but by now the cold stream didn't bother them at all. Drenched from the water poured down by the heavens, the four men finally got back on their horses and continued south, passing through a gorge that allowed them to reach the other side of the mountain's base. Here, Bern slowed his pace.
    
  This was the only passable trail by which other horsemen could leave the area, and Bern gestured for his men to take their horses for a walk. Alexander dismounted and crept alongside his horse, slightly ahead of Bern, to check the depth of the hoofprints. His gestures suggested movement on the other side of the jagged rocks where they had been stalking their prey. They all dismounted, leaving Mackey to lead the horses away from the dig site, backing away so as not to reveal the group's presence there.
    
  Alexander, Bern, and Daniels crept to the edge and peered down. Grateful for the sound of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder, they could move comfortably, not too quietly if necessary.
    
  On the road to Kobdo, two figures paused to rest, while just on the other side of the massive rock formation where they were gathering their saddlebags, the brigade's hunting party spotted a gathering of people returning from the Mengu-Timur monastery. The two figures slipped into the shadows and crossed the cliffs.
    
  "Come!" Bern told his companions. "They're joining the weekly convoy. If we lose sight of them, they'll be lost to us and mixed in with the others."
    
  Bern knew about the convoys. They were sent to the monastery with provisions and medicine weekly, sometimes every two weeks.
    
  "Genius," he smirked, refusing to admit defeat but forced to acknowledge that he'd been rendered powerless by their clever deception. There would be no way to distinguish them from the group unless Bern could somehow detain them all and force them to empty their pockets to see if they had anything familiar taken from the gang. On that note, he wondered what they'd intended with their swift entry and exit from his residence.
    
  "Should we become hostile, Captain?" Daniels asked.
    
  "I believe it, Daniels. If we let them escape without a proper, thorough capture attempt, they'll deserve the victory we give them," Byrne told his companions. "And we can't let that happen!"
    
  Three men stormed the ledge and, rifles at the ready, surrounded the travelers. The five-vehicle convoy contained only about eleven people, many of whom were missionaries and nurses. One by one, Bern, Daniels, and Alexander checked the Mongolian and Russian citizens for any signs of treachery, demanding to see their identification.
    
  "You have no right to do this!" the man protested. "You're not border patrol or the police!"
    
  "Do you have something to hide?" Bern asked so angrily that the man retreated back into the line.
    
  "There are two people among you who are not who they seem. And we want them handed over. Once we have them, we'll release you to your business, so the sooner you deliver them, the sooner we can all get warm and dry!" Bern announced, prancing past each of them like a Nazi commander laying down the rules of a concentration camp. "My men and I will remain here with you in the cold and rain without a problem until you comply! As long as you harbor these criminals, you will remain here!"
    
    
  Chapter 10
    
    
  "I don"t recommend you use that, dear," Sam joked, but at the same time he was completely sincere.
    
  "Sam, I need new jeans. Look at these!" Nina argued, opening her oversized coat to reveal the tattered state of her dirty, now torn jeans. The coat had been acquired courtesy of her latest cold-blooded admirer, Ludwig Bern. It was one of his, lined with real fur on the inside of the roughly woven garment, which clung to Nina's small frame like a cocoon.
    
  "We shouldn"t be spending our money just yet. I"m telling you. Something"s wrong. Suddenly our accounts are unfrozen and we have full access again? I bet it"s a trap so they can find us. Black Sun froze our bank accounts; how on earth would it suddenly be so nice as to give us our lives back?" he asked.
    
  "Maybe Purdue pulled some strings?" she hoped for an answer, but Sam smiled and looked up at the high ceiling of the airport building where they were scheduled to fly in less than an hour.
    
  "My God, you have so much faith in him, don't you?" he chuckled. "How many times has he dragged us into life-threatening situations? Don't you think he could pull the 'cry wolf' trick, get us used to his mercy and goodwill to win our trust, and then...then we suddenly realize that all this time he wanted to use us as bait? Or scapegoats?"
    
  "Would you listen to yourself?" she asked, genuine surprise playing on her face. "He always got us out of what he got us into, didn't he?"
    
  Sam was in no mood to argue over Purdue, the most insanely fickle creature he'd ever encountered. He was cold, exhausted, and fed up with being away from home. He missed his cat, Bruichladdich. He missed sharing a pint with his best friend, Patrick, and now the two of them were practically strangers to him. All he wanted was to go back to his Edinburgh flat, lie on the sofa with Bruich purring on his tummy, and drink a good single malt while listening to the streets of good old Scotland below his window.
    
  Another thing that needed some work was his memoir about the entire incident with the arms ring he helped destroy when Trish was killed. Closure would do him good, as would publishing the resulting book, which was offered by two different publishers in London and Berlin. It wasn't something he wanted to do for the sake of sales, which would surely skyrocket in light of his subsequent Pulitzer Prize-winning fame and the gripping story behind the entire operation. He needed to tell the world about his late fiancée and her invaluable role in the success of the arms ring. She had paid the ultimate price for her courage and her ambition, and she deserved to be known for what she had accomplished in ridding the world of this insidious organization and its minions. Once all that was done, he could fully close this chapter of his life and relax for a while in a pleasant, secular life-unless, of course, Purdue had other plans for him. He had to admire the high genius for his insatiable thirst for adventure, but as for Sam, he was mostly fed up with it all.
    
  Now he stood outside a store in the large terminals of Moscow's Domodedovo International Airport, trying to reason with the stubborn Nina Gould. She insisted they take a risk and spend some of their money on new clothes.
    
  "Sam, I smell like a yak. I feel like an ice statue with hair! I look like a broke junkie who got the crap beaten out of her pimp!" she moaned, stepping closer to Sam and grabbing him by the collar. "I need new jeans and a nice ushanka to match, Sam. I need to feel human again."
    
  "Yes, me too. But can we wait until we're back in Edinburgh to feel like people again? Please? I don't trust this sudden change in our financial situation, Nina. At least let's get back to our own land before we start risking our safety even more," Sam stated his case as gently as he could, without lecturing. He knew perfectly well that Nina had a natural reaction to object to anything that sounded like a reprimand or a sermon.
    
  With her hair pulled back into a low, messy ponytail, she examined dark blue jeans and soldier hats in a small antique shop that also sold Russian clothing for tourists looking to blend in with Moscow's cultural fashions. Her eyes gleamed with promise, but when she looked at Sam, she realized he was right. They would be taking a major gamble, using their debit cards or the local ATM. Desperate, common sense momentarily abandoned her, but she quickly regained it against her will and gave in to his argument.
    
  "Come on, Ninanovic," Sam consoled her, putting his arm around her shoulders, "let"s not reveal our position to our comrades in Black Sun, okay?"
    
  "Yes, Klivenikov."
    
  He laughed, tugging at her hand as the announcement came that they should report to their gate. Out of habit, Nina paid close attention to everyone gathered around them, checking every face, every hand, every baggage. Not that she knew what she was looking for, but she would quickly recognize any suspicious body language. By now, she was well-trained in reading people.
    
  A coppery taste seeped down the back of her throat, accompanied by a faint headache right between her eyes, dully throbbing in her eyeballs. Deep lines formed on her forehead from the mounting agony.
    
  "What happened?" Sam asked.
    
  "Fucking headache," she muttered, pressing her palm to her forehead. Suddenly, a hot trickle of blood flowed from her left nostril, and Sam jumped up to tilt her head back before she even realized it.
    
  "I'm fine. I'm fine. Let me just pinch it and go to the bathroom," she swallowed, blinking rapidly against the pain in the front of her skull.
    
  "Yeah, come on," Sam said, leading her to the wide door of the women"s restroom. "Just do it quickly. Get this hooked up, because I don"t want to miss this flight."
    
  "I know, Sam," she snapped, and walked into a cold restroom with granite sinks and silver fixtures. It was a very cold environment, impersonal and hyper-hygienic. Nina imagined it would be the perfect operating room in a luxury medical facility, but hardly suitable for peeing or applying blush.
    
  Two women were chatting by the hand dryer, while another was just leaving a stall. Nina rushed into the stall to grab a handful of toilet paper and, holding it to her nose, tore off a piece to make a plug. She stuck it in her nostril, then grabbed more and carefully folded it to put in the pocket of her yak jacket. The two women chatted in a crisp, beautiful dialect when Nina stepped out to wash the drying blood stain from her face and chin, where the dripping droplets eluded Sam's quick reply.
    
  To her left, she noticed a lone woman emerging from the stall next to hers. Nina avoided looking at her. Russian women, as she'd discovered soon after arriving with Sam and Alexander, were quite talkative. Since she couldn't speak the language, she wanted to avoid awkward smiles, eye contact, and attempts to strike up a conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, Nina saw the woman staring at her.
    
  Oh God, no. Don't let them be here too.
    
  Wiping her face with damp toilet paper, Nina took one last look at herself in the mirror just as the other two ladies left. She knew she didn't want to be left here alone with a stranger, so she hurried to the trash can to throw away the tissues and headed for the door, which slowly closed behind the other two.
    
  "Are you okay?" the stranger suddenly spoke.
    
  Crap.
    
  Nina couldn't be rude, even if she was being followed. She continued toward the door, calling to the woman, "Yes, thank you. I'll be fine." With a modest smile, Nina slipped out and found Sam waiting for her right there.
    
  "Hey, let's go," she said, practically pushing Sam forward. They quickly walked through the terminal, surrounded by the intimidating silver columns that ran the entire length of the tall building. Passing beneath the various flat screens with their flashing red, white, and green digital announcements and flight numbers, she didn't dare look back. Sam barely noticed that she was a little scared.
    
  "Good thing your guy got us the best fake documents this side of the CIA," Sam remarked, looking over the top-notch forgeries that Notary Bern had forced them to produce to ensure their safe return to the UK.
    
  "He's not my boyfriend," she countered, but the thought wasn't entirely unpleasant. "Besides, he just wants to make sure we get home quickly so we can get him what he wants. I assure you, there's not a shred of politeness in his actions."
    
  She hoped she was wrong in her cynical assumption, used more to silence Sam about her friendly relationship with Bern.
    
  "Something like that," Sam sighed as they walked through the security checkpoint and collected their lightweight carry-on luggage.
    
  "We need to find Purdue. If he doesn't tell us where Renata is..."
    
  "Which he won"t do," Sam interjected.
    
  "Then he will certainly help us offer the Brigade an alternative," she finished with an irritated look.
    
  "How are we going to find Perdue? Going to his mansion would be stupid," Sam said, looking up at the large Boeing in front of them.
    
  "I know, but I don't know what else to do. Everyone we knew is either dead or proven to be the enemy," Nina lamented. "I hope we can figure out our next move on the way back home."
    
  "I know it's a terrible thing to even think about, Nina," Sam said unexpectedly once they'd both settled into their seats. "But maybe we could just disappear. Alexander is very skilled at what he does."
    
  "How could you?" she whispered hoarsely. "He got us out of Bruges. His friends took us in and sheltered us without question, and in the end, they were honored for it-for us, Sam. Please don"t tell me you"ve lost your integrity along with your safety, because then, my dear, I"ll definitely be all alone in this world." Her tone was harsh and angry at his idea, and Sam thought it best to leave things as they were, at least until they could use the time in the air to look around and find a solution.
    
  The flight wasn't too bad, except for an Australian celebrity making jokes with a mammoth gay man who stole his armrest, and a rowdy couple who seemed to have taken their disagreement on board and couldn't wait to arrive at Heathrow before continuing the marital travails they were both suffering. Sam slept soundly in his window seat, while Nina fought the oncoming nausea, an affliction she'd been suffering from since leaving the ladies' room at the airport. Every now and then, she rushed to the toilet to vomit, only to discover there was nothing to flush. It was becoming quite tiresome, and she began to worry about the worsening feeling pressing on her stomach.
    
  It couldn't be food poisoning. Firstly, she had an iron stomach, and secondly, Sam had eaten all the same dishes as her, and he was unharmed. After another failed attempt to alleviate her discomfort, she looked in the mirror. She looked strangely healthy, not at all pale or weak. In the end, Nina attributed her ailments to the altitude or the cabin pressure and decided to get some sleep too. Who knew what awaited them at Heathrow? She needed rest.
    
    
  Chapter 11
    
    
  Bern was furious.
    
  While pursuing the intruders, he failed to locate them among the travelers he and his men detained near the winding road leading from the Mengu-Timur monastery. One by one, they searched the people-monks, missionaries, nurses, and three tourists from New Zealand-but found nothing of any significance to the team.
    
  He couldn't figure out what the two robbers were looking for in a complex they'd never broken into before. Fearing for his life, one of the missionaries mentioned to Daniels that the convoy had originally consisted of six vehicles, but at the second stop they were one vehicle short. None of them thought anything of it, having been told that one of the vehicles would be making a detour to serve the nearby Janste Khan hostel. But after Bern insisted on reviewing the route given to him by the lead driver, there was no mention of six vehicles.
    
  There was no point in torturing innocent civilians for their ignorance; nothing more could come of it. He had to admit that the burglars had effectively eluded them, and that all they could do was return and assess the damage caused by the break-in.
    
  Alexander could see the suspicion in his new commander's eyes as they entered the stables, dragging their feet wearily as they led the horses to be inspected by the staff. None of the four men spoke, but they all knew what Bern was thinking. Daniels and Mackey exchanged glances, suggesting Alexander's involvement was largely a matter of consensus.
    
  "Alexander, come with me," Bern said calmly and simply left.
    
  "You better watch what you say, old man," Mackey advised in his British accent. "The man is fickle."
    
  "I had nothing to do with it," Alexander replied, but the other two men only glanced at each other and then looked pitifully at the Russian.
    
  "Just don't push him when you start making excuses. By humiliating yourself, you'll just convince him you're guilty," Daniels advised him.
    
  "Thank you. I'd kill for a drink right now," Alexander shrugged.
    
  "Don"t worry, you can have one of them as your last wish," Daniels smiled, but looking at the serious expressions on his colleagues" faces, he realized that his statement was of no help at all, and he went about his business to get two blankets for his horse.
    
  Alexander followed his commander through the narrow bunkers, illuminated by wall lamps, to the second floor. Bern ran down the stairs, ignoring the Russian, and when he reached the second-floor lobby, he asked one of his men for a cup of strong black coffee.
    
  "Captain," said Alexander behind him, "I assure you, my comrades have nothing to do with this."
    
  "I know, Arichenkov," Bern sighed.
    
  Alexander was puzzled by Bern's reaction, although he was relieved by the commander's answer.
    
  "Then why did you ask me to accompany you?" he asked.
    
  "Soon, Arichenkov. Just let me have some coffee and a smoke first so I can process my assessment of the incident," the commander replied. His voice was alarmingly calm as he lit a cigarette.
    
  "Why don't you go take a hot shower? We can reconvene here in, say, twenty minutes. In the meantime, I need to know what, if anything, was stolen. You know, I don't think they'd go to all this trouble to steal my wallet," he said, blowing a long cloud of blue-white smoke in a straight line in front of him.
    
  "Yes, sir," Alexander said and turned to head to his room.
    
  Something felt wrong. He climbed the steel steps into the long corridor where most of the men were. The corridor was too quiet, and Alexander hated the lonely sound of his boots on the cement floor, like a countdown to something terrible that was about to happen. In the distance, he could hear men's voices and something resembling an AM radio signal, or perhaps some form of white noise machine. The creaking sound reminded him of his excursion to the ice station Wolfenstein, deep in the bowels of the station, where soldiers killed each other from cabin fever and confusion.
    
  Turning the corner, he found his room's door ajar. He paused. It was silent inside, and it seemed deserted, but his training had taught him not to take anything at face value. He slowly opened the door all the way, making sure no one was hiding behind it. Before him was a clear signal of how little the team trusted him. His entire room had been turned upside down, the bedding torn off for a search. The entire place was in disarray.
    
  Of course, Alexander had few things, but everything that was in his room had been thoroughly looted.
    
  "Fucking dogs," he whispered, his pale blue eyes scanning wall after wall, searching for any suspicious clues that might help him determine what they thought they'd find. Before heading toward the communal showers, he glanced at the men in the back room, where the white noise was now somewhat muted. They sat there, just the four of them, simply staring at him. Tempted to curse them, he decided to ignore them and simply walked in the opposite direction toward the restrooms.
    
  As the warm, gentle stream of water immersed him, he prayed that Katya and Sergei had come to no harm while he was gone. If this was the level of trust the team had placed in him, it was safe to assume their farm had also been subjected to a little looting in pursuit of the truth. Like a captive animal held in fear of retaliation, the thoughtful Russian plotted his next move. It would be foolish to argue with Bern, Bodo, or any of the local boors about their suspicions. Such a move would quickly worsen the situation for him and both his friends. And if he escaped and tried to take Sergei and his wife away, it would only confirm their doubts about his involvement.
    
  When he had dried and dressed, he returned to Bern's office, where he found the tall commander standing by the window, looking out at the horizon, as he always did when he was thinking things through.
    
  "Captain?" Alexander said from his door.
    
  "Come in. Come in," Bern said. "I hope you understand why we had to search your quarters, Alexander. It was crucial for us to know your position on this matter, as you came to us under highly suspicious circumstances with a very compelling claim."
    
  "I understand," the Russian agreed. He was dying for a few shots of vodka, and the bottle of homemade beer Bern kept on his desk was doing him no good.
    
  "Have a drink," Bern invited, pointing to the bottle he noticed the Russian staring at.
    
  "Thank you," Alexander smiled and poured himself a glass. As he brought the fiery water to his lips, he wondered if it was laced with poison, but he wasn't one to be cautious. Alexander Arichenkov, a mad Russian, would have preferred to die a painful death after tasting good vodka rather than miss the chance to abstain. Luckily for him, the drink turned out to be poisonous only in the sense its creators intended, and he couldn't help but groan happily at the burning sensation in his chest as he swallowed it all.
    
  "May I ask, Captain," he said after catching his breath, "what was damaged in the break-in?"
    
  "Nothing," was all Bern said. He paused for a moment, then revealed the truth. "Nothing was damaged, but something was stolen from us. Something priceless and extremely dangerous to the world. What worries me most is that only the Order of the Black Sun knew we had them."
    
  "What is this, may I ask?" Alexander asked.
    
  Bern turned to him with a penetrating gaze. It wasn't a gaze of anger or disappointment at his ignorance, but a gaze of genuine concern and determined fear.
    
  "Weapons. They stole weapons that could devastate and destroy, governed by laws we haven't even conquered yet," he announced, reaching for the vodka and pouring a glass for each of them. "The intruders spared us that. They stole Longinus."
    
    
  Chapter 12
    
    
  Heathrow was bustling with activity even at three in the morning.
    
  It would be a while before Nina and Sam could catch their next flight home, and they were considering booking a hotel room to avoid wasting time waiting in the blinding white lights of the terminal.
    
  "I'll go find out when we need to come back here again. We need something to eat for one. I'm damn hungry," Sam told Nina.
    
  "You ate on the plane," she reminded him.
    
  Sam gave her the old schoolboy's teasing look: "You call that food? No wonder you weigh next to nothing."
    
  With these words, he headed for the ticket counter, leaving her with her massive yak coat slung over her arm and both of their duffel bags slung over her shoulders. Nina's eyes were heavy and her mouth was dry, but she felt better than she had in weeks.
    
  Almost home, she thought to herself, her lips stretching into a shy smile. She reluctantly allowed it to blossom, regardless of what onlookers and passersby might think, because she felt she'd earned that grin, had suffered for it. And she'd just come out of twelve rounds with Death, and she was still standing. Her large brown eyes raked over Sam's well-built frame; those broad shoulders gave his gait even more poise than he already displayed. Her smile lingered on him, too.
    
  She'd been unsure about Sam's role in her life for so long, but after Purdue's latest stunt, she was sure she'd had enough of being stuck between two fighting men. Purdue's declaration of love had helped her in more ways than she cared to admit. Like her new suitor on the Russian-Mongolian border, Purdue's power and resources had served her well. How many times would she have been killed if not for Purdue's resources and money, or Berne's mercy due to her resemblance to his late wife?
    
  Her smile disappeared immediately.
    
  A woman emerged from the international arrivals area, looking hauntingly familiar. Nina perked up and retreated to the corner formed by the protruding ledge of the café where she had been waiting, hiding her face from the approaching woman. Almost holding her breath, Nina peered over the edge to see where Sam was. He was out of her sight, and she couldn't warn him of the woman heading straight for him.
    
  But to her relief, the woman walked into the pastry shop located near the checkout, where Sam was showing off his charms to the delight of the young ladies in their perfect uniforms.
    
  "Oh my God! Typical," Nina frowned and bit her lip in frustration. She walked quickly toward him, her face stern, her stride a little too long as she tried to move as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself.
    
  She walked through the double glass doors into the office and ran into Sam.
    
  "Are you finished?" she asked with unabashed malice.
    
  "Well, look here," he admiringly said, "another pretty lady. And it's not even my birthday!"
    
  The administration staff giggled, but Nina was dead serious.
    
  "There's a woman following us, Sam."
    
  "Are you sure?" he asked sincerely, his eyes scanning the people in the immediate vicinity.
    
  "Positive," she replied under her breath, squeezing his hand tightly. "I saw her in Russia when my nose was bleeding. Now she's here."
    
  "Okay, but a lot of people fly between Moscow and London, Nina. It could be a coincidence," he explained.
    
  She had to admit he had a point. But how could she convince him that something about this strange-looking woman with her white hair and pale skin had unsettled her? It seemed absurd to use someone's unusual appearance as grounds for accusation, especially to imply that they were part of a secret organization and were planning to kill you for the old reason of "knowing too much."
    
  Sam saw no one and sat Nina down on the sofa in the waiting area.
    
  "Are you okay?" he asked, freeing her from her bags and placing his hands on her shoulders in comfort.
    
  "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm probably just a little nervous," she reasoned, but deep down she still didn't trust this woman. However, even though she had no reason to fear her, Nina decided to keep her cool.
    
  "Don't worry, girl," he winked. "We'll be home soon and can take a day or two to just recuperate before we start looking for Purdue."
    
  "Purdue!" Nina gasped.
    
  "Yeah, we have to find him, remember?" Sam nodded.
    
  "No, Perdue's standing behind you," Nina remarked casually, her tone suddenly serene and stunned. Sam turned around. Dave Perdue was standing behind him, wearing a smart windbreaker and carrying a large duffel bag. He smiled. "It's weird seeing you two here."
    
  Sam and Nina were stunned.
    
  What were they supposed to make of his presence here? Was he in league with the Black Sun? Was he on their side, or on both? As always with Dave Perdue, there was uncertainty about his position.
    
  The woman Nina had been hiding from emerged from behind him. A tall, thin, ash-blond woman with the same shifty eyes and crane-like inclination as Perdue, she stood calmly, assessing the situation. Nina was confused, unsure whether she should prepare to flee or fight.
    
  "Purdue!" Sam exclaimed. "I see you"re alive and well."
    
  "Yeah, you know me, I always get by," Perdue winked, noticing Nina's wild look right past him. "Oh!" he said, pulling the woman forward. "This is Agatha, my twin sister."
    
  "Thank God we're twins on my father's side," she chuckled. Her dry humor struck Nina only a moment later, after her mind had realized the woman was harmless. And only then did the woman's attitude toward Purdue dawn on me.
    
  "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm tired," Nina offered her lame excuse for staring too long.
    
  "You're sure about that. That nosebleed was a nasty thing, huh?" Agatha agreed.
    
  "Nice to meet you, Agatha. I'm Sam," Sam smiled and took her hand as she lifted it only slightly to shake it. Her strange mannerisms were obvious, but Sam could tell they were harmless.
    
  "Sam Cleve," Agatha said simply, tilting her head to the side. Either she was impressed, or she seemed to have memorized Sam's face for later use. She looked down at the diminutive historian with a malicious zeal and snapped, "And you, Dr. Gould, are the one I'm looking for!"
    
  Nina looked at Sam: "See? I told you so."
    
  Sam realized that this was the woman Nina was talking about.
    
  "So you were in Russia too?" Sam played dumb, but Perdue knew perfectly well that the journalist was interested in their not-so-chance meeting.
    
  "Yes, actually, I was looking for you," Agatha said. "But we'll get back to that once we get you into some proper clothes. Good heavens, that coat stinks."
    
  Nina was stunned. The two women simply looked at each other with blank expressions.
    
  "Miss Purdue, I presume?" Sam asked, trying to ease the tension.
    
  "Yes, Agatha Purdue. I've never been married," she replied.
    
  "No wonder," Nina grumbled, bowing her head, but Perdue heard her and chuckled to himself. He knew it had taken his sister some time to adjust, and Nina was probably the least prepared to accommodate her eccentricities.
    
  "I'm sorry, Doctor Gould. It wasn't an intended insult. You must admit, that damn thing smells like the dead animal it is," Agatha remarked lightly. "But my refusal to marry was my choice, if you can believe that."
    
  Now Sam laughed with Purdue at Nina's constant troubles caused by her capricious nature.
    
  "I didn"t mean..." she tried to make amends, but Agatha ignored her and picked up her bag.
    
  "Come on, dear. I'm going to buy you some new themes on the way. We'll be back before our flight is scheduled," Agatha said, throwing her coat over Sam's arm.
    
  "You don"t travel on a private jet?" Nina asked.
    
  "No, we flew on separate flights to make sure we weren't too easily tracked. Call it well-cultivated paranoia," Perdue smiled.
    
  "Or knowledge of an impending discovery?" Agatha again confronted her brother's evasiveness head-on. "Come on, Dr. Gould. We're going!"
    
  Before Nina could protest, the strange woman escorted her out of the office while the men gathered their bags and Nina's hideous rawhide gift.
    
  "Now that we don't have estrogen instability to interfere with our conversation, why don't you tell me why you and Nina aren't with Alexander?" Perdue asked as they entered a nearby cafe and sat down over hot drinks. "God, please tell me nothing happened to the crazy Russian!" Perdue pleaded, placing one hand on Sam's shoulder.
    
  "No, he's still alive," Sam began, but from his tone, Perdue could tell there was more to the news. "He's with the Renegade Brigade."
    
  "So you managed to convince them you were on their side?" Perdue asked. "Good for you. But now you"re both here, and Alexander... is still with them. Sam, don"t tell me you ran away. You don"t want these people to think you can"t be trusted."
    
  "Why not? It seems you're no worse for switching loyalties in the blink of an eye," Sam Perdue scolded bluntly.
    
  "Listen, Sam. I have to maintain my position to ensure that Nina doesn't come to harm. You know that," Perdue explained.
    
  "What about me, Dave? Where do I belong? You always drag me around with you."
    
  "No, I dragged you down twice, by my count. The rest was just your own reputation as one of my group that got you into a pit of shit," Purdue shrugged. He was right.
    
  Most of the time, his troubles were simply the result of Sam's involvement in Trish's attempt to overthrow the Arms Ring and his subsequent participation in Purdue's Antarctic excursion. Only once after that did Purdue enlist Sam's services on Deep Sea One. Beyond that, there was the simple fact that Sam Cleve was now firmly in the sights of a sinister organization that continued to pursue him.
    
  "I just want my life back," Sam lamented, staring into his cup of steaming Earl Grey.
    
  "As are we all, but you have to understand that first we have to deal with what we got ourselves into," Perdue reminded him.
    
  "On that note, where do we rank on your friends' endangered species list?" Sam asked with genuine interest. He didn't trust Perdue one iota more than he had before, but if he and Nina were in trouble, Perdue would have whisked them away to some remote place he owned and done away with them. Well, maybe not Nina, but certainly Sam. All he wanted to know was what Perdue had done to Renata, but he knew the hard-working tycoon would never tell him and wouldn't consider Sam important enough to reveal his plans.
    
  "You're safe for now, but I suspect this is far from over," Perdue said. This information, provided by Dave Perdue, was generous.
    
  At least Sam knew from direct source that he didn't need to look over his shoulder too often, apparently until the next fox horn sounded and he came back from the wrong end of the hunt.
    
    
  Chapter 13
    
    
  Several days had passed since Sam and Nina had encountered Perdue and his sister at Heathrow Airport. Without going into detail about their respective circumstances or anything else, Perdue and Agatha decided not to return to Reichtisusis, Perdue's Edinburgh mansion. It was too risky, as the house was a well-known historical landmark and known to be Perdue's residence.
    
  Nina and Sam were advised to do the same, but they decided otherwise. However, Agatha Purdue requested a meeting with Nina to secure her services in search of something Agatha's client was seeking in Germany. Dr. Nina Gould's reputation as an expert on German history would be invaluable, as would Sam Cleave's skill as a photographer and journalist in recording any discoveries Ms. Purdue might make.
    
  "Of course, David also navigated his way through the constant reminder that he was instrumental in locating you and facilitating this subsequent meeting. I'll let him stroke his ego, if only to avoid his incessant metaphors and innuendos about his importance. After all, we're traveling on his dime, so why turn down a fool?" Agatha explained to Nina as they sat at a large round table in a mutual friend's empty holiday home in Thurso, at the northernmost point of Scotland.
    
  The place was deserted, except for the summer, when Agatha and Dave's friend Professor What's-His-Name lived there. On the outskirts of town, near Dunnet Head, stood a modest two-story house, adjoining a two-car garage below. On foggy mornings, the cars passing by seemed like creeping ghosts outside the raised living room window, but the fire inside made the room very cozy. Nina was enchanted by the design of the gigantic fireplace, which she could easily enter, like a doomed soul descending into hell. Indeed, it was exactly what she imagined when she saw the intricate carvings on the black grate and the disturbing relief images framing the high niche in the old stone wall of the house.
    
  Judging by the naked bodies intertwined with devils and animals in the relief, it was clear the owner of the house was deeply impressed by medieval depictions of fire and brimstone, depicting heresy, purgatory, divine punishment for bestiality, and so on. This gave Nina goosebumps, but Sam amused himself by running his hands over the curves of the sinful female figures, deliberately trying to irritate Nina.
    
  "I suppose we could investigate this together," Nina smiled kindly, trying not to be amused by Sam's youthful exploits as he waited for Purdue to return from the house's godforsaken wine cellar with something stronger to drink. Apparently, the owner of the residence had a penchant for buying vodka from every country he frequented on his travels and storing extras that he didn't readily consume.
    
  Sam took his place next to Nina as Purdue walked triumphantly into the room with two unlabeled bottles, one in each hand.
    
  "I suppose asking for coffee is out of the question," Agatha sighed.
    
  "That's not true," Dave Perdue smiled as he and Sam retrieved suitable glasses from the large cabinet next to the doorway. "There happens to be a coffee maker in there, but I'm afraid I was in too much of a hurry to try it."
    
  "Don't worry. I'll loot it later," Agatha replied indifferently. "Thank the gods we have shortbread and savory cookies."
    
  Agatha emptied two boxes of cookies onto two dinner plates, unconcerned about breaking them. She seemed as ancient to Nina as the fireplace. Agatha Purdue's atmosphere was similar to that of a ostentatious setting, where certain secret and sinister ideologies lurked, shamelessly on display. Just as these sinister creatures lived freely on the walls and in the carvings of the furniture, so too was Agatha's personality-devoid of justification or subconscious meaning. What she said was what she thought, and there was a certain freedom in that, Nina thought.
    
  She wished she had the ability to express her thoughts without considering the consequences that would arise simply from the awareness of her intellectual superiority and moral distance from the ways in which society dictates that people maintain honesty while uttering half-truths for the sake of propriety. It was quite refreshing, if very patronizing, but a few days earlier, Purdue had told her that his sister was like that with everyone and that he doubted she even realized she was unintentionally rude.
    
  Agatha declined the unknown liquor the other three were savoring while she unpacked some documents from what looked like a school bag Sam had had in early high school-a brown leather bag so worn it must have been antique. Near the top of the case, some of the stitching had come loose, and the lid sluggishly opened due to wear and age. The scent of the drink delighted Nina, and she gingerly reached out to feel the texture between her thumb and forefinger.
    
  "Around 1874," Agatha boasted proudly. "Given to me by the rector of Gothenburg University, who later headed the Museum of World Culture. Belonged to his great-grandfather, before the old bastard was murdered by his wife in 1923 for having sex with a boy at the school where he taught biology, I believe."
    
  "Agatha," Purdue winced, but Sam held back a burst of laughter that made even Nina smile.
    
  "Wow," Nina admired, letting go of the case so Agatha could replace it.
    
  "Now, what my client has asked me to do is find this book, a diary supposedly brought to Germany by a soldier of the French Foreign Legion three decades after the end of the Franco-Prussian War in 1871," Agatha said, pointing to a photograph of one of the book"s pages.
    
  "It was the era of Otto von Bismarck," Nina remarked, carefully examining the document. She squinted, but still couldn't make out what was written in dirty ink on the page.
    
  "It"s very difficult to read, but my client insists that it"s from a diary originally obtained during the Second Franco-Dahomean War by a legionnaire who was in Abomey shortly before the enslavement of King Béarn in 1894," Agathe recited her account, like a professional storyteller.
    
  Her storytelling ability was astounding, and with her perfectly placed pronunciation and shifting tone, she immediately attracted an audience of three to listen attentively to an engaging summary of the book she was searching for. "According to lore, the old man who wrote this died of respiratory failure in a field hospital in Algeria sometime in the early 1900s," she wrote. According to the report, "she handed them another old certificate from a field medical officer-he was well over eight and basically living out his days."
    
  "So he was an old soldier who never returned to Europe?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Correct. In his final days, he befriended a German officer of the Foreign Legion stationed in Abomey, to whom he gave the diary shortly before his death," Agatha confirmed. She ran her finger over the certificate as she continued.
    
  "During the days they spent together, he entertained the German citizen with all his war stories, all of which are recorded in this diary. But one story in particular was spread by the ramblings of an elderly soldier. During his service in Africa, in 1845, his company was stationed on the small property of an Egyptian landowner who had inherited two farmlands from his grandfather and, as a young man, had moved from Egypt to Algeria. Apparently, this Egyptian possessed what the old soldier called "a treasure forgotten by the world," and the location of said treasure was recorded in a poem he later wrote."
    
  "This is the poem we can't read," Sam sighed. He leaned back in his chair and grabbed a glass of vodka. Shaking his head, he swallowed it all.
    
  "That's clever, Sam. As if this story isn't confusing enough, you need to cloud your brain even more," Nina said, shaking her head in turn. Purdue said nothing. But he followed suit and swallowed his mouthful. Both men groaned, trying not to slam their elegant glasses onto the well-woven tablecloth.
    
  Nina thought out loud: "So, a German legionnaire brought it home to Germany, but from there the diary was lost in obscurity."
    
  "Yes," Agatha agreed.
    
  "Then how does your client know about this book? Where did he get the photo of the page?" Sam asked, sounding like the old journalistic cynic he once was. Nina smiled back. It was nice to hear his insight again.
    
  Agatha rolled her eyes.
    
  "Look, it's obvious that someone with a diary that reveals the location of a world treasure would document it somewhere else for posterity if it were lost or stolen, or, God forbid, if they died before they could find it," she explained, gesturing wildly in her frustration. Agatha couldn't understand how this could possibly have confused Sam. "My client discovered documents and letters telling this story among his grandmother's belongings when she died. Its location was simply unknown. You know, they didn't completely cease to exist."
    
  Sam was too drunk to make a face at her, which is what he wanted to do.
    
  "Look, this sounds more complicated than it is," Perdue explained.
    
  "Yes!" Sam agreed, unsuccessfully hiding the fact that he had no idea.
    
  Purdue poured another glass and summarized for Agatha's approval: "So, we have to find a diary that came from Algeria in the early 1900s."
    
  "Basically, yes. Step by step," his sister confirmed. "Once we have the diary, we'll be able to decipher the poem and figure out what this treasure he spoke of is."
    
  "Shouldn't your client do this?" Nina asked. "After all, you need to get your client's diary. Cut and dried."
    
  The other three stared at Nina.
    
  "What?" she asked, shrugging.
    
  "Don"t you want to know what it is, Nina?" Perdue asked, surprised.
    
  "You know, I've been a bit off from adventures lately, if you haven't noticed. It would be nice for me to just consult on this matter and stay away from everything else. You can all go ahead and hunt for what could very well be nothing, but I'm tired of complicated pursuits," she rambled.
    
  "How can that be bullshit?" Sam asked. "That poem is right there."
    
  "Yes, Sam. As far as we know, it's the only copy in existence, and it's fucking undecipherable!" she barked, her voice rising in irritation.
    
  "Jesus, I can"t believe you," Sam fought back. "You"re a fucking historian, Nina. History. Remember that? Isn"t that what you live for?"
    
  Nina pinned Sam with her fiery gaze. After a moment, she calmed down and simply replied, "I don't know anything else."
    
  Perdue held his breath. Sam's jaw dropped. Agatha ate the cookie.
    
  "Agatha, I'll help you find that book because that's what I'm good at... And you unfroze my finances before paying me for it, and for that I'm eternally grateful. Truly," Nina said.
    
  "You did it? You gave us back our accounts. Agatha, you're a true champion!" Sam exclaimed, unaware in his rapidly growing drunkenness that he'd interrupted Nina.
    
  She gave him a reproachful look and continued, addressing Agatha, "But that's all I'm going to do this time." She looked at Perdue with a decidedly unkind expression. "I'm tired of saving my life because people throw money at me."
    
  None of them had any objections or acceptable arguments as to why she should reconsider. Nina couldn't believe Sam was so zealous in pursuing Purdue again.
    
  "Have you forgotten why we're here, Sam?" she asked bluntly. "Have you forgotten that we're sipping devil's piss in a fancy house in front of a warm fireplace only because Alexander offered to be our insurance?" Nina's voice was filled with quiet fury.
    
  Perdue and Agatha glanced quickly at each other, wondering what Nina was trying to tell Sam. The journalist simply held his tongue, sipping his drink, while his eyes lacked the dignity to meet hers.
    
  "You're off searching for treasure God knows where, but I'll keep my word. We've got three weeks left, old man," she said gruffly. "At least I'm going to do something about it."
    
    
  Chapter 14
    
    
  Agatha knocked on Nina's door just after midnight.
    
  Perdue and his sister convinced Nina and Sam to stay at Thurso's house until they figured out where to begin their search. Sam and Perdue were still drinking in the pool room, their alcohol-fueled discussions growing louder with each match and each glass. The topics discussed by the two educated people ranged from football scores to German recipes; from the best angle for casting a fly-fishing line to the Loch Ness Monster and its connection to dowsing. But when stories about naked Glasgow hooligans surfaced, Agatha couldn't take it anymore and quietly went up to where Nina had escaped the rest of the party after her minor spat with Sam.
    
  "Come in, Agatha," she heard the historian's voice coming from the other side of the thick oak door. Agatha Purdue opened the door and, to her surprise, didn't find Nina Gould lying on her bed, her eyes red from crying, sulking over what idiots men were. As she would have done, Agatha saw Nina scouring the internet to research the story's background and trying to establish parallels between the rumors and the actual chronology of similar stories during that supposed era.
    
  Very pleased with Nina's diligence in this matter, Agatha slipped past the curtain on the doorway and closed the door behind her. When Nina looked up, she noticed that Agatha had secretly brought in some red wine and cigarettes. Tucked under her arm, of course, was a packet of Walkers gingerbread cookies. Nina had to smile. The eccentric librarian certainly had her moments when she didn't insult, correct, or irritate anyone.
    
  Now, more than ever, Nina could see the similarities between her and her twin brother. He'd never discussed her during their time together, but reading between the lines of their exchanges, she could tell their last breakup hadn't been amicable-or perhaps just one of those times when a fight became more serious than it should have been due to the circumstances.
    
  "Anything happy about the starting point, dear?" the perceptive blonde asked, sitting down on the bed next to Nina.
    
  "Not yet. Does your client have a name for our German soldier? That would make things much easier, because then we could trace his military history and see where he settled, check census records, and so on," Nina said with a decisive nod, the laptop screen reflected in her dark eyes.
    
  "No, not as far as I know. I was hoping we could take the document to a graphologist and have his handwriting analyzed. Perhaps if we could clarify the words, it might give us a clue as to who wrote the diary," Agata suggested.
    
  "Yes, but that won't tell us who he gave them to. We need to identify the German who brought them here after returning from Africa. Knowing who wrote it won't help at all," Nina sighed, tapping her pen against the sensual curve of her lower lip as her mind searched for alternatives.
    
  "It could. The author's identity could give us clues to the names of the men in the field unit where he died, my dear Nina," Agatha explained, crunching her cookie quaintly. "My God, that's a pretty obvious conclusion, one I'd have thought someone of your intelligence would have considered."
    
  Nina's eyes pierced her with a sharp warning. "That's a long shot, Agatha. Actually tracking existing documents in the real world is a bit different from conjuring up some fantastical library security procedure."
    
  Agatha stopped chewing. She gave the bitchy historian a look that quickly made Nina regret her response. For almost half a minute, Agatha Purdue remained motionless in her seat, inanimate. Nina was terribly embarrassed to see this woman, already resembling a porcelain doll in human form, simply sitting there and acting like one. Suddenly, Agatha began chewing and moving, scaring Nina almost into a heart attack.
    
  "Well said, Dr. Gould. Touch it," Agatha murmured enthusiastically, finishing her cookie. "What do you suggest?"
    
  "The only idea I have is... sort of... illegal," Nina grimaced, taking a sip from a bottle of wine.
    
  "Oh, go ahead," Agatha chuckled, her reaction catching Nina off guard. After all, she seemed to have the same penchant for trouble as her brother.
    
  "We would need to access Home Office records to investigate the immigration of foreign nationals at the time, as well as the records of men who enlisted in the Foreign Legion, but I have no idea how to do that," Nina said seriously, taking a cookie from the packet.
    
  "I"ll just hack it, silly," Agatha smiled.
    
  "Just hack? The archives of the German consulate? The Federal Ministry of the Interior and all its archival records?" Nina asked, deliberately repeating herself to ensure she fully grasped the level of Ms. Purdue's insanity. Oh God, I can already taste prison food in my stomach after my lesbian cellmate decided to cuddle too much, Nina thought. No matter how hard she tried to stay away from illegal activity, it seemed like it simply chose a different path to catch up.
    
  "Yes, give me your car," Agatha said suddenly, her long, slender hands darting out to grab Nina's laptop. Nina reacted quickly, snatching the computer from her delighted client's hands.
    
  "No!" she screamed. "Not on my laptop. Are you crazy?"
    
  Once again, the punishment elicited a strange, immediate reaction from the clearly slightly crazed Agatha, but this time she came to her senses almost immediately. Irritated by Nina's overly sensitive approach to things that could be thwarted at will, Agatha relaxed her hands, sighing.
    
  "Do it on your own computer," the historian added.
    
  "Oh, so you're just worried about being tracked, not that you shouldn't do it," Agatha said out loud to herself. "Well, that's better. I thought you thought it was a bad idea."
    
  Nina's eyes widened in surprise at the woman's nonchalance as she waited for the next bad idea.
    
  "I'll be right back, Dr. Gould. Wait," she said, and jumped up. As she opened the door, she glanced back briefly to inform Nina, "And I'm still going to show this to the graphologist, just to make sure." She turned and stormed out the door like an excited child on Christmas morning.
    
  "No fucking way," Nina said quietly, clutching the laptop to her chest protectively. "I can't believe I'm already covered in shit and just waiting for the feathers to fall."
    
  A few moments later, Agatha returned with a sign that looked like something out of an old Buck Rogers episode. It was mostly transparent, made of some kind of fiberglass, about the size of a sheet of writing paper, and had no touchscreen for navigation. Agatha pulled a small black box from her pocket and touched a small silver button with the tip of her index finger. The little thing sat on her fingertip like a flat thimble until she pressed it to the upper left corner of the strange sign.
    
  "Look at this. David did this less than two weeks ago," Agatha boasted.
    
  "Of course," Nina chuckled, shaking her head at the effectiveness of the far-fetched technology she was privy to. "What does it do?"
    
  Agatha gave her one of those patronizing looks, and Nina braced herself for the inevitable "you-don't-know-anything" tone.
    
  Finally, the blonde answered directly: "It"s a computer, Nina."
    
  Yes, that's it! her irritated inner voice declared. Just let it go. Leave it, Nina.
    
  Slowly succumbing to her own intoxication, Nina decided to calm down and just relax for once. "No, I mean this thing," she said to Agatha, pointing to a flat, round, silver object.
    
  "Oh, it's a modem. Untraceable. Practically invisible, so to speak. It literally sniffs the satellite bandwidth and connects to the first six it can find. Then, at three-second intervals, it switches between the selected channels in a way that bounces around, collecting data coming from different service providers. So it looks like a drop in connection speed instead of an active log. I have to hand it to the idiot. He's pretty good at messing with the system," Agatha smiled dreamily, bragging about Purdue.
    
  Nina laughed loudly. It wasn't the wine that prompted her to do so, but rather the sound of Agatha's perfectly formed tongue pronouncing "fuck" so gratuitously. Her small body leaned against the headboard with a bottle of wine, watching the sci-fi show in front of her.
    
  "What?" Agatha asked innocently, running her finger along the top edge of the sign.
    
  "It's okay, madam. Go ahead," Nina chuckled.
    
  "Okay, let"s go," said Agatha.
    
  The entire fiber-optic system tinted the equipment a pastel purple, reminding Nina of a lightsaber, only not as harsh. Her eyes caught the binary file that appeared after Agatha's trained fingers typed the code into the center of the rectangular screen.
    
  "Pen and paper," Agatha ordered Nina, not taking her eyes off the screen. Nina took the pen and a few torn pages from her notebook and waited.
    
  Agatha read out the link to the illegible codes Nina had written down as she spoke. They could hear the men climbing the stairs, still joking about this absolute nonsense, when they were almost finished.
    
  "What the hell are you doing with my gadgets?" Perdue asked. Nina thought he should have been more defensive in his tone because of his sister's brashness, but his voice sounded more interested in what she was doing than in what she was doing it with.
    
  "Nina needs to know the names of foreign legionnaires who arrived in Germany in the early 1900s. I'm simply gathering this information for her," Agatha explained, her eyes still scanning the few lines of code from which she selectively dictated the correct ones to Nina.
    
  "Damn it," was all Sam could manage, as he was using most of his physical energy to stay on his feet. No one knew if it was the awe evoked by the high-tech sign, the number of names they'd extract, or the fact that they were basically committing a federal crime right before his eyes.
    
  "What do you have at the moment?" Perdue asked, also not very coherently.
    
  "We'll download all the names and identification numbers, maybe some addresses. And we'll present it over breakfast," Nina told the men, trying to sound sober and confident. But they bought it and agreed to continue sleeping.
    
  The next thirty minutes were spent tediously sifting through the seemingly countless names, ranks, and positions of all the men enlisted in the Foreign Legion, but the two women remained as focused as the alcohol permitted. The only disappointment in their research was the lack of walkers.
    
    
  Chapter 15
    
    
  Suffering from hangovers, Sam, Nina, and Perdue spoke in hushed voices to stave off an even worse throbbing headache. Even the breakfast prepared by housekeeper Maisie McFadden couldn't ease their discomfort, though they couldn't compete with the excellence of her fried tramezzini with mushrooms and egg.
    
  After the meal, they gathered again in the eerie living room, where carvings peered from every perch and stonework. Nina opened her notebook, her illegible scribbles challenging her morning mind. She checked the list of names of all the men listed, living and dead. One by one, Purdue entered their names into the database his sister had temporarily reserved for them so they could peruse it without finding any discrepancies on the server.
    
  "No," he said after a few seconds of looking through the entries for each name, "not Algeria."
    
  Sam sat at the coffee table, drinking real coffee from the coffee maker, the one Agatha had so longed for the day before. He opened his laptop and emailed several sources that had helped him trace the origins of the old soldier's tales, who had written a poem about a lost treasure of the world, which he claimed to have discovered during his stay with an Egyptian family.
    
  One of his sources, a good old Moroccan editor from Tangier, responded within an hour.
    
  He seemed stunned that the story had reached a modern European journalist like Sam.
    
  The editor replied, "As far as I know, this story is just a myth, told during the two world wars by legionnaires here in North Africa to maintain the hope that there was some kind of magic in this wild part of the world. In fact, there was never any evidence that these bones contained any flesh. But send me what you have, and I'll see how I can help with that."
    
  "Can he be trusted?" Nina asked. "How well do you know him?"
    
  "I met him twice, when I was covering the clashes in Abidjan in 2007 and again at the World Disease Aid conference in Paris three years later. He was firm, though very skeptical," Sam recalled.
    
  "That's a good thing, Sam," Perdue said, clapping him on the back. "Then he won't see this assignment as anything more than a gimmick. That'll be better for us. He wouldn't want a piece of something he doesn't believe exists, would he?" Perdue chuckled. "Send him a copy of the page. We'll see what he can make of it."
    
  "I wouldn't just send copies of this page to anyone, Perdue," Nina warned. "You don't want information leaked about this legendary story having historical significance."
    
  "Your concerns are well taken note of, dear Nina," Purdue assured her, his smile undeniably tinged with sadness at the loss of her love. "But we need to know, too. Agatha knows next to nothing about her client, who could simply be some rich kid who's inherited some family heirlooms and wants to see if he can get anything for the diary on the black market."
    
  "Or he could be taunting us, you know?" she emphasized her words to make sure both Sam and Perdue understood that the Black Sun Council could have been behind this all along.
    
  "I doubt it," Perdue replied instantly. She assumed he knew something she didn't, and so she was confident she'd roll the dice. Then again, when did he ever not know something others didn't? Always one step ahead and extremely secretive about his affairs, Perdue showed no concern for Nina's idea. But Sam wasn't as dismissive as Nina. He gave Perdue a long, expectant look. Then he hesitated before sending the email before saying, "You seem damn sure we haven't... talked your way through it."
    
  "I love how you three try to make conversation, and I don't realize there's anything more to what you're saying. But I know all about the organization and how it's been the bane of your existence ever since you inadvertently screwed several of its members. My God, kids, that's why I hired you!" She laughed. This time, Agatha sounded like a committed client, not some crazy tramp who's spent too much time in the sun.
    
  "After all, she was the one who hacked into Black Sun"s servers to activate your financial status... children," Perdue reminded them with a wink.
    
  "Well, you don"t know all that, Miss Purdue," Sam replied.
    
  "But I know. My brother and I may be in constant competition in our respective fields of expertise, but we do have some things in common. Information about Sam Cleave and Nina Gould's complex mission for the infamous Renegade Brigade isn't exactly secret, not when you're speaking Russian," she hinted.
    
  Sam and Nina were shocked. Had Purdue known then that they were supposed to find Renata, his greatest secret? How would they even get her now? They looked at each other with a little more concern than they intended.
    
  "Don't worry," Perdue broke the silence. "Let's help Agatha retrieve her client's artifact, and the sooner we do it... who knows... Perhaps we could come to some kind of agreement to ensure your loyalty to the team," he said, looking at Nina.
    
  She couldn't help but recall the last time they'd spoken before Perdue disappeared without explanation. His "arrangement" had obviously signaled a renewed, unquestioned loyalty to him. After all, in their final conversation, he'd assured her he hadn't given up on trying to win her back from Sam's embrace, from Sam's bed. Now she knew why he, too, had to prevail in the Renata/Renegade Brigade case.
    
  "You better keep your word, Purdue. We... I"m... running out of shit-eating spoons, if you know what I mean," Sam warned. "If this all goes wrong, I"m gone for good. Gone. Never to be seen in Scotland again. The only reason I went this far was for Nina."
    
  The tense moment made them all fall silent for a second.
    
  "Okay, now that we all know where we are and how far we all have to travel until we get to our stations, we can send an email to the Moroccan gentleman and start tracking down the rest of these names, right, David?" Agatha led the group of awkward colleagues.
    
  "Nina, would you like to go with me to a meeting in the city? Or would you like another threesome with these two?" Sister Perdue asked rhetorically and, without waiting for an answer, picked up her antique bag and placed an important document inside. Nina looked at Sam and Perdue.
    
  "Will you two behave while Mommy's gone?" she joked, but her tone was full of sarcasm. Nina was infuriated by the two men implying that she belonged to them in some way. They simply stood there, Agatha's usual brutal honesty bringing them to their senses and ready to carry out their task.
    
    
  Chapter 16
    
    
  "Where are we going?" Nina asked when Agatha got hold of a rental car.
    
  "Halkirk," she said to Nina as they set off. The car sped south, and Agatha looked at Nina with a strange smile. "I'm not kidnapping you, Dr. Gould. We're going to meet a graphologist my client referred me to. It's a beautiful place, Halkirk," she added, "right on the Thurso River and no more than fifteen minutes' drive from here. Our meeting is for eleven, but we'll get there sooner."
    
  Nina couldn't argue. The scenery was breathtaking, and she regretted not getting out of the city more often to see the countryside of her native Scotland. Edinburgh was beautiful in itself, full of history and life, but after the repeated trials of recent years, she was considering settling in a small village in the Highlands. There. This would be nice. From the A9, they turned onto the B874 and headed west, toward the small town.
    
  "George Street. Nina, look for George Street," Agatha told her passenger. Nina pulled out her new phone and activated the GPS with a childish smile that amused Agatha, turning it into a hearty giggle. Once the two women found the address, they took a moment to catch their breath. Agatha hoped that handwriting analysis might somehow shed light on the author, or, better yet, what was written on the obscure page. Who knows, Agatha thought, a professional who had spent all day studying handwriting would surely be able to decipher what was written there. She knew it was a stretch, but it was worth investigating.
    
  As they stepped out of the car, a gray sky showered Halkirk with a pleasant, light drizzle. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and Agatha clutched her old suitcase to her chest, her coat covering it, as they climbed the long cement steps to the front door of a small house at the end of George Street. It was a quaint little dollhouse, Nina thought, like something out of a Scottish magazine, House & Home. The immaculately manicured lawn looked like a patch of velvet just thrown in front of the house.
    
  "Oh, hurry up. Get out of the rain, ladies!" a female voice called from a crack in the front door. A robust middle-aged woman with a sweet smile peered out of the darkness behind her. She opened the door for them and gestured for them to hurry.
    
  "Agatha Purdue?" she asked.
    
  "Yes, and this is my friend, Nina," Agatha replied. She omitted Nina's title so as not to alert her host to the importance of the document she needed to analyze. Agatha intended to pretend it was just some old page from a distant relative that had fallen into her possession. If it deserved the amount she'd been paid to find it, it wasn't something worth advertising.
    
  "Hello, Nina. Rachel Clark. Nice to meet you, ladies. Now, shall we go to my office?" the cheerful graphologist smiled.
    
  They left the dark, cozy part of the house to enter a small room, brightly lit by daylight streaming through the sliding doors leading to a small swimming pool. Nina gazed at the beautiful ripples rippling from the raindrops hitting the surface of the pool and admired the ferns and foliage planted around the pool, allowing for a dip in the water. It was aesthetically stunning, a vibrant green against the gray, damp weather.
    
  "Do you like this, Nina?" Rachel asked as Agatha handed her the papers.
    
  "Yes, it"s just amazing how wild and natural it looks," Nina answered politely.
    
  "My husband's a landscape designer. He got the bug when he was making a living digging around in all sorts of jungles and woodlands, and he took up gardening to ease this bad old case of nerves. You know, stress-that awful thing no one seems to notice these days, as if we're supposed to be shaking from too much stress, huh?" Rachel rambled, opening a document under a magnifying lamp.
    
  "Indeed," Nina agreed. "Stress kills more people than anyone realizes."
    
  "Yes, that's why hubby's taken up landscaping other people's gardens instead. More like a hobby job. Much like my job. Okay, Ms. Purdue, let's take a look at those scribbles of yours," Rachel said, putting on a work-like expression.
    
  Nina was skeptical of the whole idea, but she really enjoyed getting out of the house, away from Purdue and Sam. She sat on the small couch by the sliding door, examining the bright patterns among the leaves and branches. This time, Rachel remained silent. Agatha watched her intently, and the silence grew so quiet that Nina and Agatha exchanged a few words, both curious about why Rachel had been staring at one page for so long.
    
  Finally, Rachel looked up, "Where did you get this, dear?" Her tone was serious and a little uncertain.
    
  "Oh, my mom had some old stuff from her great-grandmother, and she dumped it all on me," Agatha lied skillfully. "I found it among some unwanted bills and thought it was interesting."
    
  Nina perked up: "Why? Do you see what"s written there?"
    
  "Ladies, I"m not an ex... well, I"m an expert," she chuckled dryly, removing her glasses, "but if I"m not mistaken, from this photo..."
    
  "Yes?" Nina and Agatha exclaimed simultaneously.
    
  "It looks like it was written on..." she looked up, completely confused, "papyrus?"
    
  Agatha put on the most ignorant expression on her face, while Nina simply gasped.
    
  "Is that good?" Nina asked, playing dumb for the sake of information.
    
  "Why yes, my dear. It means this paper is very valuable. Miss Purdue, do you by any chance have the original?" Rachel asked. She placed her hand on Agatha's with a look of elated curiosity.
    
  "I"m afraid I don"t know, no. But I was just curious to see the photograph. Now we know it must have been an interesting book it came from. I suppose I knew that all along," Agatha acted naively, "because that"s why I was so obsessed with finding out what it said. Perhaps you could help us figure out what it said?"
    
  "I can try. I mean, I see a lot of handwriting samples and I have to boast that I have a keen eye for it," Rachel smiled.
    
  Agatha glanced at Nina as if to say, "I told you so," and Nina had to smile as she turned her head to look at the garden and the pool, where it was now starting to drizzle.
    
  "Give me a few minutes, let me see if... I... can..." Rachel"s words faded as she adjusted the magnifying lamp to get a better view. "I see whoever took this photo made their own little note. The ink on this section is fresher, and the author"s handwriting is significantly different. Hang in there."
    
  It seemed like an eternity, waiting for Rachel to write word for word, deciphering the writing bit by bit, leaving a dotted line here and there where she couldn't make it out. Agatha glanced around the room. Everywhere she could see sample photographs, posters with varying angles and pressures, indicating psychological predispositions and character traits. It was a fascinating vocation, she thought. Perhaps Agatha, as a librarian, had enjoyed the love of words and the meanings behind structure and the like.
    
  "It looks like some kind of poem," Rachel murmured, "that"s divided by two hands. I"ll bet two different people wrote it-one the first part, and one the last. The first lines are in French, the rest in German, if I remember correctly. Oh, and at the bottom here, it"s signed with what looks like... the first part of the signature is complicated, but the last part clearly looks like "Venen" or "Vener." Do you know anyone in your family with that name, Miss Purdue?"
    
  "No, unfortunately, no," Agatha answered with a slight regret, playing her part so well that Nina smiled and secretly shook her head.
    
  "Agatha, you must continue this, my dear. I would even venture to say that the papyrus material this is written on is quite... ancient," Rachel frowned.
    
  "Like the ancient 1800s?" Nina asked.
    
  "No, my dear. About a thousand years before the 1800s-ancient," Rachel explained, her eyes widening with surprise and sincerity. "You'd find papyrus like that in world history museums like the Cairo Museum!"
    
  Confused by Rachel's interest in the document, Agatha distracted her attention.
    
  "And is the poem on it just as old?" she asked.
    
  "No, not at all. The ink isn't half as faded as it would have been if it had been written that long ago. Someone went and wrote on paper they had no idea was valuable, my dear. Where they got it from remains a mystery, because these kinds of papyrus would have been kept in museums or..." she laughed at the absurdity of what she was about to say, "they would have been stored somewhere since the time of the Library of Alexandria." Resisting the urge to laugh out loud at the preposterous statement, Rachel simply shrugged.
    
  "What words did you get out of this?" Nina asked.
    
  "It"s in French, I think. Now, I don"t speak French..."
    
  "It's all right, I believe you," Agatha said quickly. She glanced at her watch. "Oh my God, look at the time. Nina, we're late for Aunt Millie's housewarming dinner!"
    
  Nina had no idea what Agatha was talking about, but she dismissed it as nonsense, which she had to play along with to ease the growing tension in the discussion. She was right.
    
  "Oh, damn, you're right! And we still need to get the cake! Rachel, do you know any good bakeries nearby?" Nina asked.
    
  "We had a close call," Agatha said as they drove along the main road back to Thurso.
    
  "Holy shit! I have to admit I was wrong. Hiring a graphologist was a really good idea," Nina said. "Can you translate what she wrote from the text?"
    
  "Uh-huh," said Agatha. "You don"t speak French?"
    
  "Very little. I've always been a great fan of the German language," the historian chuckled. "I liked men better."
    
  "Oh, really? You prefer German men? And you're bothered by Scottish scrolls?" Agatha remarked. Nina couldn't tell if there was even a hint of a threat in Agatha's statement, but with her, it could be anything.
    
  "Sam is a very cute specimen," she joked.
    
  "I know. I dare say I wouldn't mind getting a review from him. But what the hell do you see in David? It's about money, right? It has to be about money," Agatha asked.
    
  "No, not so much the money, but the confidence. And his passion for life, I suppose," Nina said. She didn't like being forced to so thoroughly examine her attraction to Purdue. In fact, she'd rather forget what she'd found attractive about him in the first place. She was far from safe when it came to writing off her affection for him, no matter how vehemently she denied it.
    
  And Sam was no exception. He didn't let her know whether he wanted to be with her or not. The discovery of his notes about Trish and his life with her confirmed this, and, risking heartbreak if she confronted him about it, she kept it to herself. But deep down, Nina couldn't deny that she was in love with Sam, an elusive lover with whom she could never be with for more than a few minutes at a time.
    
  Her heart ached every time she thought about those memories of his life with Trish, how much he loved her, her little quirks, and how close they had been-how much he missed her. Why would he write so much about their life together if he had moved on? Why would he lie to her about how dear she was to him if he secretly wrote odes to her predecessor? The realization that she would never measure up to Trish was a blow she couldn't stomach.
    
    
  Chapter 17
    
    
  Perdue stoked the fire while Sam prepared dinner under Miss Maisie's stern supervision. In reality, he was merely assisting, but she had tricked him into believing he was the chef. Perdue entered the kitchen with a boyish grin, watching the chaos Sam had created while preparing what could have been a feast.
    
  "He's giving you trouble, isn't he?" Perdue asked Maisie.
    
  "No more than my husband, sir," she winked and cleaned up the spot where Sam had spilled flour while trying to bake dumplings.
    
  "Sam," Purdue said, nodding his head to invite Sam to join him by the fire.
    
  "Miss Maisie, I'm afraid I must relieve myself of kitchen duties," Sam announced.
    
  "Don't worry, Mr. Cleve," she smiled. "Thank goodness," they heard her say as he left the kitchen.
    
  "Have you received word about this document yet?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Nothing. I suppose they all think I'm crazy for researching a myth, but on the one hand, that's a good thing. The fewer people who know about it, the better. Just in case the diary is still around," Sam said.
    
  "Yes, I'm very curious as to what this treasure is supposed to be," Perdue said, pouring them some scotch.
    
  "Of course it is," Sam replied, somewhat amused.
    
  "It"s not about money, Sam. God knows I have enough of that. I don"t need to chase inner relics for money," Perdue told him. "I"m truly immersed in the past, in what the world holds in hidden places that people are too ignorant to care about. I mean, we live on a land that has seen the most amazing things, lived through the most fantastic eras. It"s truly something special to find remnants of the Old World and touch things that know things we"ll never know."
    
  "This is way too deep for this time of day, man," Sam admitted. He downed half a glass of his scotch in one gulp.
    
  "Easy with this," Perdue urged. "You want to stay awake and aware of when the two ladies are coming back."
    
  "Actually, I'm not entirely sure about that," Sam admitted. Perdue merely chuckled, feeling much the same. Nevertheless, the two men decided not to discuss Nina or what she had with either of them. Oddly enough, there was never any animosity between Perdue and Sam, two rivals for Nina's heart, since both had her body.
    
  The front door opened, and two half-drenched women rushed inside. It wasn't the rain that spurred them on, but the news. After a brief recap of what had transpired in the graphologist's office, they resisted the overwhelming urge to analyze the poem and flattered Miss Maisie by tasting her first delectable dish of excellent cuisine. It would be unwise to discuss these new details in front of her, or anyone else for that matter, simply to be on the safe side.
    
  After dinner, the four of them sat around the table to help figure out if there was anything important in the notes.
    
  "David, is that a word? I suspect my high French is lacking," Agatha said impatiently.
    
  He glanced at Rachel's atrocious handwriting, where she'd copied the French part of the poem. "Oh, uh, that means 'pagan,' and that-"
    
  "Don't be silly, I know that," she grinned and tore the page from him. Nina giggled at Purdue's punishment. He smiled at her a little shyly.
    
  It turned out that Agatha was a hundred times more irritable at work than Nina and Sam could have imagined.
    
  "Well, call me at the German section if you need any help, Agatha. I"ll go get some tea," Nina said casually, hoping the eccentric librarian wouldn"t take it as a snide remark. But Agatha ignored everyone as she finished translating the French section. The others waited patiently, making small talk, their curiosity brimming. Suddenly, Agatha cleared her throat. "Okay," she declared, "so it says: "From the pagan ports to the changing of the crosses, the old scribes came to keep the secret from God"s serpents." Serapis watched as his entrails were carried away into the desert, and the hieroglyphs sank under Ahmed"s foot."
    
  She stopped. They waited. Agatha looked at them incredulously: "So what?"
    
  "Is that all?" Sam asked, risking the terrible genius"s displeasure.
    
  "Yes, Sam, this is it," she snapped, as expected. "Why? Were you hoping for the opera?"
    
  "No, it was just... you know... I was expecting something longer since you took so long..." he began, but Perdue turned his back to his sister to secretly dissuade Sam from continuing the proposal.
    
  "Do you speak French, Mr. Cleve?" she quipped. Perdue closed his eyes, and Sam realized she was offended.
    
  "No. No, I don't know. It would take me forever to figure anything out," Sam tried to correct himself.
    
  "What the hell is 'Serapis'?" Nina came to his aid. Her frown indicated serious inquiry, not just an idle question meant to save Sam's proverbial balls from the clutches of a vice.
    
  They all shook their heads.
    
  "Look it up online," Sam suggested, and before his words could run out, Nina opened her laptop.
    
  "I understand," she said, skimming through the information to deliver a brief lecture. "Serapis was a pagan god worshiped primarily in Egypt."
    
  "Of course. We have papyrus, so naturally we must have Egypt somewhere," Perdue joked.
    
  "Anyway," Nina continued, "long story short... Sometime in the fourth century in Alexandria, Bishop Theophilus banned all worship of pagan deities, and underneath the abandoned temple of Dionysus, apparently, the contents of the catacomb vaults were desecrated... probably pagan relics," she suggested, "and this terribly angered the pagans in Alexandria."
    
  "So they killed the bastard?" Sam knocked, amusing everyone except Nina, who gave him a steely glare that sent him back to his corner.
    
  "No, they didn't kill the bastard, Sam," she sighed, "but they incited unrest so they could exact revenge in the streets. However, the Christians resisted and forced the pagan worshippers to take refuge in the Serapeum, the Temple of Serapis, apparently an imposing structure. So they barricaded themselves there, taking a few Christians hostage for good measure."
    
  "Okay, that explains the pagan ports. Alexandria was a very important port in the ancient world. Pagan ports became Christian, right?" Perdue confirmed.
    
  "According to this, it is true," Nina replied. "But the ancient scribes who kept the secret..."
    
  "Old scribes," Agatha remarked, "must be the priests who kept records in Alexandria. The Library of Alexandria!"
    
  "But the Library of Alexandria was already burned to the ground in Bumfuck, British Columbia, wasn't it?" Sam asked. Perdue had to laugh at the journalist's choice of words.
    
  "It was rumored that it was burned by Caesar when he set fire to his fleet of ships, as far as I know," Perdue agreed.
    
  "Okay, but even so, this document was apparently written on papyrus, which the graphologist told us was ancient. Perhaps not everything was destroyed. Perhaps that means they hid it from God's serpents-the Christian authorities!" Nina exclaimed.
    
  "That's all true, Nina, but what does that have to do with a legionnaire from the 1800s? How does he fit in?" Agatha thought. "He wrote it, for what purpose?"
    
  "Legend has it that an old soldier told of the day he saw with his own eyes the priceless treasures of the Old World, right?" Sam interrupted. "We think of gold and silver when we should be thinking of books, information, and hieroglyphs in a poem. The insides of Serapis should be the insides of a temple, right?"
    
  "Sam, you're a fucking genius!" Nina shrieked. "That's it! Naturally, watching his entrails dragged across the desert and drowned... buried... under Ahmed's foot. An old soldier told of a farm owned by an Egyptian where he saw treasure. This shit was buried under an Egyptian's feet in Algeria!"
    
  "Excellent! So the old French soldier told us what it was and where he saw it. That doesn't tell us where his diary is," Purdue reminded everyone. They'd become so engrossed in the mystery that they'd lost track of the actual document they were hunting for.
    
  "Don't worry. That's Nina's part. German, written by the young soldier to whom he gave the diary," Agatha said, renewing their hope. "We needed to know what this treasure was-the records from the Library of Alexandria. Now we need to know how to find them, after we find the diary for my client, of course."
    
  Nina took her time with the longer section of the Franco-German poem.
    
  "It's very complicated. There are a lot of code words. I suspect this one will be more problematic than the first one," she noted, emphasizing several words. "There are a lot of missing words here."
    
  "Yes, I saw that. It looks like this photograph has gotten wet or damaged over the years, because most of the surface is worn away. I hope the original page hasn't suffered the same damage. But just give us the words that are still there, dear," Agatha prompted.
    
  "Now just remember this was written much later than the previous one," Nina told herself, reminding herself of the context in which she had to translate it. "Around the early years of the century, so... around nineteen-something. We need to call up these names of the recruited men, Agatha."
    
  When she finally translated the German words, she sat back in her chair, frowning.
    
  "Let's hear it," Perdue said.
    
  Nina read slowly: "It's very confusing. He clearly didn't want anyone to find this while he was alive. I believe the junior legionnaire must have been past middle age by the early 1900s. I've just filled in the blanks."
    
    
  New for people
    
  Not in the ground at 680 twelve
    
  The still growing signpost of God contains two trinities
    
  And the clapping Angels cover... Erno
    
  ...to the very......hold this
    
  ...... invisible... Heinrich I
    
    
  "The rest is missing a whole line," Nina sighed, tossing her pen aside in defeat. "The last part is the signature of a guy named 'Vener,' according to Rachel Clarke."
    
  Sam was munching on a sweet bun. He leaned over Nina's shoulder and said with his mouth full, "Not 'Vener.' It's 'Werner,' plain as day."
    
  Nina looked up and narrowed her eyes at his patronizing tone, but Sam only smiled, the way he did when he knew he was impeccably smart. "And that"s "Klaus." Klaus Werner, 1935."
    
  Nina and Agatha stared at Sam in utter amazement.
    
  "See?" he said, pointing to the very bottom of the photograph. "The year is 1935. Did you ladies think that was a page number? Because the rest of this man"s diary is thicker than the Bible, and he must have had a very long and eventful life."
    
  Purdue couldn't contain himself any longer. From his place by the fireplace, where he'd leaned against the frame with a glass of wine, he burst into laughter. Sam laughed heartily along with him, but quickly moved away from Nina, just in case. Even Agatha smiled. "I'd be outraged by his arrogance too, if he hadn't saved us a ton of extra work, wouldn't you agree, Dr. Gould?"
    
  "Yeah, he didn"t screw up this time," Nina teased, giving Sam a smile.
    
    
  Chapter 18
    
    
  "New to the people, not to the soil. So, it was a new place when Klaus Werner returned to Germany in 1935, or whenever he did. Sam is checking the names of legionnaires from 1900 to 1935," Nina told Agatha.
    
  "But is there any way to find out where he lived?" Agatha asked, leaning on her elbows and covering her face with her hands, like a nine-year-old girl.
    
  "I have a Werner who entered the country in 1914!" Sam exclaimed. "He's the closest Werner we have to those dates. The others are from 1901, 1905, and 1948."
    
  "It could still be one of the previous ones, Sam. Check them all. What does this 1914 scroll say?" Perdue asked, leaning against Sam's chair to study the information on his laptop.
    
  "A lot of places were new back then. My God, the Eiffel Tower was new back then. It was the Industrial Revolution. Everything was newly built. What's 680 twelve?" Nina chuckled. "My head hurts."
    
  "Twelve years, it would seem," Perdue interjected. "I mean, it refers to the new and the old, therefore to the era of existence. But what is 680 years?"
    
  "The age of the place he speaks of, of course," Agatha muttered through clenched teeth, refusing to remove her jaw from the comfort of her hands.
    
  "Okay, so this place is 680 years old. Is it still growing? I'm confused. There's no way this is alive," Nina sighed heavily.
    
  "Maybe the population is growing?" Sam suggested. "Look, it says 'God's sign' holding 'two trinities,' and this is obviously a church. That's not hard."
    
  "Do you know how many churches there are in Germany, Sam?" Nina chuckled. It was clear she was very tired and very impatient about all this. The fact that something else was weighing on her time, the impending death of her Russian friends, was gradually taking hold.
    
  "You're right, Sam. It's easy to guess we're looking for a church, but the answer to which one lies, I'm sure, in the 'two trinities.' Every church has a trinity, but rarely another set of three," Agatha replied. She had to admit that she, too, had pondered the poem's cryptic aspects to the limit.
    
  Pardue suddenly leaned over Sam and pointed at the screen, something under Werner's number 1914. "Got him!"
    
  "Where?" Nina, Agatha, and Sam exclaimed in unison, grateful for the breakthrough.
    
  "Cologne, ladies and gentlemen. Our man lived in Cologne. Here, Sam," he underlined the sentence with his thumbnail, "it says: 'Klaus Werner, city planner under Konrad Adenauer, mayor of Cologne (1917-1933).'"
    
  "That means he wrote this poem after Adenauer's dismissal," Nina perked up. It was nice to hear something familiar, something she knew from German history. "In 1933, the Nazi Party won the local elections in Cologne. Of course! Soon after, the Gothic church there was converted into a monument to the new German Empire. But I think Herr Werner was a little off in his calculations of the church's age, give or take a few years."
    
  "Who cares? If this is the right church, then we have our location, people!" Sam insisted.
    
  "Wait, let me double-check before we head there unprepared," Nina said. She typed "Cologne Attractions" into the search engine. Her face lit up when she read reviews of the Kölner Dom, Cologne Cathedral, the city's most significant monument.
    
  She nodded and stated irrefutably, "Yes, listen, Cologne Cathedral is where the Sanctuary of the Three Kings is located. I bet this is the second trinity Werner mentioned!"
    
  Perdue stood up to sighs of relief. "Now we know where to begin, thank goodness. Agatha, make preparations. I'll gather everything we need to retrieve this diary from the cathedral."
    
  By the following afternoon, the group was ready to head to Cologne to see if solving the ancient mystery would lead to the relic Agatha's client coveted. Nina and Sam took care of the rental car, while the Purdues stocked up on their best illegal devices in case their recovery was thwarted by the pesky security measures cities had adopted to protect their monuments.
    
  The flight to Cologne was uneventful and quick, thanks to Perdue's flight crew. The private jet they used wasn't his best, but this wasn't luxury travel. This time, Perdue used his plane for practical reasons, not flair. On the small runway southeast of Cologne-Bonn Airport, the lightweight Challenger 350 skidded to a graceful stop. The weather was terrible, not just for flying but for ordinary travel. The roads were slushy from the onslaught of an unexpected storm. As Perdue, Nina, Sam, and Agatha made their way through the crowds, they noticed the forlorn behavior of passengers bemoaning the fury of what they thought was an ordinary rainy day. Apparently, the local forecast hadn't mentioned the intensity of the outbreak.
    
  "Thank goodness I brought rubber boots," Nina remarked as they crossed the airport and headed out of the arrivals hall. "That would have ruined my boots."
    
  "But that hideous yak jacket would do a good job now, don't you think?" Agatha smiled as they walked down the steps to the lower level to the ticket office for the S-13 train heading into the city centre.
    
  "Who gave this to you? You said it was a gift," Agatha asked. Nina could see Sam cringe at the question, but she couldn't understand why, since he was so caught up in his memories of Trish.
    
  "The Renegade Brigade commander, Ludwig Bern. It was one of his," Nina said with obvious bliss. She reminded Sam of a schoolgirl swooning over her new boyfriend. He simply walked a few yards, wishing he could light a cigarette right then. He joined Purdue at the ticket machine.
    
  "He sounds delightful. You know, these people are known to be very cruel, very disciplined, and very, very hardworking," Agatha said matter-of-factly. "I've been doing extensive research on them recently. Tell me, are there torture chambers in that mountain fortress?"
    
  "Yes, but I was lucky enough not to be imprisoned there. It turns out I resemble Bern's late wife. I suppose such small favors saved my ass when they captured us, because I learned firsthand of their reputation for brutality during my detention," Nina told Agatha. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the floor as she recounted the violent episode.
    
  Agatha saw Sam's reaction, however subdued it was, and she whispered, "Is that when they hurt Sam so badly?"
    
  "Yes".
    
  "And you got this nasty bruise?"
    
  "Yes, Agatha."
    
  "Pussies".
    
  "Yes, Agatha. You got it right. So, it was quite a surprise that the shift supervisor treated me more humanely when I was being interrogated... of course... after he threatened me with rape... and death," Nina said, almost amused by the whole thing.
    
  "Come on, let's go. We need to get our hostel sorted out so we can get some rest," Perdue said.
    
  The hostel Perdue mentioned wasn't what usually came to mind. They got off the tram at Trimbornstrasse and walked the next block and a half to an unassuming old building. Nina gazed up at the tall, four-story brick structure, which looked like a cross between a World War II factory and a well-restored old tower block. The place had Old World charm and a welcoming atmosphere, though it had clearly seen better days.
    
  The windows were adorned with decorative frames and sills, while on the other side of the glass, Nina could see someone peeking out from behind immaculate curtains. As the guests entered, the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee overwhelmed them in the small, dark, musty foyer.
    
  "Your rooms are upstairs, Herr Perdue," a painfully neat man in his early thirties informed Perdue.
    
  "Welcome to the dunk, Peter," Perdue smiled and stepped aside so the ladies could climb the stairs to their rooms. "Sam and I are in one room; Nina and Agatha are in the other."
    
  "Thank goodness I don't have to stay with David. Even now, he hasn't stopped his annoying sleep chatter," Agatha nudged Nina.
    
  "Ha! Did he always do this?" Nina chuckled as they set their bags down.
    
  "From birth, I think. He was always the talker, while I shut up and learned different things," Agatha joked.
    
  "Okay, let's get some rest. Tomorrow afternoon we can go see what the cathedral has to offer," Perdue announced, stretching and yawning widely.
    
  "I hear it!" Sam agreed.
    
  Taking one last look at Nina, Sam walked into the room with Purdue and closed the door behind them.
    
    
  Chapter 19
    
    
  Agatha remained behind while the other three headed to Cologne Cathedral. She was to keep an eye on their backs using tracking devices linked to her brother's tablet and their identities using three wristwatches. On her own laptop, lying on her bed, she connected to the local police communications system to monitor any alerts regarding her brother's band of marauders. With a cookie and a flask of strong black coffee nearby, Agatha watched the screens behind her locked bedroom door.
    
  Awestruck, Nina and Sam couldn't tear their eyes away from the sheer might of the Gothic structure before them. It was majestic and ancient, its spires reaching an average of 500 feet from its base. The architecture not only resembled medieval-style towers and pointed protrusions, but from a distance, the marvelous building's outlines appeared jagged and solid. The complexity was beyond imagination, something that had to be seen in person, Nina thought, for she had seen the famous cathedral in books before. But nothing could have prepared her for the breathtaking vision that left her trembling with awe.
    
  "It's huge, isn't it?" Perdue smiled confidently. "It looks even bigger than the last time I was here!"
    
  The story was impressive even by the ancient standards of Greek temples and Italian monuments. Two towers stood massive and silent, pointing upward as if addressing God; and in the center, an intimidating entrance lured thousands to enter and admire the interior.
    
  "It's over 400 feet long, can you believe it? Look at it! I know we're here for other reasons, but it never hurts to appreciate the true splendor of German architecture," Perdue said, admiring the buttresses and spires.
    
  "I"m dying to see what"s inside," Nina exclaimed.
    
  "Don't be too impatient, Nina. You'll be spending many hours there," Sam reminded her, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling too mockingly. She turned up her nose at him and, grinning, the three of them entered the giant monument.
    
  Since they had no idea where the diary might be, Purdue suggested that he, Sam, and Nina split up so they could explore different parts of the cathedral simultaneously. He carried a pen-sized laser spotting scope to detect any heat signals beyond the church walls, which he might need to infiltrate surreptitiously.
    
  "Holy crap, this will take us days," Sam said a little too loudly as his astonished eyes took in the majestic, colossal building. People muttered disgust at his exclamation, inside the church no less!
    
  "Then we better get to it. We should consider anything that might give us an idea of where they might be stored. We each have images of the others on our watches, so don't disappear. I don't have the energy to search for a diary and two lost souls," Perdue smiled.
    
  "Oh, you just had to spin it like that," Nina chuckled. "Later, boys."
    
  They split into three directions, pretending to simply sightsee, while meticulously examining any possible clue that might point to the location of the French soldier's diary. The watches they wore served as communication devices, allowing them to exchange information without having to regroup each time.
    
  Sam wandered into the communion chapel, repeating to himself that he was actually looking for something resembling an old, small book. He had to keep telling himself what he was looking for, so as not to be distracted by the religious treasures around every corner. He'd never been religious, and certainly hadn't felt anything sacred lately, but he had to acquiesce in the skill of the sculptors and stonemasons who created the wondrous things around him. The pride and respect with which they were crafted stirred his emotions, and almost every statue and structure deserved his photograph. It had been a long time since Sam had found himself in a place where he could truly put his photography skills to good use.
    
  Nina's voice came through the earpiece connected to their wrist devices.
    
  "Should I say 'destroyer, destroyer' or something?" she asked over the squeaky signal.
    
  Sam couldn't help but giggle, and soon he heard Perdue say, "No, Nina. I dread to think what Sam would do, so just talk."
    
  "I think I had an epiphany," she said.
    
  "Save your soul in your spare time, Dr. Gould," Sam joked, and he heard her sigh on the other end of the line.
    
  "What"s the matter, Nina?" Perdue asked.
    
  "I'm checking the bells on the south spire, and I came across this brochure about all the different bells. There's a bell in the ridge tower called the Angelus Bell," she replied. "I was wondering if it had anything to do with the poem."
    
  "Where? Clapping Angels?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Well, the word 'Angels' is spelled with a capital 'A', and I think it might be a name, not just a reference to angels, you know?" Nina whispered.
    
  "I think you're right about that, Nina," Sam interjected. "Look, it says 'clapping angels.' The clapper that hangs down the middle of the bell is called a clapper, isn't it? Could that mean the diary is protected by the Angelus Bell?"
    
  "Oh my God, you figured it out," Perdue whispered excitedly. His voice couldn't be heard among the tourists crowded inside the Marienkapelle, where Perdue was admiring Stefan Lochner's painting of Cologne's patron saints in their Gothic rendition. "I'm in St. Mary's Chapel now, but meet me at the Ridge Turret base in, say, 10 minutes?"
    
  "Okay, see you there," Nina replied. "Sam?"
    
  "Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can get another picture of that ceiling. Damn it!" he announced, while Nina and Perdue could hear the people around Sam gasp again at his statement.
    
  When they met on the observation deck, everything fell into place. From the platform above the ridge tower, it was clear that the smaller bell could very well be hiding a diary.
    
  "How the hell did he get that in there?" Sam asked.
    
  "Remember, this guy, Werner, was a city planner. He probably had access to all sorts of nooks and crannies of the city's buildings and infrastructure. I bet that's why he chose the Angelus Bell. It's smaller, more discreet than the main bells, and no one would think to look in here," Perdue noted. "Okay, so tonight, my sister and I will come up here, and the two of you can monitor the activity around us."
    
  "Agatha? Climb up here?" Nina gasped.
    
  "Yes, she was a nationally ranked gymnast in high school. Didn't she tell you?" Perdue nodded.
    
  "No," Nina replied, completely surprised by this information.
    
  "That would explain her lanky body," Sam noted.
    
  "That's right. Dad noticed early on that she was too skinny to be an athlete or a tennis player, so he introduced her to gymnastics and martial arts to help her develop her skills," Perdue said. "She's also an avid mountain climber, if you can get her out of the archives, storage units, and bookshelves." Dave Perdue laughed at the reactions of his two colleagues. Both clearly remembered Agatha in her boots and harness.
    
  "If anyone could scale that monstrous building, it would be a mountain climber," Sam agreed. "I'm so glad I wasn't chosen for this madness."
    
  "Me too, Sam, me too!" Nina shuddered, looking down again at the small tower perched on the steep roof of the enormous cathedral. "God, just the thought of standing here made me dread. I hate confined spaces, but as we speak, I'm developing an aversion to heights."
    
  Sam took several photographs of the surrounding area, more or less including the surrounding landscape, so they could plan their reconnaissance and rescue mission. Purdue pulled out his telescope and examined the tower.
    
  "Nice," Nina said, examining the device with her own eyes. "What on earth does it do?"
    
  "Look," Perdue said, handing it to her. "Do NOT press the red button. Press the silver button."
    
  Sam leaned forward to see what she was doing. Nina's mouth dropped open, and then her lips slowly curved into a smile.
    
  "What? What do you see?" Sam pressed. Perdue smiled proudly and raised an eyebrow at the interested reporter.
    
  "She's looking through the wall, Sam. Nina, do you see anything unusual there? Anything like a book?" he asked her.
    
  "There"s no button, but I see a rectangular object located right at the top, on the inside of the bell dome," she described, moving the object up and down the turret and bell to make sure she hadn"t missed anything. "There."
    
  She handed them to Sam, who was amazed.
    
  "Purdue, do you think you could fit that contraption into my camera? I could see through the surface of what I'm photographing," Sam teased.
    
  Perdue laughed, "If you're good, I'll make you one when I have time."
    
  Nina shook her head in response to their banter.
    
  Someone passed by, inadvertently ruffling her hair. She turned to see a man standing far too close to her, smiling. His teeth were stained, his expression eerie. She turned to grab Sam's hand, letting the man know she was being escorted. When she turned again, he had somehow vanished into thin air.
    
  "Agatha, I'm marking the location of the object," Perdue reported over his comm unit. A moment later, he aimed his telescope in the direction of the Angelus Bell, and a quick beep sounded as the laser marked the tower's global position on Agatha's screen for recording.
    
  Nina had a sickening feeling about the repulsive man who had confronted her moments ago. She could still smell his musty coat and the stench of chewing tobacco on his breath. There was no such person in the small group of tourists around her. Thinking it was an unfortunate encounter and nothing more, Nina decided to chalk it up to nothing important.
    
    
  Chapter 20
    
    
  By late after midnight, Purdue and Agatha were dressed for the occasion. It was a miserable night, with gusty winds and a gloomy sky, but fortunately for them, there was no rain-yet. Rain would have seriously compromised their ability to scale the massive structure, especially where the tower was located, hitting the peaks of the four roofs that met to form a cross. After careful planning, considering the safety risks and time-sensitive efficiency, they decided to scale the building from the outside, directly up to the tower. They climbed through the alcove where the south and east walls met, using the projecting buttresses and arches to ease their footwork as they ascended.
    
  Nina was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
    
  "What if the wind picks up even more?" she asked Agatha, pacing around the blonde librarian as she put her seat belt under her coat.
    
  "Darling, we have safety ropes for that," she muttered, tying the seam of her jumpsuit to her boots so it wouldn't snag. Sam was across the living room with Purdue, checking their communication devices.
    
  "Are you sure you know how to monitor messages?" Agatha asked Nina, who was burdened with the task of managing the base, while Sam was supposed to take up an observation position from the street opposite the main facade of the cathedral.
    
  "Yes, Agatha. I'm not exactly tech-savvy," Nina sighed. She already knew there was no point in even trying to defend herself from Agatha's unintentional insults.
    
  "That"s right," Agatha laughed in her superior manner.
    
  True, the Purdue twins were world-class hackers and developers, able to manipulate electronics and science the way others tie their shoelaces, but Nina herself was not lacking in intelligence. For one thing, she had learned to moderate her wild temper a bit, just enough to accommodate Agatha's eccentricities. At 2:30 a.m., the team hoped security would either be idle or not patrolling at all, as it was a Tuesday night with terrifying gusts of wind.
    
  Just before three o'clock in the morning, Sam, Perdue, and Agatha headed for the door, Nina following them to lock the door behind them.
    
  "Please be careful, guys," Nina urged again.
    
  "Hey, don't worry," Perdue winked, "we're professional troublemakers. We'll be fine."
    
  "Sam," she said quietly, stealthily taking his gloved hand in hers, "Come back soon."
    
  "Keep an eye on us, will you?" he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers and smiling.
    
  A deathly silence reigned in the streets surrounding the cathedral. Only the moaning wind whistled around the corners of buildings and shook the street signs, while a few newspapers and leaves danced to its direction. Three figures in black approached from behind the trees on the eastern side of the great church. In silent synchronization, they set up their communication devices and trackers before the two climbers broke from their vigil and began to ascend the southeastern side of the monument.
    
  Everything was going according to plan as Purdue and Agatha carefully made their way toward the ridge tower. Sam watched them gradually move up the pointed arches, the wind whipping their ropes. He stood in the shade of the trees, where the streetlight couldn't see him. To his left, he heard a noise. A little girl, about twelve years old, was running down the street toward the train station, sobbing in terror. She was closely followed by four underage thugs in neo-Nazi garb, shouting all sorts of obscenities at her. Sam didn't speak German very well, but he knew enough to know they had no good intentions.
    
  "What the hell is such a young girl doing here at this time of night?" he said to himself.
    
  Curiosity got the better of him, but he had to stay put to keep an eye on safety.
    
  What's more important? The well-being of a child in real danger or two of your colleagues who are doing just fine? He wrestled with his conscience. Screw it, I'll check this out and be back before Purdue even looks down.
    
  Sam watched the hooligans stealthily, keeping out of the light. He could barely hear them over the maddening noise of the storm, but he could see their shadows entering the train station behind the cathedral. He moved east, thus losing sight of the shadow-like movements of Purdue and Agatha between the buttresses and Gothic stone needles.
    
  He couldn't hear them at all now, but despite being sheltered by the station building, the interior was still deathly silent. Sam walked as quietly as he could, but he could no longer hear the young woman. A sickening feeling settled in his stomach as he imagined them catching up with her and silencing her. Or perhaps they might already have killed her. Sam pushed this absurd hypersensitivity from his mind and continued along the platform.
    
  There were shuffling footsteps behind him, too fast for him to defend himself, and he felt several hands pull him to the floor, feeling and searching for his wallet.
    
  Like skinhead demons, they clawed at him with terrifying grins and new German cries of violence. A girl stood among them, the white light of the police station shining behind her. Sam frowned. After all, she wasn't a little girl. The young woman was one of them, used to lure unsuspecting Samaritans to secluded places where her pack would rob them. Now that he could see her face, Sam realized she was at least eighteen years old. Her small, youthful body betrayed him. A few blows to his ribs left him defenseless, and Sam felt the familiar memory of Bodo emerge from his mind.
    
  "Sam! Sam? Are you okay? Talk to me!" Nina screamed into his earpiece, but he spat out a mouthful of blood.
    
  He felt them tug at his watch.
    
  "No, no! It"s not a watch! You can"t have that!" he shouted, not caring whether his protests convinced them that his watch was worth too much to him.
    
  "Shut up, Scheisskopf!" the girl smirked and kicked Sam in the balls with her boot, taking his breath away.
    
  He could hear the pack's laughter as they left, complaining about the walletless tourist. Sam was so furious he was practically screaming in frustration. In any case, no one could hear anything over the howling storm outside.
    
  "Jesus! How stupid are you, Clive?" he chuckled, clenching his jaw. He pounded the concrete beneath him with his fist, but he couldn't rise yet. A searing spear of pain lodged in his lower abdomen immobilized him, and he only hoped the gang wouldn't return before he could get to his feet. They'd surely return once they discovered the watch they'd stolen couldn't tell time.
    
  Meanwhile, Perdue and Agatha had made it halfway up the structure. They couldn't speak over the noise of the wind, fearing detection, but Perdue could see that his sister's pants had caught on a downward-facing ledge of rock. She couldn't continue, and she had no way to use the rope to correct her position and free her leg from the unassuming trap. She looked at Perdue and gestured for him to cut the cord while she held tightly to the ledges, standing on a small overhang. He shook his head vehemently in disagreement and raised his fist, motioning for her to wait.
    
  Slowly, very wary of the gusty wind that threatened to sweep them off the stone walls, he carefully placed his feet into the building's crevices. One by one, he descended, heading for a larger ledge below, so that his new position would give Agatha the freedom to maneuver the rope she needed to unfasten her pants from the brick corner where they were secured.
    
  When she broke free, her weight exceeded the permissible limit and she was thrown from her seat. A scream escaped her terrified body, but the storm quickly swallowed it.
    
  "What"s going on?" Nina"s panic came through the headphones. "Agatha?"
    
  Perdue gripped the comb tightly where his fingers threatened to give way, but he mustered the strength to keep his sister from falling to her death. He looked down at her. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide as she looked up and nodded in thanks. But Perdue looked past her. Frozen in place, his eyes moving cautiously along something beneath her. Her mocking, scowl begged for information, but he slowly shook his head and mouthed a request for silence. Over the comm, Nina could hear Perdue whisper, "Don"t move, Agatha. Don"t make a sound."
    
  "Oh my God!" Nina exclaimed from home base. "What"s going on there?"
    
  "Nina, calm down. Please," was all she heard Perdue say over the static in the speaker.
    
  Agatha's nerves were on edge, not because of the distance she was hanging from the south side of Cologne Cathedral, but because she didn't know what her brother was staring at behind her.
    
  Where did Sam go? Did they grab him too? Pardue paused, scanning the area below for Sam's shadow, but he found no trace of the journalist.
    
  Below Agatha, on the street, Perdue watched three police officers patrolling. The strong wind made it impossible for him to hear what they were saying. They might as well have been discussing pizza toppings, for all he knew, but he assumed their presence had been provoked by Sam, otherwise they would have already looked up. He had to leave his sister swinging precariously in the gust while he waited for them to turn the corner, but they remained within sight.
    
  Perdue watched their discussion closely.
    
  Suddenly, Sam stumbled out of the station, looking visibly drunk. The officers headed straight for him, but before they could grab him, two black shadows quickly emerged from the shadows of the trees. Purdue's breath caught as he saw two Rottweilers charge at the police, pushing aside the men in their group.
    
  "What the...?" he whispered to himself. Both Nina and Agatha, one screaming, the other moving her lips, answered, "WHAT?"
    
  Sam disappeared into the shadows around a bend in the street and waited there. He'd been chased by dogs before, and it wasn't one of his fondest memories. Both Perdue and Sam watched from their posts as the police drew their firearms and fired into the air to scare off the vicious black animals.
    
  Both Perdue and Agatha flinched, squeezing their eyes shut as the stray bullets ripped through their bodies. Fortunately, neither shot hit the rock nor their tender flesh. Both dogs barked but didn't move. It was as if they were being controlled, Perdue thought. The officers slowly retreated to their car to hand over the wire to Animal Control.
    
  Purdue quickly pulled his sister toward the wall so she could find a stable footing, and he gestured for her to remain silent, placing his index finger to her lips. Once she had her footing, she dared to look down. Her heart pounded at the height and the sight of police officers crossing the street.
    
  "Let"s get moving!" Perdue whispered.
    
  Nina was furious.
    
  "I heard gunshots! Can someone just tell me what the hell is going on?" she shrieked.
    
  "Nina, we're fine. Just a minor setback. Now, please, let us do this," Perdue explained.
    
  Sam immediately realized that the animals had disappeared without a trace.
    
  He couldn't tell them not to talk on the comms in case the gang of juvenile delinquents heard them, nor could he talk to Nina. None of the three had cell phones with them to prevent signal interference, so he couldn't tell Nina he was okay.
    
  "Oh, now I"m in deep shit," he sighed, watching as the two climbers reached the ridge of the neighboring rooftops.
    
    
  Chapter 21
    
    
  "Anything else before I go, Dr. Gould?" the night hostess asked from the other side of the door. Her calm tone contrasted sharply with the captivating radio show Nina was listening to, and it sent Nina into a different state of mind.
    
  "No, thank you, that"s all," she shouted back, trying to sound as non-hysterical as possible.
    
  "When Mr. Purdue returns, please tell him that Miss Maisie left a telephone message. She asked me to tell him that she fed the dog," the plump servant requested.
    
  "Um... Yes, I will. Good night!" Nina pretended to be cheerful and bit her nails.
    
  As if he'd give a damn about someone feeding a dog after what just happened in town. Idiot, Nina growled in her mind.
    
  She hadn't heard anything from Sam since he'd shouted about the watch, but she didn't dare interrupt the other two when they were already using every sense they had to keep from falling. Nina was furious that she hadn't been able to warn them about the police, but it wasn't her fault. There had been no radio message directing them to the church, and their accidental appearance there wasn't her fault. But of course, Agatha was going to give her the sermon of her life about it.
    
  "Screw this," Nina decided, walking over to a chair to grab her windbreaker. From the cookie jar in the lobby, she grabbed the keys to the E-type Jag in the garage belonging to Peter, the landlord who was hosting the Purdue party. Abandoning her post, she locked the house and drove to the cathedral to provide further assistance.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  At the top of the ridge, Agatha held onto the sloping sides of the roof as she traversed it on all fours. Perdue was slightly ahead of her, heading toward the tower where the Angelus Bell and its companions hung in silence. Weighing nearly a ton, the bell was unlikely to budge due to the turbulent winds that quickly and erratically changed direction, stymied by the complex architecture of the monumental church. Both of them were completely exhausted, despite being in good shape, due to the failure of their ascent and the adrenaline rush of being nearly discovered... or shot.
    
  Like gliding shadows, they both slipped into the tower, grateful for the stable floor beneath them and the brief safety of the small tower's dome and columns.
    
  Purdue unzipped his pants and pulled out a telescope. It had a button that linked the coordinates he'd previously recorded to the GPS on Nina's screen. But she had to activate the GPS herself to confirm that the bell marked the exact spot where the book was hidden.
    
  "Nina, I'm sending GPS coordinates to contact yours," Perdue said into his communicator. There was no response. He tried contacting Nina again, but there was no response.
    
  "So what now? I told you she wasn't smart enough for this kind of excursion, David," Agatha grumbled under her breath as she waited.
    
  "She's not doing that. She's not an idiot, Agatha. Something's wrong, or she would have responded, and you know it," Perdue insisted, while inside he feared something had happened to his beautiful Nina. He tried using the telescope's keen observation to manually pinpoint the object's location.
    
  "We don"t have time to mourn the problems we face, so let"s just get on with it, okay?" he said to Agatha.
    
  "Old school?" Agatha asked.
    
  "Old school," he smiled, turning on his laser to cut where the texture differentiation anomaly was visible in his scope. "Let's get this kid and get the hell out of here."
    
  Before Perdue and his sister could set off, Animal Control arrived downstairs to assist the police in their search for stray dogs. Unaware of this new development, Perdue successfully retrieved the rectangular iron safe from the lid, where it had been placed prior to the metal casting.
    
  "Quite clever, huh?" Agatha remarked, tilting her head to the side as she processed the engineering data that must have been used in the original casting. "Whoever oversaw the creation of this firecracker had connections to Klaus Werner."
    
  "Or it was Klaus Werner," Perdue added, putting the welded box in his backpack.
    
  "The bell is several centuries old, but it's been replaced several times over the past few decades," he said, running his hand over the new casting. "It could easily have been made right after World War I, when Adenauer was mayor."
    
  "David, when you're done cooing over the bell..." his sister said casually, pointing down to the street. Below, several officials were milling about, looking for dogs.
    
  "Oh, no," Purdue sighed. "I lost contact with Nina, and Sam's device shut down shortly after we started climbing. I hope he had nothing to do with that business down there."
    
  Perdue and Agatha had to sit out the chaos outside until it died down. They hoped it would happen before dawn, but for now they sat back and waited.
    
  Nina headed toward the cathedral. She drove as quickly as she could without attracting attention, but her composure was steadily eroding, evidently due to concern for others. As she turned left off Tunisstrasse, she kept her eyes fixed on the tall spires marking the Gothic church, hoping she'd still find Sam, Purdue, and Agatha there. At Domkloster, where the cathedral stood, she slowed considerably, letting the engine churn to a mere hum. The movement at the cathedral's base startled her, and she quickly slammed on the brakes and turned off the headlights. Agatha's rental car was nowhere to be seen, naturally because they couldn't have guessed they were there. The librarian had parked it a few blocks away from where they'd set out on foot toward the cathedral.
    
  Nina watched as the uniformed strangers combed the area, searching for something or someone.
    
  "Come on, Sam. Where are you?" she asked quietly in the quiet of the car. The scent of genuine leather filled the car, and she wondered if the owner was going to check the mileage when he returned. After a patient fifteen minutes, a group of officers and dogcatchers declared the night over, and she watched as the four cars and the van pulled away one after another, heading in different directions, wherever their shift had sent them that night.
    
  It was almost 5 a.m., and Nina was exhausted. She could only imagine how her friends were feeling right now. The very thought of what might have happened to them terrified her. What were the police doing here? What were they looking for? She dreaded the sinister images her mind conjured up-of Agatha or Purdue falling to their deaths while she was in the bathroom, right after they told her to shut up; of the police being there to restore order and arrest Sam, and so on. Each alternative was worse than the last.
    
  Someone's hand hit the window, and Nina's heart stopped.
    
  "Jesus Christ! Sam! I would fucking kill you if I wasn't so relieved to see you alive!" she cried, clutching her chest.
    
  "Are they all gone?" he asked, shivering violently from the cold.
    
  "Yes, sit down," she said.
    
  "Perdue and Agatha are still up there, still trapped by those idiots down there. God, I hope they haven't frozen to death. It's been a while," he said.
    
  "Where is your communication device?" she asked. "I heard you shouting about it."
    
  "I was attacked," he said bluntly.
    
  "Again? Are you a punch magnet or something?" she asked.
    
  "It's a long story. You would have done it too, so shut up," he breathed, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.
    
  "How will they know we"re here?" Nina thought out loud as she slowly turned the car to the left and idled it carefully toward the swaying black cathedral.
    
  "They won"t. We just need to wait until we see them," Sam suggested. He leaned forward to peer through the windshield. "Go to the southeast side, Nina. That"s where they ascended. They"re probably..."
    
  "They"re coming down," Nina interjected, looking up and pointing to where two figures were suspended by invisible threads and gradually sliding down.
    
  "Oh, thank God they're okay," she sighed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Sam came out and gestured for them to sit.
    
  Perdue and Agatha jumped into the back seat.
    
  "While I'm not too partial to profanity, I'd just like to ask what the hell happened there?" Agatha screamed.
    
  "Look, it's not our fault the police showed up!" Sam yelled back, scowling at her in the rearview mirror.
    
  "Purdue, where is the rental car parked?" Nina asked as Sam and Agatha got to work.
    
  Perdue gave her directions and she drove slowly through the blocks while the argument continued inside the car.
    
  "Okay, Sam, you did leave us there without telling us you were checking on the girl. You just left," Perdue countered.
    
  "I've been suspended from communication by five or six fucking perverted Germans, if you don't mind!" Sam roared.
    
  "Sam," Nina insisted, "leave it. You'll never hear the end of it."
    
  "Of course not, Doctor Gould!" Agatha barked, now directing her anger at the wrong target. "You simply abandoned the base and cut off contact with us."
    
  "Oh, I thought I wasn't allowed a damn look at that lump, Agatha. What, you wanted me to send smoke signals? Besides, there was nothing about the area on police channels, so save your accusations for someone else!" the hot-tempered historian retorted. "The only answer you two gave was that I should remain silent. And you're supposed to be a genius, but that's base logic, my dear!"
    
  Nina was so angry that she almost drove past the rental car that Perdue and Agatha were supposed to drive back in.
    
  "I"ll drive the Jaguar back, Nina," Sam offered, and they got out of the car to switch places.
    
  "Remind me never to trust you with my life again," Agatha said to Sam.
    
  "I was supposed to just watch while a bunch of thugs murdered a young girl? You may be a cold, uncaring bitch, but I intervene when someone is in danger, Agatha!" Sam hissed.
    
  "No, you are reckless, Mr. Cleve! Your selfish ruthlessness has undoubtedly killed your fiancé!" she shrieked.
    
  Silence instantly fell over the four of them. Agatha's hurtful words struck Sam like a spear to the heart, and Perdue felt his heart skip a beat. Sam was stunned. At the moment, there was nothing but numbness in him, except for his chest, where it ached intensely. Agatha knew what she had done, but she knew it was too late to undo it. Before she could try, Nina delivered a crushing punch to her jaw, sending her tall body flying sideways with such force that she landed on her knees.
    
  "Nina!" Sam cried and went to hold her.
    
  Perdue helped his sister up but did not stand by her side.
    
  "Come on, let's go back to the house. There's still a lot to do tomorrow. Let's all cool off and get some rest," he said calmly.
    
  Nina was shaking violently, drool moistening the corners of her mouth as Sam held her injured hand in his. As he passed, Perdue patted Sam's hand reassuringly. He felt genuine pity for the journalist, who several years ago had seen the love of his life shot in the face right before his eyes.
    
  "Sam..."
    
  "No, please, Nina. Don't," he said. His glassy eyes stared languidly ahead, but he wasn't looking at the road. Finally, someone had said it. What he'd been thinking all these years, the guilt everyone had absolved him of out of pity, was a lie. After all, he was the cause of Trish's death. All he needed was for someone to say it.
    
    
  Chapter 22
    
    
  After a few awkward minutes between their return to the house and their 6:30 AM bedtime, the sleep schedule was slightly altered. Nina slept on the couch to avoid Agatha. Perdue and Sam barely exchanged a word before the lights went out.
    
  It was a very hard night for all of them, but they knew they would have to kiss and make up if they were ever going to get the job done finding the supposed treasure.
    
  In fact, on the way home in a rented car, Agatha offered to take the safe containing the diary and deliver it to her client. After all, that was why she'd hired Nina and Sam to help her, and now that she had what she was looking for, she wanted to drop everything and run away. But her brother eventually convinced her otherwise and, in turn, suggested she stay until morning and see how things unfolded. Purdue wasn't one to give up on a mystery, and the unfinished poem had simply piqued his inexorable curiosity.
    
  Just in case, Purdue kept the box with him, locking it in his steel satchel-essentially a portable safe-until morning. That way, he could keep Agatha here and prevent Nina or Sam from making off with it. He doubted Sam would care. Ever since Agatha uttered that withering insult to Trish, Sam had reverted to a dark, melancholy mood, refusing to talk to anyone. When they returned home, he showered and then went straight to bed without saying goodnight, not even looking at Purdue when he entered the room.
    
  Even the lighthearted bullying that Sam usually couldn't resist joining in couldn't spur him into action.
    
  Nina wanted to talk to Sam. She knew that sex wouldn't fix Trish's latest breakdown this time. In fact, the very thought of him still clinging to Trish like this only further convinced her that she meant nothing to him compared to his late fiancée. This was strange, however, because in recent years he'd been taking the whole horrific thing in stride. His therapist was pleased with his progress, Sam himself admitted that he no longer felt pain when he thought about Trish, and it was clear he'd finally found some closure. Nina was certain they had a future together, if they wanted it, even through all the hell they'd been through together.
    
  But now, completely unexpectedly, Sam was writing detailed articles about Trish and his life with her. Page after page described the culmination of circumstances and events that led to their shared fateful arms smuggling incident, which changed his life forever. Nina couldn't imagine where it all came from, and she wondered what had caused this scab to form on Sam.
    
  With her emotional confusion, some remorse for deceiving Agatha, and more confusion caused by Purdue's mind games regarding her love for Sam, Nina finally just gave in to her puzzle and let the rapture of sleep take her.
    
  Agatha stayed up later than everyone else, rubbing her throbbing jaw and aching cheek. She never would have thought someone as small as Dr. Gould could land such a blow, but she had to admit, the little historian wasn't the type to be pushed into physical action. Agatha enjoyed dabbling in close-quarters martial arts for fun, but she never expected that blow to land. It only proved how much Sam Cleve meant to Nina, no matter how much she tried to downplay it. The tall blonde went down to the kitchen to get more ice for her swollen face.
    
  As she entered the dark kitchen, the taller male figure stood in the dim light from the refrigerator lamp, which fell vertically onto his chiseled stomach and chest from the slightly open door.
    
  Sam looked up at the shadow that entered the doorway.
    
  Both immediately froze in awkward silence, simply staring at each other in surprise, but neither could tear their gaze away. They both knew there was a reason they had arrived at the same place at the same time while the others were absent. Corrections had to be made.
    
  "Listen, Mr. Cleve," Agatha began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I deeply regret hitting below the belt. And it's not because of the corporal punishment I received for it."
    
  "Agatha," he sighed, raising his hand to stop her.
    
  "No, really. I have no idea why I said that! I absolutely don't believe it's even true!" she pleaded.
    
  "Look, I know we were both furious. You almost died, a bunch of German idiots beat the crap out of me, we were all almost arrested... I get it. We were all just wound up," he explained. "We're not going to get this secret out if we're separated, okay?"
    
  "You"re right. Still, I feel like a piece of shit for telling you this, simply because I know it"s a sore spot for you. I wanted to hurt you, Sam. I did. It"s unforgivable," she lamented. It was uncharacteristic of Agatha Purdue to show remorse or even explain her erratic actions. For Sam, it was a sign she was sincere, and yet he still couldn"t forgive himself for Trish"s death. Oddly enough, he"d been happy for the past three years-truly happy. Deep down, he"d thought he"d closed that door forever, but perhaps precisely because he was busy writing his memoirs for a London publisher, the old wounds still had the power to weigh on him.
    
  Agatha approached Sam. He noticed how attractive she actually was, if she didn't bear such an uncanny resemblance to Purdue-for him, it was just the right amount of cock-blocking. She brushed past him, and he braced himself for unwanted intimacy when she reached past him to pick up a tub of rum-raisin ice cream.
    
  It's a good thing I didn't do anything stupid, he thought sheepishly.
    
  Agatha looked him straight in the eye, as if she knew what he was thinking, and stepped back to press the frozen container to her bruised wounds. Sam chuckled and reached for the bottle of lager in the refrigerator door. As he closed the door, turning off the light to plunge the kitchen into darkness, a figure appeared in the doorway, a silhouette visible only in the dining room light. Agatha and Sam were surprised to see Nina standing there, trying to discern who had been in the kitchen.
    
  "Sam?" she asked into the darkness ahead.
    
  "Yes, girl," Sam replied, opening the refrigerator again so she could see him sitting at the table with Agatha. He was ready to intervene in the impending chick fight, but nothing happened. Nina simply walked up to Agatha, pointing to the ice cream tub without saying a word. Agatha handed Nina a container of cold water, and Nina sat down, pressing her skinned knuckles to the pleasantly soothing ice container.
    
  "Ahh," she moaned, her eyes rolling back into their sockets. Nina Gould had no intention of apologizing, Agatha knew that, and that was fine. She'd earned this influence from Nina, and somehow it felt far more reparative for her guilt than Sam's graceful forgiveness.
    
  "So," Nina said, "does anyone have a cigarette?"
    
    
  Chapter 23
    
    
  "Perdue, I forgot to tell you. The housekeeper, Maisie, called last night and asked me to let you know she fed the dog," Nina said to Perdue as they placed the safe on the steel table in the garage. "Is that a code for something? Because I don't see the point of calling an international number to report something so trivial."
    
  Perdue just smiled and nodded.
    
  "He has codes for everything. My God, you should hear his favorite comparisons to retrieving relics from the Dublin Archaeological Museum or altering the composition of active toxins..." Agatha gossiped loudly until her brother interrupted.
    
  "Agatha, could you please keep this to yourself? At least until I can break into this impenetrable case without damaging what's inside."
    
  "Why don"t you use a blowtorch?" Sam asked from the door as he walked into the garage.
    
  "Peter has nothing but the most basic tools," Perdue said, carefully examining the steel box from every angle to determine if there was some kind of trick, perhaps a hidden compartment or a pinpoint method of opening the safe. Roughly the size of a thick ledger, it had no seams, no visible lid, or lock; in fact, it was a mystery how the journal had even gotten inside such a clever device. Even Perdue, familiar with advanced storage and transportation systems, was baffled by the design. Still, it was just steel, not some other impenetrable metal invented by scientists.
    
  "Sam, my gym bag is over there... Bring me the telescope, please," Perdue asked.
    
  When he activated the IR function, he was able to inspect the inside of the compartment. A smaller rectangle inside confirmed the magazine's size, and Perdue used the device to mark each measurement point on the scope so that the laser function would remain within those parameters when he used it to cut the side of the box.
    
  At the red setting, the laser, invisible except for the red dot on its physical mark, cuts along the marked dimensions with impeccable precision.
    
  "Don't damage the book, David," Agatha warned from behind him. Purdue clicked his tongue in irritation at her unnecessary advice.
    
  A thin stream of smoke moved from one side to the other, then down, repeating its path in the molten steel, until a perfect four-sided rectangle was cut out on the flat side of the box.
    
  "Now just wait for it to cool a little so we can lift the other side," Perdue remarked as the others gathered, leaning over the table to get a better view of what was about to be revealed.
    
  "I must admit, the book is bigger than I expected. I imagined it was just a notebook-type thing," Agatha said. "But I believe it's a real ledger."
    
  "I just want to see the papyrus it's apparently on," Nina commented. As a historian, she considered such antiquities almost sacred.
    
  Sam kept his camera ready to record the book's size and condition, as well as the script inside. Purdue opened the split cover and found, instead of a book, a tanned leather-bound bag.
    
  "What the hell is this?" Sam asked.
    
  "It"s a code," Nina exclaimed.
    
  "A codex?" Agatha repeated, fascinated. "In the library archives where I worked for eleven years, I constantly consulted them to reference the old scribes. Who would have thought a German soldier would use a codex to record his daily activities?"
    
  "This is quite remarkable," Nina said reverently, as Agatha delicately removed it from the tomb with gloved hands. She was well versed in handling ancient documents and books and knew the fragility of each type. Sam took photographs of the diary. It was as extraordinary as the legend had predicted.
    
  The front and back covers were made of cork oak, the flat panels smoothed and treated with wax. Using a red-hot iron rod or similar tool, the wood was burned to inscribe the name Claude Ernaux. This particular copyist, perhaps Ernaux himself, was not at all skilled in pyrography, as in several places, charred spots were visible where excessive pressure or heat had been applied.
    
  Between them, a stack of papyrus sheets formed the codex's contents. On the left, it lacked a spine like modern books, instead featuring a row of strings. Each string was threaded through drilled holes in the side of the wooden panel and passed through the papyrus, much of which had been torn from wear and age. Nevertheless, the book retained its pages in most places, and very few sheets had been completely torn out.
    
  "This is such a moment," Nina marveled as Agatha allowed her to touch the material with her bare fingers to fully appreciate its texture and age. "To think these pages were made by hands from the same era as Alexander the Great. I bet they also survived Caesar's siege of Alexandria, not to mention the transformation from scroll to book."
    
  "History nerd," Sam teased dryly.
    
  "Okay, now that we've admired that and relished its ancient charm, we could probably move on to the poem and the rest of the jackpot clues," Perdue said. "This book might stand the test of time, but I doubt we will, so... there's no time like the present."
    
  In Sam and Perdue's rooms, the four gathered to find the page Agatha had photographed, so that Nina could hopefully translate the missing words from the poem's lines. Each page was scrawled in French by someone with terrible handwriting, but Sam nonetheless captured each page and saved it all on his memory card. When they finally found the page, more than two hours later, the four researchers were delighted to see that the complete poem was still there. Eager to fill in the gaps, Agatha and Nina set about writing it all down before attempting to interpret its meaning.
    
  "So," Nina smiled with satisfaction, folding her hands on the table, "I translated the missing words, and now we have the complete part."
    
    
  "New for people
    
  Not in the ground at 680 twelve
    
  The still growing signpost of God contains two trinities
    
  And the clapping Angels hide the Secret of Erno
    
  And to the very hands that hold this
    
  This remains invisible even to one who dedicates his rebirth to Henry I.
    
  Where the gods send fire, where prayers were offered
    
    
  "The mystery of 'Erno'... um, Erno is the diarist, a French writer," Sam said.
    
  "Yes, the old soldier himself. Now that he has a name, he's less of a myth, isn't he?" Perdue added, looking no less than intrigued by the outcome of what had previously been intangible and risky.
    
  "Obviously, his secret is the treasure he told us about so long ago," Nina smiled.
    
  "So wherever the treasure is, the people there don't know about it?" Sam asked, blinking rapidly, as he always did when trying to untangle a crow's nest of possibilities.
    
  "Correct. And that applies to Henry I. What was Henry I famous for?" Agatha mused aloud, tapping her pen against her chin.
    
  "Henry I was the first king of Germany," Nina explained, "in the Middle Ages. So perhaps we're looking for his birthplace? Or perhaps his place of power?"
    
  "No, wait. That's not all," Perdue interjected.
    
  "For example, what?" Nina asked.
    
  "Semantics," he replied instantly, touching the skin beneath the bottom frame of his glasses. "That line talks about 'one who dedicates his rebirth to Henry,' so it has nothing to do with the actual king, but with someone who was his descendant or somehow compared themselves to Henry I."
    
  "Oh my God, Perdue! You"re right!" Nina exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder approvingly. "Of course! His descendants are long gone, except perhaps a distant line that was completely irrelevant during Werner"s time, during the First and Second World Wars. Remember, he was the city planner of Cologne during the Second World War. That"s important."
    
  "Good. Mesmerizing. Why?" Agatha leaned in with her usual sobering reality check.
    
  "Because the only thing Heinrich I had in common with the Second World War was a man who considered himself the reincarnation of the first king - Heinrich Himmler!" Nina almost screamed in her unbridled excitement.
    
  "Another Nazi asshole popped up. Why am I not surprised?" Sam sighed. "Himmler was a big dog. This should be easy to deal with. He didn't know he had this treasure, even though he had it in his hands, or anything like that."
    
  "Yeah, that"s basically what I get from that interpretation too," Perdue agreed.
    
  "So where could he have kept something he didn"t know he had?" Agatha frowned. "His house?"
    
  "Yes," Nina chuckled. Her excitement was hard to ignore. "And where did Himmler live during the time of Klaus Werner, Cologne's city planner?"
    
  Sam and Agatha shrugged.
    
  "Sir Herte Herren and Dame," Nina announced dramatically, hoping her German was accurate in this instance, "Wewelsburg Castle!"
    
  Sam smiled at her bright statement. Agatha simply nodded and took another cookie, while Perdue clapped his hands impatiently and rubbed them together.
    
  "I take it you're still not refusing, Dr. Gould?" Agatha asked out of the blue. Purdue and Sam also looked at her curiously and waited.
    
  Nina couldn't deny that she was fascinated by the codex and the information it contained, which inspired her to continue searching for something that could be profound. Previously, she'd thought she'd be smart this time, not chasing wild geese anymore, but now that she'd seen another historical miracle unfold, how could she not follow it? Wasn't it worth the risk to be part of something great?
    
  Nina smiled, casting aside any doubts she had about what the code might hold. "I'm in. God help me. I'm in."
    
    
  Chapter 24
    
    
  Two days later, Agatha arranged with her client to deliver the codex, which was what she had been hired to do. Nina was sad to part with such a valuable fragment of ancient history. Although she specialized in German history, primarily concerning World War II, she had a great passion for all history, especially for eras so dark and distant from the Old World that almost no authentic relics or accounts of them remained.
    
  Much of what was written about truly ancient history has been destroyed over time, desecrated and obliterated by humanity's quest for dominance over entire continents and civilizations. War and displacement have led to precious stories and relics from forgotten times becoming myths and controversies. Here was an object that truly existed, in a time when gods and monsters were rumored to walk the earth, when kings breathed fire, and heroines ruled entire nations with the mere word of God.
    
  Her graceful hand gently caressed the precious artifact. The marks on her knuckles were beginning to heal, and there was a strange nostalgia in her demeanor, as if the past week had been but a hazy dream in which she had been privileged to encounter something deeply mysterious and magical. The Tiwaz rune tattoo on her arm protruded slightly from beneath her sleeve, and she recalled another such occasion, when she had plunged headlong into the world of Norse mythology and its alluring present-day reality. Not since then had she experienced such a stunning sense of wonder at the buried truths of the world, now reduced to a laughable theory.
    
  And yet here it was, visible, tangible, and very real. Who could say that other words, lost in myth, weren't trustworthy? Though Sam had photographed every page and captured the old book's beauty with professional efficiency, she mourned its inevitable disappearance. Even though Purdue had offered to translate the entire diary page by page so she could read it, it wasn't the same. Words weren't enough. She couldn't use words to lay her hands on the imprints of ancient civilizations.
    
  "My God, Nina, are you obsessed with this thing?" Sam joked, entering the room with Agatha in tow. "Should I call the old priest and the young priest?"
    
  "Oh, leave her alone, Mr. Cleve. There are few people left in this world who appreciate the true power of the past. Dr. Gould, I've transferred your fee," Agatha Purdue informed her. She held a special leather carrying case for the book; it latched at the top with a lock similar to Nina's old school bag when she was fourteen.
    
  "Thank you, Agatha," Nina said kindly. "I hope your client appreciates it just as much."
    
  "Oh, I'm sure he appreciates all the trouble we went through to get the book back. However, please refrain from publishing any photos or information," Agatha asked Sam and Nina, "or telling anyone that I've authorized you to access its contents." They nodded in agreement. After all, if they had to reveal what their book was leading to, there was no need to reveal its existence.
    
  "Where is David?" she asked, packing her bags.
    
  "With Peter in his office in the other building," Sam replied, helping Agatha with the bag of climbing gear.
    
  "Okay, tell him I said goodbye, okay?" she said to no one in particular.
    
  What a strange family, Nina thought to herself, watching Agatha and Sam disappear down the stairs to the front door. The twins haven't seen each other in ages, and this is how they part. Damn, I thought I was a cold sibling, but these two just... must be about money. Money makes people stupid and mean.
    
  "I thought Agatha was coming with us," Nina called from the balustrade above Purdy as she and Peter headed into the lobby.
    
  Perdue looked up. Peter patted his hand and waved goodbye to Nina.
    
  "Wiedersehen, Peter," she smiled.
    
  "I assume my sister left?" Perdue asked, skipping the first few steps to join her.
    
  "Just now, actually. I guess you two aren"t close," she remarked. "She couldn"t wait for you to come say goodbye?"
    
  "You know her," he said, his voice a little hoarse, a hint of lingering bitterness. "Not very affectionate, even on a good day." He looked intently at Nina, and his eyes softened. "On the other hand, I'm very attached, considering the clan I come from."
    
  "Of course, if you weren't such a manipulative bastard," she cut him off. Her words weren't overly harsh, but they conveyed her honest opinion of her former lover. "Looks like you're fitting in with your clan just fine, old man."
    
  "Are we ready to go?" Sam"s voice from the front door broke the tension.
    
  "Yes. Yes, we're ready to begin. I've asked Peter to arrange transportation to Buren, and from there we'll take a tour of the castle to see if we can find any meaning in the journal's wording," Purdue said. "We must hurry, children. There's much evil to be done!"
    
  Sam and Nina watched as he disappeared down the side corridor that led to the office where he had left his luggage.
    
  "Can you believe he's still not tired of scouring the world for that elusive prize?" Nina asked. "I wonder if he knows what he's looking for in life, because he's obsessed with finding treasure, and yet it's never enough."
    
  Sam, just inches behind her, gently stroked her hair. "I know what he's looking for. But I'm afraid that elusive reward will still be his death."
    
  Nina turned to look at Sam. His expression was filled with sweet sadness as he removed his hand from hers, but Nina quickly caught it and squeezed his wrist tightly. She took his hand in hers and sighed.
    
  "Oh, Sam."
    
  "Yes?" he asked as she played with his fingers.
    
  "I'd like you to break free from your obsession too. There's no future there. Sometimes, no matter how painful it is to admit you've lost, you have to move on," Nina gently advised him, hoping he'd heed her advice about his self-imposed shackles on Trish.
    
  She looked genuinely distressed, and his heart ached as he heard her speak of what he'd feared she'd been feeling all along. Ever since her obvious attraction to Bern, she'd been distant, and with Perdue's return to the scene, her distance from Sam was inevitable. He wished he could go deaf to spare him the pain of her confession. But that was what he knew. He'd lost Nina once and for all.
    
  She stroked Sam's cheek with a graceful hand, a touch he loved so much. But her words cut him to the core.
    
  "You must let her go, or this elusive dream of yours will lead you to death."
    
  No! You can't do this! His mind screamed, but his voice remained silent. Sam felt lost in the finality of it, immersed in the terrible feeling it evoked. He had to say something.
    
  "Right! All set!" Perdue broke the moment of suspended emotion. "We have little time to get to the castle before it closes for the day."
    
  Nina and Sam followed him with their luggage without another word. The drive to Wewelsburg seemed to drag on forever. Sam excused himself and settled into the backseat, plugging in his headphones, listening to music, and pretending to doze. But in his mind, all the events were jumbled. He wondered how it was that Nina had decided not to be with him, because, as far as he knew, he had done nothing to push her away. Eventually, he actually fell asleep to the music and blissfully abandoned worrying about things beyond his control.
    
  They drove most of the way along the E331 at a comfortable speed, intending to visit the castle during the day. Nina took the time to study the rest of the poem. They reached the last line: "Where the gods send fire, where prayers are offered."
    
  Nina frowned, "I believe the location is Wewelsburg, the last line should tell us where in the castle to look."
    
  "Perhaps. I must admit, I have no idea where to begin. It"s a magnificent place... and enormous," Perdue replied. "And with Nazi-era documents, you and I both know the level of deception they could achieve, and I think that"s a little frightening. On the other hand, we could be intimidated, or we could see this as another challenge. After all, we"ve defeated some of their most secret networks before; who"s to say we can"t do it this time?"
    
  "I wish I believed in us as much as you do, Perdue," Nina sighed, running her hands through her hair.
    
  Lately, she'd felt the urge to simply walk up to him and ask him where Renata had been and what he'd done with her after they'd escaped from the car crash in Belgium. She needed to know-and quickly. Nina needed to save Alexander and his friends at any cost, even if it meant jumping back into bed with Purdue-by any means necessary-to get the information.
    
  As they talked, Perdue's eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror, but he didn't slow down. A few minutes later, they decided to stop in Soest for lunch. The picturesque town beckoned them from the main road with its church spires rising above the rooftops and clumps of trees drooping their heavy branches into the pond and rivers below. Tranquility was always a welcome guest for them, and Sam would have been thrilled to learn they could eat there.
    
  Throughout the dinner outside the quaint cafe's on the town square, Perdue seemed distant, even a little uneven in his demeanor, but Nina chalked it up to his sister leaving so abruptly.
    
  Sam insisted on trying something local, choosing pumpernickel and Zwiebelbier, as suggested by a very cheerful group of Greek tourists who were having trouble walking in a straight line at this early time of day.
    
  And that's what convinced Sam it was his drink. Overall, the conversation was lighthearted, mostly about the beauty of the city, with a bit of healthy criticism directed at passersby who wore jeans that were too tight or those who didn't consider personal hygiene essential.
    
  "I think we should go, people," Purdue groaned, rising from the table, which by now was littered with used napkins and empty plates strewn with the remains of what had been a marvelous feast. "Sam, you probably don't have that camera of yours in your bag, do you?"
    
  "Yes".
    
  "I"d like to take a picture of that Romanesque church over there," Perdue asked, pointing to an old, cream-colored building with a Gothic flair that wasn"t half as impressive as Cologne Cathedral, but still worthy of a high-resolution shot.
    
  "Of course, sir," Sam smiled. He zoomed in to cover the entire height of the church, ensuring the lighting and filtering were just right to reveal every fine architectural detail.
    
  "Thank you," Perdue said, rubbing his hands. "Now, let"s go."
    
  Nina watched him closely. He was his usual pompous self, but there was something wary about him. He seemed a little nervous, or perhaps troubled by something he didn't want to share.
    
  Purdue and his secrets. You always have a card up your sleeve, don't you? Nina thought as they approached their vehicle.
    
  What she didn't notice were two young punks following in their footsteps at a safe distance, pretending to take in the sights. They had been keeping tabs on Purdue, Sam, and Nina since they left Cologne almost two and a half hours earlier.
    
    
  Chapter 25
    
    
  The Erasmus Bridge stretched its swan-like neck toward the clear sky above as Agatha's driver crossed the bridge. She had barely made it to Rotterdam on time due to a flight delay in Bonn, but was now crossing the Erasmus Bridge, affectionately known as De Zwaan for the curved white pylon that holds it in place, reinforced with cables.
    
  She couldn't be late, or it would have been the end of her career as a consultant. What she'd omitted from her conversations with her brother was that her client was a certain Joost Bloem, a world-renowned collector of obscure artifacts. It wasn't by chance that the descendant had discovered them in his grandmother's attic. The photograph was among the notes of a recently deceased antiques dealer who, unfortunately, had been on the wrong side of Agatha's client, the Dutch council representative.
    
  She was well aware that she was indirectly working for the very same high-ranking Black Sun council that intervened when the order was in trouble. They also knew who she was allied with, but for some reason, both sides maintained a neutral approach. Agatha Perdue distanced herself and her career from her brother and assured the council that they were in no way connected except in name, which is the most regrettable trait about her résumé.
    
  What they didn't know, however, was that Agatha had hired the very men they were pursuing in Bruges to acquire the object they sought. It was, in a way, her gift to her brother, to give him and his colleagues a head start before Bloom's men deciphered the fragment and followed their trail to find what lay hidden in the depths of Wewelsburg. Otherwise, she cared only for herself, and she did it very well.
    
  Her driver directed the Audi RS5 to the Piet Zwart Institute parking lot, where she was to meet Mr. Bloom and his assistants.
    
  "Thank you," she said sullenly, handing the driver a few euros for his trouble. His passenger looked sullen, though she was impeccably dressed as a professional archivist and expert consultant on rare books containing secret information and historical books in general. He left just as Agatha entered the Willem de Kooning Academy, the city's premier art school, to meet her client in the administrative building where her client had an office. The tall librarian pulled her hair back into a stylish bun and strode down the wide corridor in a pencil skirt suit and heels, the complete opposite of the insipid recluse she actually was.
    
  From the last office on the left, where the curtains on the windows were drawn so that barely any light penetrated inside, she heard Bloom's voice.
    
  "Miss Purdue. As always, on time," he said cordially, extending both hands to shake hers. Mr. Bloom was extremely attractive in his early fifties, with light blond hair with a slight reddish tint that fell in long strands to his collar. Agatha was accustomed to money, coming from a ridiculously wealthy family, but she had to admit that Mr. Bloom's clothes were the height of style. If she hadn't been a lesbian, he might well have seduced her. Apparently, he thought the same, because his lustful blue eyes openly explored her curves as he greeted her.
    
  One thing she knew about the Dutch was that they were never closed off.
    
  "I trust you received our magazine?" he asked as they sat down on opposite sides of his desk.
    
  "Yes, Mr. Bloom. Right here," she replied. She carefully placed her leather case on the polished surface and opened it. Bloom's assistant, Wesley, entered the office with a briefcase. He was much younger than his boss, but just as elegant in his choice of clothes. It was a welcome sight after so many years spent in undeveloped countries where a man in socks was considered chic, Agatha thought.
    
  "Wesley, give the lady her money, please," Bloom exclaimed. Agatha thought him an odd choice for the board, as they were stately, elderly men with hardly a shred of Bloom's personality or flair for the dramatic. However, this man had a seat on the board of a renowned art school, so he was bound to be a little more colorful. She took the briefcase from young Wesley and waited while Mr. Bloom inspected his purchase.
    
  "Delightful," he breathed in awe, pulling his gloves from his pocket to touch the object. "Miss Purdue, aren"t you going to check your money?"
    
  "I trust you," she smiled, but her body language betrayed her unease. She knew that any member of Black Sun, no matter how approachable, was a dangerous individual. Someone with Bloom's reputation, someone who led the council, someone who surpassed other members of the order, had to be frighteningly angry and apathetic by nature. Not once did Agatha let this fact slip her mind in exchange for all the pleasantries.
    
  "You trust me!" he exclaimed in his thick Dutch accent, looking clearly surprised. "My dear girl, I'm the last person you should trust, especially when it comes to money."
    
  Wesley laughed along with Bloom as they exchanged mischievous glances. They made Agatha feel like a complete idiot, and naive at that, but she didn't dare act condescendingly in her way. She was already very harsh, and now she was in the presence of a new level of bastard, who made her insults to others seem weak and childish.
    
  "Is that all, then, Mr. Bloom?" she asked in a submissive tone.
    
  "Check your money, Agatha," he said suddenly in a deep, serious voice, his eyes boring into hers. She complied.
    
  Bloom leafed through the codex, searching for the page containing the photograph he'd given Agatha. Wesley stood behind him, peering over his shoulder, looking as engrossed in the writing as his teacher. Agatha checked to see if the agreed-upon payment was still in place. Bloom stared at her silently, making her feel terribly uneasy.
    
  "Is that all there?" he asked.
    
  "Yes, Mr. Bloom," she nodded, staring at him like a submissive idiot. It was that look that always made men disinterested, but she couldn't help it. Her brain went into overdrive, calculating her timing, body language, and breathing. Agatha was terrified.
    
  "Always check the file, sweetheart. You never know who's trying to screw you, right?" he warned, turning his attention back to the codex. "Now tell me, before you run off into the jungle..." he said, not looking at her, "how did you come into possession of this relic?" I mean, how did you manage to find it?
    
  His words made her blood run cold.
    
  Don't screw up, Agatha. Play dumb. Play dumb and everything will be fine, she insisted in her petrified, pulsating brain. She leaned forward, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
    
  "I was following the poem's prompts, of course," she smiled, trying to speak only as much as necessary. He waited; then shrugged. "Just like that?"
    
  "Yes, sir," she said with a feigned confidence that was quite convincing. "I just figured out it was in the Angel Bell in Cologne Cathedral. Of course, it took me quite a while to research and guess most of it before I figured it out."
    
  "Really?" he grinned. "I have it on good authority that your intellect surpasses most great minds and that you possess an uncanny ability to solve puzzles, such as codes and the like."
    
  "I'm messing around," she said bluntly. Unsure what he was hinting at, she played it straight and neutral.
    
  "You're messing around. Are you into the same things your brother is into?" he asked, looking down at the very poem Nina had translated into Turso for her.
    
  "I"m not sure I understand," she replied, her heart pounding wildly.
    
  "Your brother, David. He'd love something like this. In fact, he's known for chasing things that don't belong to him," Bloom chuckled sarcastically, stroking the poem with the tip of his gloved finger.
    
  "I've heard he's more of an explorer. On the other hand, I much prefer indoor life. I don't share his innate tendency to expose himself to danger," she replied. The mention of her brother had already led her to suspect Bloom of exploiting his resources, but he could be bluffing.
    
  "Then you are the wiser brother or sister," he declared. "But tell me, Miss Purdue, what kept you from further examining a poem that clearly says more than what old Werner snapped on his old Leica III before hiding Erno's diary?"
    
  He knew Werner, and he knew Erno. He even knew what kind of camera the German had likely used shortly before he hid the codex during the Adenauer-Himmler era. Her intellect far surpassed his, but that didn't help her here, because his knowledge was greater. For the first time in her life, Agathe found herself cornered in a battle of wits, unprepared for her own belief that she was smarter than most. Perhaps playing dumb would have been a sure sign she was hiding something.
    
  "I mean, what would stop you from doing the same thing?" he asked.
    
  "It's time," she said in a decisive tone, reminiscent of her usual confidence. If he suspected her of treachery, she felt she should admit to connivance. That would give him reason to believe she was honest and proud of her abilities, not even afraid in the presence of someone like him.
    
  Bloom and Wesley stared at the cocky rogue before bursting into boisterous laughter. Agatha was unaccustomed to people and their quirks. She had no idea whether they took her seriously or laughed at her for trying to appear fearless. Bloom bent over the codex, his devilish charm rendering her helpless before his spell.
    
  "Miss Perdue, I like you. Seriously, if you weren't a Perdue, I'd consider hiring you full-time," he chuckled. "You're one hell of a cookie, aren't you? Such a brain with such amorality... I can't help but admire you for it."
    
  Agatha chose to say nothing in response, other than a grateful nod of acknowledgment as Wesley carefully placed the codex back into its case for Bloom.
    
  Bloom stood up and straightened his suit. "Miss Perdue, I thank you for your services. You were worth every penny."
    
  They shook hands, and Agatha headed for the door Wesley held for her, briefcase in hand.
    
  "I must say the job was well done... and in record time," Bloom raved in good spirits.
    
  Although she had finished her business with Bloom, she hoped she had played her part well.
    
  "But I"m afraid I don"t trust you," he said sharply from behind her, and Wesley closed the door.
    
    
  Chapter 26
    
    
  Purdue said nothing about the car following them. First, he needed to determine whether he was being paranoid, or whether these two were simply civilians visiting Wewelsburg Castle. Now was not the time to draw attention to the three of them, especially considering they were specifically conducting reconnaissance, intending to engage in some illegal activity and find what Werner had mentioned within the castle. The building, which all three had visited previously on their own separate occasions, was too large for them to play a game of luck or guessing.
    
  Nina sat staring at the poem and suddenly turned to her mobile phone's internet, searching for something she thought might be relevant. But a few moments later, she shook her head with a frustrated grunt.
    
  "Nothing?" Perdue asked.
    
  "No. 'Where the gods send fire, where prayers are offered' makes me think of a church. Is there a chapel in Wewelsburg?" she frowned.
    
  "No, as far as I know, but I was only in the SS Generals' Hall back then. Under those circumstances, I didn't really perceive anything different," Sam recounted of one of his most dangerous covers a few years before his final visit.
    
  "No chapel, no. Not unless they've made changes recently, so where would the gods send the fire?" Perdue asked, still keeping his eyes on the approaching car behind them. The last time he'd been in a car with Nina and Sam, they'd nearly died during a chase, something he didn't want to repeat.
    
  "What is the fire of the gods?" Sam thought for a moment. Then he looked up and suggested, "Lightning! Could it be lightning? What does Wewelsburg have to do with lightning?"
    
  "Hell yeah, it could very well be fire sent by the gods, Sam. You're a godsend... sometimes," she smiled at him. Sam was taken aback by her tenderness, but he welcomed it. Nina had researched all the previous lightning incidents near the village of Wewelsburg. A beige 1978 BMW pulled up uncomfortably close to them, so close that Purdue could see the faces of the occupants. He assumed they were strange characters, likely to be used as spies or assassins by anyone who hired professionals, but perhaps their implausible image served precisely that purpose.
    
  The driver had a short Mohican haircut and heavily lined eyes, while his partner had a Hitler-style haircut with black suspenders on his shoulders. Purdue didn't recognize either of them, but they were clearly in their early twenties.
    
  "Nina. Sam. Fasten your seatbelts," Purdue ordered.
    
  "Why?" Sam asked, instinctively looking out the rear window. He was staring straight down the barrel of a Mauser, where the Fuhrer's psychotic double was laughing.
    
  "Jesus Christ, we're being shot at by Rammstein! Nina, get on your knees, on the floor. Now!" Sam screamed as the dull thud of bullets struck the body of their car. Nina curled up under the glove compartment beneath her feet, her head bowed as bullets rained down on them.
    
  "Sam! Your friends?" Perdue shouted, sinking deeper into his seat and shifting the transmission into a higher gear.
    
  "No! They look more like your friends, Nazi relic hunter! For heaven's sake, won't they ever just leave us alone?" Sam growled.
    
  Nina simply closed her eyes and hoped she wouldn't die, clutching her phone.
    
  "Sam, grab the spyglass! Press the red button twice and point it at Iroquois at the wheel," Perdue bellowed, extending a long, pen-like object between the seats.
    
  "Hey, be careful where you're pointing that damn thing!" Sam cried. He quickly placed his thumb on the red button and waited for the pause between the clicks of the bullets. Lying low, he moved directly to the edge of the seat, opposite the door, so they couldn't anticipate his position. Instantly, Sam and the telescope appeared in the corner of the rear window. He pressed the red button twice and watched as the red beam fell exactly where he pointed-on the driver's forehead.
    
  Hitler fired again, and a well-aimed bullet shattered the glass in front of Sam's face, showering him with shards. But his laser had already trained on the Mohican long enough to penetrate his skull. The intense heat of the beam seared the driver's brain within his skull, and in the rearview mirror, Purdue saw for a moment his face explode into a pulpy mess of snotty blood and bone fragments on the windshield.
    
  "Well done, Sam!" Perdue exclaimed as the BMW abruptly veered off the road and disappeared over the crest of a hill that turned into a steep cliff. Nina turned around, hearing Sam's gasps of shock turn into groans and screams.
    
  "Oh my God, Sam!" she squealed.
    
  "What happened?" Purdue asked. He perked up when he saw Sam in the mirror, clutching his face with bloody hands. "Oh, my God!"
    
  "I can't see anything! My face is on fire!" Sam screamed as Nina slid between the seats to look at him.
    
  "Let me see. Let me see!" she insisted, pushing his hands away. Nina tried not to scream in panic for Sam's sake. His face was cut with small shards of glass, some of which still protruded from his skin. All she could see in his eyes was blood.
    
  "Can you open your eyes?"
    
  "Are you crazy? Oh my God, there are shards of glass in my eyeballs!" he wailed. Sam was far from squeamish, and his pain threshold was quite high. Hearing him squeal and whine like a child, Nina and Perdue became deeply alarmed.
    
  "Take him to the hospital, Purdue!" she said.
    
  "Nina, they'll want to know what happened, and we can't afford to be exposed. I mean, Sam just killed a man," Purdue explained, but Nina didn't want to hear any of it.
    
  "David Perdue, take us to the clinic as soon as we get to Wewelsburg, or I swear to God...!" she hissed.
    
  "That would seriously undermine our goal of wasting time. You see, we're already being hounded. God knows how many more subscribers, no doubt thanks to Sam's email to his Moroccan friend," Perdue protested.
    
  "Hey, fuck you!" Sam roared into the void before him. "I never sent him the photo. I never responded to that email! That didn't come from my contacts, buddy!"
    
  Perdue was puzzled. He was convinced that this must have been how it leaked out.
    
  "Then who, Sam? Who else could have known about this?" Perdue asked as the village of Wewelsburg came into view a mile or two ahead.
    
  "Agatha's client," Nina said. "Must be. The only person who knows..."
    
  "No, her client has no idea that anyone other than my sister carried out this task alone," Nina Perdue quickly refuted the theory.
    
  Nina carefully brushed the tiny shards of glass from Sam's face, cupping his with her other hand. The warmth of her palm was the only comfort Sam could feel from the massive burns from the multiple lacerations, his bloody hands resting in his lap.
    
  "Oh, nonsense!" Nina suddenly gasped. "A graphologist! The woman who deciphered Agatha's handwriting! Holy shit! She told us her husband was a landscape designer because he used to make his living excavating."
    
  "So what?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Who makes a living from excavations, Purdue? Archaeologists. The news that the legend had actually been discovered would surely pique the interest of such a person, wouldn't it?" she hypothesized.
    
  "Excellent. A player we don't know. Just what we need," Perdue sighed, assessing the extent of Sam's injuries. He knew there was no way to provide medical attention to the injured journalist, but he had to persist or miss the chance to learn what Wevelsberg was hiding, not to mention the others catching up with the three of them. In a moment when common sense overcame the thrill of the hunt, Perdue checked for the nearest medical facility.
    
  He pulled the car deep into the driveway of a house right next to the castle, where a certain Dr. Johann Kurz practiced. They'd chosen the name by chance, but it was a happy accident that led them to the only doctor who didn't have appointments until 3:00 PM, with a quick lie. Nina told the doctor that Sam's injury was caused by a rockfall while they were driving through one of the mountain passes on their way to Wewelsburg for sightseeing. He bought it. How could he not? Nina's beauty clearly stunned the awkward, middle-aged father of three, who ran his practice from home.
    
  While they waited for Sam, Perdue and Nina sat in the temporary waiting room, a converted veranda enclosed by large open windows with screens and wind chimes. A pleasant breeze swept through the place, a much-needed bit of peace. Nina continued to test what she'd suspected about the lightning comparison.
    
  Purdue picked up a small tablet he often used to observe distances and areas, unfolding it with a flick of his fingers until the outline of Wewelsburg Castle formed on it. He stood looking out the window at the castle, apparently studying the tripartite structure with his device, tracing the lines of the towers and mathematically comparing their heights, just in case they needed to know.
    
  "Purdue," Nina whispered.
    
  He looked at her, still distant. She gestured for him to sit next to her.
    
  "Look here, in 1815, the North Tower of the castle was set on fire when it was struck by lightning, and until 1934, a rectory existed here in the south wing. I think, since it talks about the North Tower and prayers apparently taking place in the south wing, one tells us the location, the other tells us where to go. North Tower, up."
    
  "What"s at the top of the North Tower?" Perdue asked.
    
  "I know the SS planned to build another hall like the SS Generals" Hall above it, but apparently it was never built," Nina recalled from a dissertation she once wrote about the mysticism practiced by the SS and unconfirmed plans to use the tower for rituals.
    
  Perdue considered this for a minute. When Sam left the doctor's office, Perdue nodded. "Okay, I'll take a bite. This is the closest we've got to solving the mystery. The North Tower is definitely the place."
    
  Sam looked like a wounded soldier just back from Beirut. His head was bandaged to keep the antiseptic ointment on his face for the next hour. Because of the damage to his eyes, the doctor gave him drops, but he wouldn't be able to see properly for a day or so.
    
  "So, it's my turn to host," he joked. "Wielen dank, Herr Doktor," he said wearily, in the worst German accent a German native could ever muster. Nina giggled to herself, finding Sam utterly adorable; so pathetic and hunched over in his bandages. She wanted to kiss him, but not while he was obsessed with Trish, she promised herself. She left the stricken GP with a kind farewell and a handshake, and the three headed to the car. An ancient building awaited them nearby, well-preserved and brimming with terrible secrets.
    
    
  Chapter 27
    
    
  Perdue arranged hotel rooms for each of them.
    
  It was strange that he wasn't sharing a room with Sam as usual, since Nina had stripped him of all privileges in their relationship. Sam realized he wanted to be alone, but the question was why. Ever since they left the house in Cologne, Purdue had become more serious, and Sam didn't think Agatha's sudden departure had anything to do with it. Now he couldn't readily discuss it with Nina because he didn't want her to worry about something that might be nothing.
    
  Immediately after their late lunch, Sam removed the bandages. He refused to wander around the castle wrapped like a mummy and become a laughingstock to all the foreigners passing through the museum and surrounding buildings. Grateful for having his sunglasses with him, he could at least hide the hideous state of his eyes. The whites of his irises were deep pink, and the inflammation had turned his eyelids a deep maroon. Tiny cuts all over his face stood out bright red, but Nina convinced him to let her apply a little makeup over the scratches to make them less noticeable.
    
  There was just enough time to visit the castle and see if they could find what Werner had mentioned. Purdue didn't like guessing, but this time he had no choice. They were going to the SS Generals' Hall and from there they had to determine what stood out, if anything unusual had struck them at all. It was the least they could do before they were overtaken by their pursuers, who had hopefully narrowed it down to the two Rammstein clones they had disposed of. However, they had been sent by someone, and that someone would send more lackeys to take their place.
    
  As they entered the beautiful triangular fortress, Nina recalled the stonework that had been added to so many times as the buildings were demolished, rebuilt, added to, and adorned with towers throughout history, from the ninth century onward. It remained one of the most famous castles in Germany, and she was particularly fond of its history. The three headed straight for the North Tower, hoping to find that Nina's theory held some credence.
    
  Sam could barely see properly. His vision had been altered so that he could mostly see the outlines of objects, but otherwise everything was still blurry. Nina took his arm and led him, making sure he didn't trip on the countless steps of the building.
    
  "Can I borrow your camera, Sam?" Perdue asked, amused that the journalist, whose eyesight was nearly gone, chose to pretend he could still photograph the interior.
    
  "If you wish. I can't see a damn thing. There's no point in even trying," Sam lamented.
    
  As they entered the SS-Obergruppenführer Hall, the SS Generals' Hall, Nina cringed at the sight of the design painted on the grey marble floor.
    
  "I wish I could just spit on it without attracting attention," Nina chuckled.
    
  "On what?" Sam asked.
    
  "That fucking sign I hate so much," she replied as they crossed the dark green sun wheel that represented the symbol of the Order of the Black Sun.
    
  "Don't spit, Nina," Sam advised dryly. Purdue walked ahead, once again lost in a daydream. He picked up Sam's camera, tucking the telescope between his hand and the camera. Using the telescope set to IR, he scanned the walls for any hidden objects. In thermal imaging mode, he detected nothing but temperature fluctuations within the solid stonework as he scanned for heat signatures.
    
  While most visitors showed interest in the Wewelsburg memorial from 1933 to 1945, located in the former SS guardhouse in the castle courtyard, three colleagues were diligently searching for something special. They didn't know what it was, but thanks to Nina's knowledge, particularly of the Nazi era of German history, she could tell when something was out of place in what was supposed to be the spiritual center of the SS.
    
  Beneath them lay the infamous vault, or gruft, a tomb-like structure sunken into the tower's foundations and reminiscent of Mycenaean tombs with their domed vaults. At first, Nina thought the mystery might be solved by the curious drainage holes in the sunken circle beneath the zenith with the swastika on its dome, but according to Werner's notes, she needed to go up.
    
  "I can't help but think there's something out there in the dark," she told Sam.
    
  "Look, let's just climb to the highest point of the North Tower and take a look from there. What we're looking for isn't inside the castle, but outside," Sam suggested.
    
  "Why do you say that?" she asked.
    
  "As Perdue said... Semantics..." he shrugged.
    
  Perdue looked intrigued: "Tell me, my good man."
    
  Sam's eyes burned like hellfire between his eyelids, but he couldn't look at Purdue as he addressed him. Dropping his chin to his chest, overcoming the pain, he continued, "Everything in that last part refers to external things, like lightning and prayers being offered. Most theological images or old engravings depict prayers as smoke rising from the walls. I really think we're looking for an outbuilding or an agricultural section, something beyond the place where the gods cast the fire," he explained.
    
  "Well, my devices weren't able to detect any alien objects or anomalies inside the tower. I suggest we stick with Sam's theory. And we better do it quickly, because darkness is approaching," Perdue confirmed, handing Nina the camera.
    
  "Okay, let"s go," Nina agreed, slowly tugging Sam"s hand so he could move with her.
    
  "I"m not blind, you know?" he teased.
    
  "I know, but it"s a good excuse to turn you against me," Nina smiled.
    
  There it was again! Sam paused. Smiles, flirtations, gentle help. What were her plans? Then he began to wonder why she'd told him to let go, and why she'd told him there was no future. But now was hardly the time for an interview about matters of no consequence in a life where every second could be his last.
    
  From the platform atop the North Tower, Nina gazed out over the expanse of pristine beauty surrounding Wewelsburg. Aside from the quaint, orderly rows of houses lining the streets and the varied shades of green that surrounded the village, there was nothing else of significance. Sam sat with his back against the top of the outer wall, shielding his eyes from the chill wind blowing from the top of the bastion.
    
  Like Nina, Perdue saw nothing unusual.
    
  "I think we've reached the end of the road here, guys," he finally admitted. "We really tried, but this could very well be some kind of charade to confuse those who don't know what Werner knew."
    
  "Yes, I have to agree," Nina said, looking at the valley below with no small amount of disappointment. "And I didn't even want to do this. But now I feel like I've failed."
    
  "Oh, come on," Sam played along, "we all know you"re not good at feeling sorry for yourself, are you?"
    
  "Shut up, Sam," she snapped, crossing her arms so he couldn't rely on her guidance. With a confident chuckle, Sam stood up and forced himself to enjoy the view, at least until they left. He hadn't worked his way up here just to leave without a panoramic view because his eyes hurt.
    
  "We still need to figure out who those idiots were who shot at us, Purdue. I bet they had something to do with that Rachel woman in Halkirk," Nina insisted.
    
  "Nina?" Sam called from behind them.
    
  "Come on, Nina. Help the poor guy before he falls to his death," Pardue chuckled at her apparent indifference.
    
  "Nina!" Sam shouted.
    
  "Oh, Jesus, watch your blood pressure, Sam. I'm coming," she growled, rolling her eyes at Purdue.
    
  "Nina! Look!" Sam continued. He removed his sunglasses, ignoring the agony of the gusty wind and the harsh afternoon light glaring at his inflamed eyes. She and Perdue stood at his sides as he gazed out into the hinterland, repeatedly asking, "Don't you see it? Don't you?"
    
  "No," they both answered.
    
  Sam laughed maniacally and pointed with a firm hand, moving from right to left, closer to the castle walls, stopping on the far left side. "How can you not see this?"
    
  "See what?" Nina asked, slightly irritated by his insistence, still unable to figure out what he was pointing at. Perdue frowned and shrugged, looking at her.
    
  "There's a series of lines all over here," Sam said, breathless with wonder. "They could be overgrown gradients, or perhaps old concrete cascades created to provide a raised platform for building, but they clearly outline a vast network of wide, circular boundaries. Some end shortly beyond the castle's perimeter, while others disappear, as if they've dug deeper into the grass."
    
  "Wait," Perdue said. He adjusted his telescope to allow him to scan the terrain.
    
  "Your X-ray vision?" Sam asked, glancing at Purdue's figure with his damaged vision, making everything appear distorted and yellow. "Hey, point that at Nina's chest, quick!"
    
  Purdue laughed loudly, and they both looked at the rather pouty face of the disgruntled historian.
    
  "Nothing you two haven't seen before, so stop messing around," she teased confidently, eliciting a slightly boyish grin from both men. It wasn't that they were surprised that Nina would just come out and make such typically awkward remarks. She'd slept with both of them several times, so she couldn't see why it would be inappropriate.
    
  Purdue raised his telescope and began scanning where Sam had begun his imaginary boundary. At first, it seemed as if nothing had changed, except for a few underground sewer pipes adjacent to the first street beyond the boundary. Then he saw it.
    
  "Oh, my God!" he breathed. Then he began to laugh like a prospector who had just struck gold.
    
  "What! What!" Nina squealed in excitement. She ran to Purdue and stood in front of him to block the device, but he knew better and held her at arm's length while he examined the remaining points where the cluster of underground structures converged and twisted.
    
  "Listen, Nina," he finally said, "I could be wrong, but it looks like there are underground structures right below us."
    
  She grasped the telescope, delicately nonetheless, and held it to her eye. Like a faint hologram, everything underground shimmered faintly as the ultrasound emanating from the laser point created a sonogram of invisible matter. Nina's eyes widened in awe.
    
  "Well done, Mr. Cleve," Pardew congratulated Sam on the discovery of this amazing network. "And to the naked eye, no less!"
    
  "Yeah, good thing I got shot and almost went blind, huh?" Sam laughed, slapping Perdue on the arm.
    
  "Sam, this isn"t funny," Nina said from her vantage point, still combing the length and breadth of what appeared to be the leviathan necropolis dormant beneath Wewelsburg.
    
  "My shortcoming. Funny if I think so," Sam retorted, now pleased with himself for having saved the day.
    
  "Nina, you can see where they start, furthest from the castle, of course. We'd have to sneak in from a point not covered by security cameras," Perdue asked.
    
  "Wait," she muttered, following the single line that ran through the entire network. "It stops under the cistern, just inside the first courtyard. There should be a hatch we can climb down through."
    
  "Good!" Perdue exclaimed. "This is where we'll begin our speleological exploration. Let's get some sleep so we can get here before dawn. I need to know what secret Wewelsburg is keeping from the modern world."
    
  Nina nodded in agreement, "And what makes it worth killing for?"
    
    
  Chapter 28
    
    
  Miss Maisie finished the elaborate dinner she'd been preparing for the past two hours. Part of her job at the estate was to utilize her qualifications as a certified chef at every meal. With the mistress now absent, the house had a small staff of servants, but she was still expected to perform her duties fully as head housekeeper. The behavior of the current occupant of the lower house adjacent to the main residence irritated Maisie to no end, but she had to remain as professional as possible. She hated having to serve the ungrateful witch temporarily residing there, even though her employer had made it clear his guest would be staying indefinitely.
    
  The guest was a gruff woman with more than enough confidence to fill a king's boat, and her eating habits were as unusual and finicky as expected. A vegan at first, she refused to eat the veal dishes or pies that Maisie painstakingly prepared, preferring green salad and tofu instead. In all her years, the fifty-year-old cook had never encountered such a mundane and downright stupid ingredient, and she made no secret of her disapproval. To her horror, the guest she was serving reported her so-called insubordination to his employer, and Maisie quickly received a reprimand, albeit a friendly one, from the landlord.
    
  When she finally got the hang of vegan cooking, the uncouth cow she was cooking for had the nerve to tell her that veganism was no longer her desire, and that she wanted steak, rare, with basmati rice. Maisie was furious at the unnecessary inconvenience of having to spend the household budget on expensive vegan products, now wasted in storage because a picky consumer had become a carnivore. Even desserts were judged harshly, no matter how delicious they were. Maisie was one of Scotland's leading bakers and even published three of her own cookbooks on desserts and jams in her forties, so having her guest reject her best work sent her mentally reaching for spice bottles containing more toxic substances.
    
  Her guest was an imposing woman, a friend of the landlord, according to what she'd been told, but she'd been given specific instructions not to allow Miss Mirela to leave the residence provided to her at any cost. Maisie knew the condescending young woman wasn't there by choice and that she was embroiled in a global political mystery, the ambiguity of which was necessary to prevent the world from descending into some sort of catastrophe, most recently caused by World War II. The housekeeper tolerated her guest's verbal abuse and youthful cruelty only to please her employer, but otherwise she would have quickly dealt with the wayward woman in her care.
    
  It had been almost three months since she had been brought to Thurso.
    
  Maisie was accustomed to not questioning her employer because she adored him, and he always had a good reason for any odd requests he made of her. She had worked for Dave Perdue for most of the past two decades, holding various positions at his three estates, until she was given this responsibility. Every evening, after Miss Mirela had cleared the dinner dishes and set up security perimeters, Maisie was instructed to call her employer and leave a message informing him that the dog had been fed.
    
  She never once asked why, nor was her interest piqued enough to do so. Almost robotic in her devotion, Miss Maisie did only as she was told, for the right price, and Mr. Perdue paid very well.
    
  Her eyes darted to the kitchen clock, mounted directly above the back door that led to the guest house. The place was called a guest house only in a friendly manner, for the sake of propriety. In truth, it was little more than a five-star holding cell, with almost all the amenities its occupant would enjoy if she were free. Of course, no communication devices were allowed, and the building was cunningly rigged with satellite and signal scramblers that would take weeks to penetrate even with the most sophisticated equipment and unparalleled hacking exploits.
    
  Another obstacle the guest faced was the physical limitations of the guesthouse.
    
  The invisible soundproof walls were studded with thermal imaging sensors that constantly monitored the human body temperature inside to provide immediate warning of any violation.
    
  The main mirror-based contraption outside the guesthouse utilized a centuries-old sleight of hand employed by illusionists of bygone eras-a surprisingly simple and effective deception. This rendered the place invisible without close scrutiny or a trained eye, not to mention the chaos it caused during thunderstorms. Much of the property was designed to distract unwanted attention and contain what was meant to remain trapped.
    
  Just before 8 p.m., Maisie packed up dinner for the guests for delivery.
    
  The night was cool and the wind capricious as she passed beneath the tall pines and the vast ferns of the rock garden, which extended over the path like giant fingers. The evening lights of the property illuminated the paths and plants like terrestrial starlight, and Maisie could clearly see where she was going. She punched the first code for the outer door, entered, and closed it behind her. The guesthouse, much like the hatch of a submarine, contained two entrances: an outer door and a secondary one, leading into the building.
    
  Entering the second, Maisie found it deathly quiet.
    
  Usually, the television was on, connected to the main house, and all the lights that were turned on and off from the main house power supply were turned off. An eerie twilight descended on the furniture, and the rooms were silent; not even the sound of air from the fans was audible.
    
  "Your dinner, madam," Maisie said crisply, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She was wary of the strange circumstances, but hardly surprised.
    
  The guest had threatened her many times before, promising her an inevitable, painful death, but it was part of the housekeeper's nature to let things slide and ignore empty threats from disgruntled brats like Miss Mirela.
    
  Of course, Maisie had no idea that Mirela, her ill-mannered guest, had been the leader of one of the most feared organizations in the world for the past two decades and would do anything she promised her enemies. Maisie didn't know that Mirela was Renata of the Order of the Black Sun, currently held hostage by Dave Perdue, to be used as a bargaining chip against the council when the time came. Perdue knew that hiding Renata from the council would buy him precious time to forge a powerful alliance with the Renegade Brigade, the enemies of the Black Sun. The council had tried to overthrow her, but while she was away, the Black Sun could not replace her, thus signaling its intentions.
    
  "Madam, I will leave your dinner on the dining room table then," Maisie announced, not wanting to be unsettled by the alien surroundings.
    
  As she turned to leave, a terrifyingly tall occupant greeted her from the door.
    
  "I think we should have dinner together tonight, don"t you agree?" Mirela"s steely voice insisted.
    
  Maisie considered the danger Mirela posed for a moment, and not one to underestimate the innately heartless, she simply agreed, "Of course, madam. But I've only earned enough for one."
    
  "Oh, there"s nothing to worry about," Mirela smiled, gesturing carelessly, her eyes glittering like a cobra"s. "You can eat. I"ll keep you company. Did you bring wine?"
    
  "Of course, madam. A modest sweet wine to go with the Cornish pastry I baked especially for you," Maisie replied dutifully.
    
  But Mirela could tell the housekeeper's apparent lack of concern bordered on patronizing; the most irritating trigger, which provoked Mirela's unfounded hostility. After so many years at the head of the most terrifying cult of Nazi maniacs, she would never tolerate disobedience.
    
  "What are the door codes?" she asked frankly, pulling out a long curtain rod shaped like some kind of spear from behind her back.
    
  "Oh, this is for the staff and servants only, madam. I'm sure you understand," Maisie explained. However, there was absolutely no apprehension in her voice, and her eyes met Mirela's. Mirela held the point to Maisie's throat, secretly hoping the housekeeper would give her an excuse to thrust it forward. The sharp edge dented the housekeeper's skin, piercing it just enough for a pretty drop of blood to form on the surface.
    
  "You'd be wise to put that weapon away, madam," Maisie suddenly advised, her voice almost unnatural. Her words rang out with a sharp accent, a tone much deeper than her usual cheerful cadence. Mirela couldn't believe her own impudence and threw her head back with a laugh. Clearly, the ordinary maid had no idea who she was dealing with, and to make the point, Mirela struck Maisie across the face with a flexible aluminum rod. It left a burning mark on the housekeeper's face as she recovered from the blow.
    
  "You would be wise to tell me what I require before I dispose of you," Mirela sneered, delivering another lash to Maisie's knees, eliciting a cry of agony from the maid. "Now!"
    
  The housekeeper was sobbing, her face buried in her knees.
    
  "And you can whine as much as you like!" Mirela growled, holding the weapon ready to pierce the woman's skull. "As you know, this cozy nest is soundproofed."
    
  Maisie looked up, her large blue eyes devoid of tolerance or submission. Her lips curled back, revealing her teeth, and with an unholy rumble that erupted from the depths of her belly, she pounced.
    
  Mirela didn't have time to swing her weapon before Maisie broke her ankle with a single, powerful blow to Mirela's shin. She dropped her weapon as she fell, her leg throbbing with excruciating pain. Mirela let out a stream of hateful threats through her hoarse cries, pain and rage warring within her.
    
  What Mirela, for her part, didn't know was that Maisie had been recruited to Thurso not for her culinary skills, but for her skilled combat effectiveness. In the event of a breakout, she was tasked with striking with utmost prejudice and fully utilizing her training as an operative with the Irish Army's Ranger Wing, or Fian óglach. Since her entry into civilian life, Maisie McFadden had become available for hire as a personal security detail, primarily, and it was here that Dave Purdue sought her services.
    
  "Scream as much as you like, Miss Mirela," Maisie's deep voice rang out over her writhing enemy, "I find it very soothing. And you'll be doing very little of it tonight, I assure you."
    
    
  Chapter 29
    
    
  Two hours before dawn, Nina, Sam, and Perdue walked the last three blocks up a residential street, trying to avoid alerting anyone. They parked their car a good distance away, among a row of cars parked overnight, so it would be relatively unnoticeable. Using coveralls and a rope, the three colleagues scaled the fence of the last house on the street. Nina looked up from where she landed and stared at the intimidating silhouette of a massive ancient fortress on the hill.
    
  Wewelsburg.
    
  He silently guided the village, watching over the souls of its inhabitants with the wisdom of centuries. She wondered if the castle knew they were there, and with a bit of imagination, she wondered if the castle would allow them to desecrate its underground secrets.
    
  "Come on, Nina," she heard Purdue whisper. With Sam's help, he opened the large, square iron lid located in the far corner of the yard. They were very close to the quiet, dark house and tried to move silently. Fortunately, the lid was mostly overgrown with weeds and tall grass, allowing them to slide silently across the surrounding ground as they opened it.
    
  The three stood around a black, gaping mouth in the grass, further obscured by the darkness. Even the streetlight didn't illuminate their footing, making it risky to penetrate the hole without falling and injuring themselves below. Once beneath the edge, Perdue turned on his flashlight to inspect the drainage hole and the condition of the pipe below.
    
  "Oh. God, I can't believe I'm doing this again," Nina groaned under her breath, her body tensing with claustrophobia. After grueling encounters with submarine hatches and countless other hard-to-reach places, she'd vowed never to subject herself to anything like that again-but here she was.
    
  "Don't worry," Sam reassured her, stroking her arm, "I'm right behind you. Besides, from what I can see, it's a very wide tunnel."
    
  "Thank you, Sam," she said hopelessly. "I don"t care how wide it is. It"s still a tunnel."
    
  Purdue's face peered out of the black hole, "Nina."
    
  "Okay, okay," she sighed, and with one last glance at the colossal castle, she descended into the gaping hell that awaited her. The darkness was a tangible wall of soft doom around Nina, and it took every ounce of her courage not to break free again. Her only consolation was that she was accompanied by two very capable and deeply caring men who would do anything to protect her.
    
  From across the street, hidden behind the dense bushes of the unkempt ridge and its wild foliage, a pair of watery eyes stared at the trio as they lowered themselves under the lip of the manhole behind the house's exterior cistern.
    
  Ankle-deep in the muddy drainage pipe, they carefully crawled toward the rusty iron grate that separated the pipe from the larger network of sewers. Nina grunted in displeasure as she passed through the slippery portal first, and both Sam and Perdue dreaded their turn. Once all three had passed through, they replaced the grate. Perdue opened his tiny fold-out tablet, and with a flick of his elongated fingers, the gadget expanded to the size of a directory. He held it up to the three separate tunnel entrances, syncing it with the previously entered data of the underground structure to find the right opening, the pipe that would grant them access to the edge of the hidden structure.
    
  Outside, the wind howled like an ominous warning, mimicking the groans of lost souls coming through the narrow cracks in the hatch cover, and the air flowing through the various channels around them blew a foul breath upon them. It was much colder inside the tunnel than on the surface, and walking through the filthy, icy water only made the experience worse.
    
  "Far right tunnel," Purdue announced as the bright lines on his tablet matched the measurements he had recorded.
    
  "Then we're heading into the unknown," Sam added, receiving an ungrateful nod from Nina. However, he didn't mean for his words to sound so gloomy and simply shrugged at her reaction.
    
  After walking a few yards, Sam pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and marked the wall where they had entered. The scratching sound startled Perdue and Nina, and they turned around.
    
  "Just in case..." Sam began to explain.
    
  "About what?" Nina whispered.
    
  "In case Purdue loses their technology. You never know. I'm always partial to old-school traditions. It usually survives electromagnetic radiation or dead batteries," Sam said.
    
  "My tablet doesn't run on batteries, Sam," Purdue reminded him, and continued down the narrowing corridor ahead.
    
  "I don"t know if I can do this," Nina said, stopping dead in her tracks, wary of the smaller tunnel ahead.
    
  "Of course you can," Sam whispered. "Come here, take my hand."
    
  "I'm reluctant to light a flare here until we're sure we're out of range of that house," Perdue told them.
    
  "It"s okay," Sam replied, "I have Nina."
    
  Beneath his arms, pressed against his body where he held Nina, he could feel her body trembling. He knew it wasn't the cold that terrified her. All he could do was hold her tightly against him and caress her hand with his thumb to soothe her as they passed through the lower-ceilinged section. Purdue was absorbed in mapping and monitoring his every step, while Sam had to maneuver Nina's unwilling body along with his own into the throat of the unknown network that now engulfed them. Nina felt the icy touch of subterranean air movement on her neck, and from a distance, she could discern the drip of drain water over cascading streams of sewer water.
    
  "Let's go," Purdue said suddenly. He discovered something like a trapdoor above them, a wrought iron gate set in cement, carved in a pattern of intricate curves and swirls. It was definitely not a service entrance, like the hatch and drains. Apparently, for some reason, it was decorative, perhaps signifying that this was the entrance to another underground structure, not another grate. It was a round, flat disk shaped like an intricate swastika, forged from black iron and bronze. The twisted arms of the symbol and the edges of the gate were carefully hidden by the wear of centuries. Congealed green algae and erosive rust had firmly anchored the disk to the surrounding ceiling, making it virtually impossible to open. In fact, it was firmly, immobilely fastened by hand.
    
  "I knew this was a bad idea," Nina sang from behind Perdue. "I knew I should have run away after we found the diary."
    
  She was talking to herself, but Sam knew it was the intensity of her fear of the environment she was in that had her in a semi-panic state. He whispered, "Imagine what we're going to find, Nina. Just imagine what Werner went through to hide it from Himmler and his animals. It must be something really special, remember?" Sam felt like he was coaxing a toddler into eating her vegetables, but his words held a certain motivation for the petite historian, who froze to tears in his arms. Finally, she decided to go with him.
    
  After several attempts by Perdue to pry the bolt free from the shattered impact, he looked back at Sam and asked him to check his bag for the hand-held blowtorch he'd placed in the zippered pouch. Nina clung to Sam, afraid the darkness would consume him if she let go. The only light they had was a dim LED flashlight, and in the vast darkness, it was as dim as a candle in a cave.
    
  "Perdue, I think you should burn the loop too. I doubt it'll still be spinning after all these years," Sam advised Perdue, who nodded in agreement, lighting a small iron-cutting tool. Nina continued to look around as sparks illuminated the dirty, old concrete walls of the huge canals and the orange glow that grew brighter from time to time. The thought of what she might see during one of those bright moments scared the crap out of Nina. Who knew what could lurk in that dank, dark place that stretched for acres underground?
    
  Soon after, the gate tore free of its red-hot hinges and shattered on its sides, requiring both men to shift their weight to the ground. With much huffing and puffing, they carefully lowered the gate to maintain the surrounding silence, in case the noise might attract the attention of anyone within earshot.
    
  One by one, they ascended into the dark space above, a place that immediately took on a different feel and smell. Sam marked the wall again while they waited for Perdue to find the route on his small tablet. A complex set of lines appeared on the screen, making it difficult to distinguish the higher tunnels from those slightly lower. Perdue sighed. He wasn't one to get lost or make mistakes, usually not, but he had to admit to some uncertainty about his next steps.
    
  "Fire the flare, Purdue. Please. Please," Nina whispered into the dead darkness. There was no sound at all here-no drips, no water, no movement of the wind to give the place any semblance of life. Nina felt her heart tighten in her chest. Where they stood now, the terrible smell of burnt wires and dust hung heavy with each word she spoke, laconic as she muttered it. It reminded Nina of a coffin; a very small, confined coffin with no room to move or breathe. Gradually, a wave of panic washed over her.
    
  "Purdue!" Sam insisted. "Flash. Nina's not handling this environment well. Besides, we need to see where we're going."
    
  "Oh, my God, Nina. Of course. I'm so sorry," Perdue apologized, reaching for a flare.
    
  "This place feels so small!" Nina gasped, falling to her knees. "I can feel the walls on my body! Oh, sweet Jesus, I'm going to die down here. Sam, please help!" Her gasps turned into rapid breathing in the pitch darkness.
    
  To her immense relief, the crackle of the flash caused a blinding light, and she felt her lungs expand from the deep breath she'd taken. All three squinted at the sudden brightness, waiting for their vision to adjust. Before Nina could savor the irony of the place's vastness, she heard Perdue say, "Holy Mother of God!"
    
  "It looks like a spaceship!" Sam interjected, his jaw dropping in amazement.
    
  If Nina had thought the idea of the enclosed space around her was unsettling, she now had reason to reconsider. The leviathan structure they found themselves in possessed a terrifying quality, somewhere between a subterranean world of silent intimidation and grotesque simplicity. Wide arches overhead emerged from the smooth gray walls, which merged into the floor instead of joining it perpendicularly.
    
  "Listen," Perdue said excitedly, raising his index finger as his eyes scanned the roof.
    
  "Nothing," Nina noted.
    
  "No. Maybe nothing in the sense of a specific noise, but listen... there's a constant hum in this area," Perdue noted.
    
  Sam nodded. He'd heard it too. It was as if the tunnel were alive, with some barely perceptible vibration. On both sides, the great hall dissolved into a darkness they hadn't yet illuminated.
    
  "It gives me goosebumps," Nina said, clutching her hands tightly to her chest.
    
  "There are two of us, no doubt," Perdue smiled, "and yet one cannot help but admire that."
    
  "Yes," Sam agreed, pulling out his camera. There were no noticeable features to capture in the photograph, but the sheer size and smoothness of the tube were a marvel in themselves.
    
  "How did they build this place?" Nina wondered out loud.
    
  It was obviously intended to have been built during Himmler's occupation of Wewelsburg, but there was never any mention of it, and certainly no drawings of the castle ever mentioned the existence of such structures. The sheer size, it turns out, required considerable engineering skill on the part of the builders, while the world above apparently never noticed the excavations below.
    
  "I bet they used concentration camp prisoners to build this place," Sam remarked, taking another photo, including Nina in the frame to fully convey the tunnel's size in relation to her. "In fact, it's almost as if I can still feel them here."
    
    
  Chapter 30
    
    
  Purdue figured they should follow the lines on his tablet, which now pointed east, through the tunnel they were in. On the small screen, the castle was marked with a red dot, and from there, like a giant spider, a vast system of tunnels radiated outward, mostly in the three cardinal directions.
    
  "I find it remarkable that after all this time, these canals are largely free of debris or erosion," Sam remarked as he followed Perdue into the darkness.
    
  "I agree. It's very uncomfortable to think that this place remains empty, and yet there are no traces of what happened here during the war," Nina agreed, her large brown eyes taking in every detail of the walls and their rounded merging with the floor.
    
  "What is that sound?" Sam asked again, irritated by its constant hum, so muffled that it almost became part of the silence in the dark tunnel.
    
  "It reminds me of some kind of turbine," Perdue said, frowning at the strange object that appeared a few yards ahead on his diagram. He stopped.
    
  "What is this?" Nina asked with a hint of panic in her voice.
    
  Purdue continued at a slower pace, wary of the square object he couldn't identify by its schematic shape.
    
  "Stay here," he whispered.
    
  "No fucking way," Nina said, taking Sam's arm again. "You're not leaving me in the dark."
    
  Sam smiled. It was nice to feel so useful to Nina again, and he enjoyed her constant touch.
    
  "Turbines?" Sam repeated with a thoughtful nod. It made sense if this tunnel network was indeed used by the Nazis. It would have been a more covert way to generate electricity, while the aforementioned world remained oblivious to its existence.
    
  From the shadows ahead, Sam and Nina heard Purdue's excited report: "Ah! It looks like a generator!"
    
  "Thank God," Nina sighed, "I don"t know how long I could walk in this pitch darkness."
    
  "Since when are you afraid of the dark?" Sam asked her.
    
  "I'm not like that. But being in an unopened, creepy underground hangar with no light to see our surroundings is a little unnerving, don't you think?" she explained.
    
  "Yes, I can understand that."
    
  The flash died too quickly, and the slowly growing darkness enveloped them like a cloak.
    
  "Sam," Perdue said.
    
  "On it," Sam replied, squatting down to pull another flare from his bag.
    
  There was a clanking sound in the darkness as Perdue fiddled with the dusty machine.
    
  "This isn't your run-of-the-mill generator. I'm sure it's some kind of sophisticated device designed for various functions, but I have no idea what those functions are," Perdue said.
    
  Sam lit another flare, but didn't see the moving figures approaching in the tunnel behind them. Nina crouched down next to Purdue to examine the cobweb-covered machine. Housed in a sturdy metal frame, it reminded Nina of an old washing machine. On the front were thick knobs, each with four settings, but the markings had faded, making it impossible to tell what they were supposed to be.
    
  Purdue's long, trained fingers fiddled with some wires on the back.
    
  "Be careful, Perdue," Nina urged.
    
  "Don"t worry, dear," he smiled. "Still, I"m touched by your concern. Thank you."
    
  "Don't be cocky. I have more than enough to deal with in this place right now," she snapped, slapping his arm, causing him to chuckle.
    
  Sam couldn't help but feel uneasy. As a world-renowned journalist, he'd been to some of the most dangerous places and encountered some of the world's most vicious people and locations before, but he had to admit it had been a long time since he'd felt so unsettled by the atmosphere. If Sam were a superstitious man, he'd probably imagine the tunnels were haunted.
    
  A loud crackling sound and a shower of sparks emanated from the car, followed by a labored, inconsistent rhythm. Nina and Perdue stepped back from the thing's sudden life and heard the engine gradually pick up speed, settling into a steady rpm.
    
  "It idles like a tractor," Nina remarked to no one in particular. The sound reminded her of childhood, waking up before dawn to the sound of her grandfather's tractor starting up. It was a rather pleasant memory here, in this abandoned alien abode of ghosts and Nazi history.
    
  One by one, the meager wall lamps lit up. Their hard plastic covers had been cluttered with years of dead insects and dust, significantly diminishing the illumination of the bulbs inside. Surprisingly, the thin wiring still worked, but as expected, the light was dim at best.
    
  "Well, at least we can see where we're going," Nina said, looking back at the seemingly endless stretch of tunnel that curved slightly to the left a few yards ahead. For some strange reason, this turn gave Sam a bad feeling, but he kept it to himself. He couldn't seem to shake it-and for good reason.
    
  Behind them, in the dimly lit passage of the underworld they found themselves in, five small shadows moved in the darkness, just as they had before when Nina hadn't noticed.
    
  "Let's go see what's on the other side," Perdue suggested, walking away with a zippered bag slung over his shoulder. Nina pulled Sam along, and they walked in silence and curiosity, the only sounds being the low hum of the turbine and the sound of their footsteps echoing in the vast space.
    
  "Perdue, we need to do this quickly. As I reminded you yesterday, Sam and I must return to Mongolia soon," Nina insisted. She had given up trying to find out where Renata was, but she hoped to return to Bern with some consolation, whatever she could do to reassure him of her loyalty. Sam had delegated the task of probing Perdue for Renata's whereabouts to Nina, as she was more favored by him than Sam.
    
  "I know, my dear Nina. And we'll sort this all out once we figure out what Erno knew and why he sent us to Wewelsburg, of all places. I promise I can handle it, but for now, just help me find this elusive secret," Purdue assured her. He didn't even glance at Sam as he promised his help. "I know what they want. I know why they sent you back here."
    
  For now, that was enough, Nina realized, and decided not to press him further.
    
  "Do you hear that?" Sam asked suddenly, his ears perking up.
    
  "No, what?" Nina frowned.
    
  "Listen!" Sam admonished, his expression serious. He stopped dead in his tracks to better hear the tapping and ticking behind them in the darkness. Now Perdue and Nina heard it too.
    
  "What is this?" Nina asked, a tremor clearly in her voice.
    
  "I don"t know," Purdue whispered, holding up an open palm to reassure her and Sam.
    
  The light from the walls grew steadily brighter and dimmer as the current rose and fell through the old copper wiring. Nina looked around and gasped so loudly that her horror echoed throughout the vast labyrinth.
    
  "Oh, Jesus!" she cried, clutching the hands of both her companions with an expression of indescribable horror on her face.
    
  Behind them, five black dogs emerged from a dark lair in the distance.
    
  "Okay, how surreal is this? Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" Sam asked, preparing to run away.
    
  Purdue remembered the animals from Cologne Cathedral, where he and his sister had been trapped. They were the same breed, with the same tendency toward absolute discipline, so they had to be the same dogs. But now he had no time to ponder their presence or origin. They had no choice but...
    
  "Run!" Sam yelled, nearly knocking Nina off her feet with the speed of his charge. Perdue followed suit as the animals raced after them at full speed. The three explorers rounded a bend in the unknown structure, hoping to find somewhere to hide or escape, but the tunnel continued unchanged when the dogs caught up with them.
    
  Sam turned and lit a flare. "Forward! Forward!" he shouted to the other two, while he himself served as a barricade between the animals and Perdue and Nina.
    
  "Sam!" Nina screamed, but Perdue pulled her forward into the flickering pale light of the tunnel.
    
  Sam held the fire stick out in front of him, waving it at the Rottweilers. They stopped at the sight of the bright flames, and Sam realized he had only a few seconds to find a way out.
    
  He could hear Perdue and Nina's footsteps gradually growing quieter as the distance between them widened. His eyes darted quickly from side to side, but he never took his gaze from the animals' position. Growling and salivating, their lips curled in a furious threat toward the man with the fire stick. A sharp whistle came through the yellowed pipe, instantly calling from the far end of the tunnel, Sam guessed.
    
  Three dogs immediately turned and ran back, while the other two remained where they were, as if they hadn't heard anything. Sam believed their master was manipulating them, much like a shepherd's whistle could control his dog with a series of different sounds. That's how he controlled their movements.
    
  Brilliant, Sam thought.
    
  Two remained to keep an eye on him. He noticed that his outburst was becoming weaker and weaker.
    
  "Nina?" he called. Nothing came back. "That's it, Sam," he said to himself, "you're on your own, kid."
    
  When the flashes stopped, Sam picked up his camera and turned on the flash. The flash would have at least temporarily blinded them, but he was wrong. The two busty women ignored the bright light of the camera, but they didn't move forward. The whistle blew again, and they began growling at Sam.
    
  Where are the other dogs? he thought, standing rooted to the spot.
    
  Soon after, he got the answer to his question when he heard Nina's scream. Sam didn't care if the animals caught up with him. He had to come to Nina's aid. Showing more courage than common sense, the journalist ran in the direction of Nina's voice. Following closely, he heard the dogs' claws pounding the cement as they chased him. At any moment, he expected the heavy bulk of the leaping animal to crash down on him, claws digging into his skin, fangs sinking into his throat. As he sprinted, he glanced back and saw that they hadn't caught up. From what Sam could gather, the dogs were being used to corner him, not kill him. Still, it wasn't the most ideal position to be in.
    
  As he rounded the bend, he spotted two other tunnels branching off from this one, and he prepared to rush into the upper one. One above the other, this would outshine the Rottweilers' speed as he leaped toward the higher entrance.
    
  "Nina!" he called again, and this time he heard her far away, too far to understand where she was.
    
  "Sam! Sam, hide!" he heard her scream.
    
  With added speed, he leaped toward the higher entrance, a few yards short of the ground-level entrance to another tunnel. He hit the cold, hard concrete with a crushing thud that nearly broke his ribs, but Sam quickly crawled through the gaping hole, some twenty feet high. To his horror, one dog followed him, while another yelped at the impact of its failed attempt.
    
  Nina and Perdue had to deal with others. The Rottweilers somehow returned to ambush them from the other side of the tunnel.
    
  "You know that means all these channels are connected, right?" Perdue mentioned as he entered information on his tablet.
    
  "This is hardly the time to be mapping the fucking maze, Purdue!" she frowned.
    
  "Oh, but that would be a good time, Nina," he countered. "The more information we get about the access points, the easier it will be for us to escape."
    
  "So what are we supposed to do with them?" she pointed to the dogs scurrying around them.
    
  "Just stay still and keep your voice down," he advised. "If their master wanted us dead, we'd be dog food by now."
    
  "Oh, wonderful. I feel much better now," Nina said as her eyes caught the tall, human shadow stretched out across the smooth wall.
    
    
  Chapter 31
    
    
  Sam had nowhere to go but to run aimlessly into the darkness of the smaller tunnel he found himself in. One odd thing, however, was that he could hear the hum of the turbine much louder now that he was away from the main tunnel. Despite his frantic rush and the uncontrollable pounding of his heart, he couldn't help but admire the beauty of the well-groomed dog that had cornered him. Her black coat had a healthy sheen even in the dim light, and her mouth changed from a sneer to a faint smile as she began to relax, simply standing in his path, breathing heavily.
    
  "Oh, no, I know your kind well enough not to fall for that friendliness, girl," Sam countered at her accommodating manner. He knew better. Sam decided to move deeper into the tunnel, but at a casual pace. The dog wouldn't be able to give chase if Sam didn't give it something to chase. Slowly, ignoring her intimidation, Sam tried to act normal and walked down the dark concrete corridor. But his efforts were interrupted by her disapproving growl, a menacing roar of warning that Sam couldn't help but heed.
    
  "Welcome, you can come with me," he said cordially, while adrenaline filled his veins.
    
  The black bitch was having none of it. She grinned wickedly, reiterating her position and taking a few steps closer to her target, for emphasis. It would be foolish for Sam to try to outrun even one animal. They were simply faster and more deadly, not an opponent worth challenging. Sam sat down on the floor and waited to see what she would do. But the only reaction his animal captor showed was to sit in front of him like a sentry. And that was exactly who she was.
    
  Sam didn't want to hurt the dog. He was a fervent animal lover, even to those who were ready to tear him to shreds. But he had to get away from her in case Perdue and Nina were in danger. Every time he moved, she growled at him.
    
  "My apologies, Mr. Cleve," a voice came from the dark cavern beyond the entrance, startling Sam. "But I can't let you leave, understand?" The voice was male and spoke with a strong Dutch accent.
    
  "No, don't worry. I'm quite charming. Many people insist they enjoy my company," Sam replied in his well-known sarcastic dismissal manner.
    
  "I'm glad you have a sense of humor, Sam," the man said. "God knows there are too many worried people out there."
    
  A man came into view. He was dressed in overalls, just like Sam and his group. He was a very attractive man, and his manners seemed to match, but Sam had learned that the most civilized and educated men were usually the most depraved. After all, all the Renegade Brigade fighters were highly educated and well-mannered, yet they could resort to violence and cruelty in the blink of an eye. Something about the man confronting him prompted Sam to tread carefully.
    
  "Do you know what you"re looking for down here?" the man asked.
    
  Sam remained silent. Truth be told, he had no idea what he, Nina, and Perdue were looking for, but he also had no intention of answering the stranger's questions.
    
  "Mr. Cleve, I asked you a question."
    
  The Rottweiler growled, moving closer to Sam. It was both delightful and terrifying that she could react appropriately without any orders.
    
  "I don't know. We were just following some blueprints we found near Wewelsburg," Sam replied, trying to keep his tone as simple as possible. "Who are you?"
    
  "Bloem. Jost Bloom, sir," the man said. Sam nodded. He could now place the accent, though he didn't know the name. "I think we should join Mr. Purdue and Dr. Gould."
    
  Sam was puzzled. How did this man know their names? And how did he know where to find them? "Besides," Bloom mentioned, "you wouldn't get anywhere through that tunnel. It's purely for ventilation."
    
  It dawned on Sam that the Rottweilers couldn't have entered the tunnel network the same way he and his colleagues had, so the Dutchman must have known of another entry point.
    
  They emerged from the secondary tunnel back into the main hall, where the light still burned, keeping the room illuminated. Sam thought about Bloom and Face's cool handling of their pet, but before he could formulate any plans, three figures appeared in the distance. The other dogs followed. It was Nina and Perdue, walking another young man. Nina's face lit up when she saw that Sam was safe and sound.
    
  "Now, ladies and gentlemen, shall we continue?" suggested Jost Bloom.
    
  "Where?" I asked. "Perdue asked.
    
  "Oh, come on, Mr. Purdue. Don't play with me, old man. I know who you are, who all of you are, though you have no idea who I am, and that, my friends, should make you very wary of playing with me," Bloom explained, gently taking Nina's hand and leading her away from Purdue and Sam. "Especially when there are women in your life who could be harmed."
    
  "Don't you dare threaten her!" Sam chuckled.
    
  "Sam, calm down," Nina pleaded. Something in Bloom told her he would get rid of Sam without hesitation, and she was right.
    
  "Listen to Dr. Gould... Sam," Bloom mimicked.
    
  "Excuse me, but are we supposed to know each other?" Perdue asked as they began walking down the giant aisle.
    
  "You of all people should be, Mr. Purdue, but alas, you are not," Bloom replied amiably.
    
  Purdue was rightly concerned by the stranger's remark, but he couldn't recall ever meeting him before. The man held Nina's hand tightly, like a protective lover, showing no hostility, though she knew he wouldn't let her escape without considerable regret.
    
  "Another friend of yours, Perdue?" Sam asked in a caustic tone.
    
  "No, Sam," Perdue barked back, but before he could refute Sam"s assumption, Bloom addressed the reporter directly.
    
  "I'm not his friend, Mr. Cleve. But his sister is a close... acquaintance," Bloom grinned.
    
  Perdue's face turned ashen with shock. Nina held her breath.
    
  "So please try to keep things friendly between us, right?" Bloom smiled at Sam.
    
  "So that"s how you found us?" Nina asked.
    
  "Of course not. Agatha had no idea where you were. We found you thanks to Mr. Cleve," Bloom admitted, enjoying the growing distrust he saw growing in Perdue and Nina toward their journalist friend.
    
  "Bullshit!" Sam exclaimed, furious at his colleagues' reactions. "I had nothing to do with this!"
    
  "Really?" Bloom asked with a devilish grin. "Wesley, show them."
    
  The young man walking behind the dogs complied. He pulled a device from his pocket, resembling a cell phone without buttons. It depicted a compact view of the terrain and surrounding slopes, denoting the terrain and, ultimately, the labyrinth of structures they were traversing. Only a single red dot pulsed, slowly moving along the coordinates of one of the lines.
    
  "Look," Bloom said, and Wesley stopped Sam mid-step. A red dot stopped on the screen.
    
  "You son of a bitch!" Nina hissed at Sam, who shook his head in disbelief.
    
  "I had nothing to do with it," he said.
    
  "That"s odd, since you"re on their tracking system," Purdue said with a condescension that infuriated Sam.
    
  "You and your fucking sister must have planted this on me!" Sam screamed.
    
  "Then how would these guys get the signal? It would have to be one of their trackers, Sam, to show up on their screens. Where else would you have been flagged if you weren't with them before?" Perdue persisted.
    
  "I don"t know!" Sam countered.
    
  Nina couldn't believe her ears. Confused, she stared silently at Sam, the man she'd entrusted her life to. All he could do was vehemently deny any involvement, but he knew the damage had been done.
    
  "Besides, we're all here now. It's better to cooperate so no one gets hurt or killed," Bloom chuckled.
    
  He was pleased with how easily he'd managed to bridge the gap between his companions, maintaining a slight mistrust. It would have been counterproductive to his goals if he'd revealed that the council had been tracking Sam using nanites in his system, similar to those contained in Nina's body in Belgium before Purdue gave her and Sam vials containing the antidote to swallow.
    
  Sam mistrusted Purdue's intentions and led Nina to believe he had also taken the antidote. But by not consuming the liquid that could have neutralized the nanites in his body, Sam inadvertently allowed the Council to conveniently locate him and follow him to the location of Erno's secret.
    
  Now he was effectively labeled a traitor, and he had no evidence to the contrary.
    
  They came to a sharp turn in the tunnel and found themselves standing before a massive vault door, built into the wall where the tunnel ended. It was a faded gray door with rusty bolts securing it at the sides and center. The group paused to examine the massive door before them. Its color was a pale gray-cream, only slightly different from the color of the walls and floor of the pipes. Upon closer inspection, they could see steel cylinders securing the heavy door to the surrounding doorframe, set in thick concrete.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, I'm sure you can open this for us," Bloom said.
    
  "I doubt it," Perdue replied. "I didn't have any nitroglycerin with me."
    
  "But you probably have some kind of genius technology in your bag, like you usually do, to speed up your passage through all the places you always stick your nose into?" Bloom insisted, his tone clearly growing more hostile as his patience wore thin. "Do it for the limited time..." he told Perdue, and then made his next threat clear: "Do it for your sister."
    
  Agatha might well be dead already, Purdue thought, but he kept his expression impassive.
    
  Immediately, all five dogs began to look agitated, yelping and groaning, shifting from foot to foot.
    
  "What"s the matter, girls?" Wesley asked the animals, rushing to calm them down.
    
  The group looked around but saw no danger. Puzzled, they watched as the dogs became extremely noisy, barking at the top of their lungs before breaking into a continuous howl.
    
  "Why are they doing this?" Nina asked.
    
  Wesley shook his head, "They hear things we can't. And whatever it is, it must be intense!"
    
  Apparently, the animals were extremely irritated by the subsonic tone that humans couldn't detect, because they began howling desperately, spinning manically in place. One by one, the dogs began retreating from the vault door. Wesley whistled in countless variations, but the dogs refused to obey. They turned and ran, as if the devil were chasing them, and quickly disappeared around the bend into the distance.
    
  "Call me paranoid, but that"s a sure sign we"re in trouble," Nina remarked as the others frantically looked around.
    
  Jost Bloom and the faithful Wesley both pulled their pistols from under their jackets.
    
  "You brought a gun?" Nina frowned in surprise. "Then why worry about the dogs?"
    
  "Because being torn apart by wild animals would make your death accidental and unfortunate, my dear Dr. Gould. It's impossible to trace. And shooting at such an acoustic would be simply stupid," Bloom explained matter-of-factly, pulling back the trigger.
    
    
  Chapter 32
    
    
    
  Two days before that - Mönkh Saridag
    
    
  "The location is blocked," the hacker told Ludwig Bern.
    
  They worked day and night to find a way to recover the stolen weapon, which had been stolen from a renegade brigade over a week earlier. As former members of the Black Sun, there wasn't a single person associated with the brigade who wasn't a master of their craft, so it was logical that several IT experts would be there to help track down the dangerous Longinus.
    
  "Outstanding!" Bern exclaimed, turning to his two fellow commanders for approval.
    
  One of them was Kent Bridges, a former SAS operative and former Black Sun Level 3 member in charge of munitions. The other was Otto Schmidt, also a Level 3 Black Sun member before defecting to the Renegade Brigade, a professor of applied linguistics and former fighter pilot from Vienna, Austria.
    
  "Where are they right now?" Bridges asked.
    
  The hacker raised an eyebrow. "Actually, the strangest place. According to the fiber optic indicators we've synchronized with the Longinus hardware, we're currently... in... Wewelsburg Castle."
    
  The three commanders exchanged puzzled glances.
    
  "At this time of night? It's not even morning yet, is it, Otto?" Bern asked.
    
  "No, I think it"s about 5 a.m. now," Otto replied.
    
  "Wewelsburg Castle isn't even open yet, and of course, temporary visitors or tourists aren't allowed in at night," Bridges joked. "How the hell could this have gotten there? Unless... a thief was currently breaking into Wewelsburg?"
    
  Silence fell over the room as everyone inside pondered a reasonable explanation.
    
  "It doesn't matter," Bern suddenly spoke up. "What matters is that we know where it is. I'm volunteering to go to Germany to retrieve it. I'll take Alexander Arichenkov with me. He's an exceptional tracker and navigator."
    
  "Do it, Bern. As always, check in with us every 11 hours. And if you run into any problems, just let us know. We already have allies in every Western European country if you need reinforcements," Bridges confirmed.
    
  "It will be done."
    
  "Are you sure you can trust a Russian?" Otto Schmidt asked quietly.
    
  "I believe I can, Otto. This man has given me no reason to believe otherwise. Besides, we still have people watching his friends' house, but I doubt it will ever come to that. However, time is running out for the historian and journalist to bring us Renata. This worries me more than I'm willing to admit, but one thing at a time," Bern assured the Austrian pilot.
    
  "Agreed. Bon voyage, Bern," Bridges agreed.
    
  "Thank you, Kent. We leave in an hour, Otto. Will you be ready?" Bern asked.
    
  "Absolutely. Let's get this threat back from whoever was foolish enough to get their hands on it. My God, if they only knew what that thing was capable of!" Otto ranted.
    
  "That's what I'm afraid of. I have a feeling they know exactly what it's capable of."
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Nina, Sam, and Perdue had no idea how long they'd been in the tunnels. Even assuming it was dawn, there was no way they could see daylight down here. Now they were held at gunpoint, with no idea what they'd gotten themselves into as they stood before the giant, heavy vault door.
    
  "Mr. Perdue, if you like," Jost Blum nudged Perdue with his gun so he could open the vault with the portable blowtorch he had used to cut the shutter in the sewer.
    
  "Mr. Bloom, I don't know you, but I'm sure a man of your intelligence would realize that a door like this couldn't be opened with such a puny tool as this," Purdue retorted, though he maintained his reasonable tone.
    
  "Please don't go easy on me, Dave," Bloom went cold, "because I don't mean your tiny instrument."
    
  Sam resisted the urge to scoff at the peculiar choice of words, which usually prompted him to make some snide remark. Nina's large, dark eyes watched Sam. He could see she was deeply upset by his apparent betrayal of not taking the vial of antidote she'd given him, but he had his own reasons for mistrusting Purdue after what he'd put them through in Bruges.
    
  Purdue knew what Bloom was talking about. With a grave expression, he pulled out a pen-like telescope and activated it, using infrared light to determine the thickness of the door. He then pressed his eye to the small glass peephole while the rest of the group waited in anticipation, still haunted by the eerie circumstances that had caused the dogs to bark madly in the distance.
    
  Purdue pressed the second button with his finger, without taking his eyes off the telescope, and a faint red dot appeared on the door bolt.
    
  "Laser cutter," Wesley smiled. "Very cool."
    
  "Please hurry, Mr. Perdue. And when you're finished, I'll relieve you of this wonderful instrument," Bloom said. "I could use such a prototype for cloning by my colleagues."
    
  "And who might be your colleague, Mr. Bloom?" Purdue asked as the beam plunged into solid steel with a yellow glow that made it weak on impact.
    
  "The very people you and your friends were trying to escape from in Belgium the night you were supposed to deliver Renata," Bloom said, sparks of molten steel flickering in his eyes like hellfire.
    
  Nina held her breath and looked at Sam. Here they were again in the company of the council, the little-known judges of the Black Sun leadership, after Alexander had thwarted their planned rejection of the disgraced leader, Renata, whom they were supposed to overthrow.
    
  If we were on the chessboard right now, we'd be screwed, Nina thought, hoping Perdue knew where Renata was. Now he'd have to deliver her to the council instead of helping Nina and Sam turn her over to the Renegade Brigade. Either way, Sam and Nina were in a compromising position, leading to a losing outcome.
    
  "You hired Agatha to find the diary," Sam said.
    
  "Yes, but that was hardly what we were interested in. It was, as you say, an old bait. I knew that if we hired her for such a venture, she would undoubtedly need her brother's help to find the diary, when in fact, Mr. Purdue was the relic we were looking for," Bloom explained to Sam.
    
  "And now that we"re all here, we might as well see what you were hunting here at Wewelsburg before we finish our business," Wesley added from behind Sam.
    
  Dogs barked and whined in the distance, while the turbine continued to hum. This evoked in Nina an overwhelming sense of dread and hopelessness, perfectly suited to the bleak surroundings. She looked at Jost Bloom and, uncharacteristically, controlled her temper. "Is Agatha all right, Mr. Bloom? Is she still in your care?"
    
  "Yes, she's in our care," he replied with a quick glance, trying to reassure her, but his silence about Agatha's well-being was an ominous omen. Nina looked at Perdue. His lips were pressed together in obvious concentration, but as his ex-girlfriend, she knew his body language-Perdue was upset.
    
  The door let out a deafening clang that echoed deep within the labyrinth, breaking for the first time the decades-long silence that had pervaded this gloomy atmosphere. They stepped back as Purdue, Wesley, and Sam gave short tugs at the heavy, unsecured door. Finally, it gave way and tumbled over with a crash, raising years of dust and scattered yellowed paper. None of them dared enter first, even though the musty chamber was lit by the same series of electric wall lamps that illuminated the tunnel.
    
  "Let's see what's inside," Sam insisted, holding the camera at the ready. Bloom released Nina and stepped forward with Perdue from the wrong end of his barrel. Nina waited until Sam passed her before squeezing his hand lightly. "What are you doing?" He could tell she was furious with him, but something in her eyes suggested she refused to believe Sam would deliberately bring the council to them.
    
  "I'm here to record our findings, remember?" he said sharply. He waved the camera at her, but his gaze directed her to the digital display screen, where she could see he was filming their captors. In case they needed to blackmail the council or, under any circumstances, needed photographic evidence, Sam took as many pictures of the men and their actions as he could while he could pretend to treat this meeting like a regular job.
    
  Nina nodded and followed him into the stuffy room.
    
  The floor and walls were tiled, and dozens of pairs of fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling, emitting a blinding white light that now flickered within their damaged plastic covers. The researchers momentarily forgot who they were, all marveling at the spectacle with equal parts admiration and awe.
    
  "What is this place?" Wesley asked, picking up cold, tarnished surgical instruments from an old kidney container. Above it, a decrepit operating lamp stood silent and lifeless, laced with the web of eras gathered between its extremes. The tiled floor was covered in gruesome stains, some of which looked like dried blood, while others resembled the remains of chemical containers that had slightly eroded into the floor.
    
  "It looks like some kind of research center," replied Perdue, who has seen and managed his own share of such operations.
    
  "What? Supersoldiers? There's a lot of evidence of human experimentation here," Nina noted, wincing at the sight of the slightly ajar refrigerator doors on the far wall. "Those are the morgue refrigerators, with several body bags stacked in there..."
    
  "And the torn clothes," Jost noted from where he stood, peering out from behind what looked like laundry baskets. "Oh, my God, the fabric smells like shit. And there are big pools of blood where the collars were. I think Dr. Gould is right-they were human experiments, but I doubt they were conducted on Nazi troops. The clothes here look like they were mostly worn by concentration camp prisoners."
    
  Nina's eyes widened thoughtfully as she tried to recall what she knew about the concentration camps near Wewelsburg. Softly, in an emotional and compassionate tone, she shared what she knew about those who likely wore torn, bloody clothes.
    
  "I know prisoners were used as laborers on the Wewelsburg construction site. They could very well have been the people Sam said he sensed down here. They were brought from Niederhagen, some others from Sachsenhausen, but they all formed the labor force for the construction of what was supposed to be more than just a castle. Now that we've found all this and the tunnels, it looks like the rumors were true," she told her male companions.
    
  Wesley and Sam both looked very uncomfortable in their surroundings. Wesley crossed his arms and rubbed his cold forearms. Sam had just used his camera to take a few more photos of the mold and rust inside the morgue's refrigerators.
    
  "It looks like they weren't just used for heavy-duty work," Perdue said. He pulled aside a lab coat hanging on the wall and discovered a thick crack cut deep into the wall behind it.
    
  "Light it up," he ordered, addressing no one in particular.
    
  Wesley handed him the flashlight, and when Purdue shone it into the hole, he choked on the stench of stagnant water and the rot of old bones rotting inside.
    
  "Oh, my God! Look at this!" he coughed, and they gathered around the pit to search for the remains of what looked like twenty people. He counted twenty skulls, but there could have been more.
    
  "There was a case where several Jews from Salzkotten were said to have been locked in a Wewelsburg dungeon in the late 1930s," Nina suggested when she saw this. "But they were later reportedly sent to the Buchenwald camp. Reportedly. We always thought the dungeon in question was the storage facility under the Obergruppenführer Hersal, but it might have been this place!"
    
  In all their amazement at what they discovered, the group failed to notice that the incessant barking of the dogs had instantly stopped.
    
    
  Chapter 33
    
    
  While Sam photographed the horrific scene, Nina's curiosity was piqued by another door, a simple wooden one with a small window at the top, now too dirty to see through. Beneath the door, she saw a strip of light from the same series of lamps that illuminated the room they were in.
    
  "Don't even think about going in there," Joost's sudden words from behind her shook her to the point of a heart attack. Pressing her hand to her chest in shock, Nina gave Joost Blum the look he often received from women-irritation and disownment. "Not without me, as your bodyguard, that is," he smiled. Nina could see that the Dutch councilman knew he was attractive, all the more reason to reject his easy advances.
    
  "I'm quite capable, thank you, mister," she teased sharply, and pulled the door handle. It took some encouragement, but they opened without much effort, despite the rust and disuse.
    
  However, this room looked completely different from the previous one. It was slightly more inviting than the medical death chamber, but still retained the Nazi atmosphere of foreboding.
    
  Lavishly crammed with ancient books on everything from archaeology to the occult, from posthumous textbooks to Marxism and mythology, the room resembled an old library or office, given the large desk and high-backed chair in the corner where two bookshelves met. The books and folders, even the papers scattered everywhere, were all the same color due to a thick layer of dust.
    
  "Sam!" she called. "Sam! You have to take pictures of this!"
    
  "And what, pray tell, are you going to do with these photographs, Mr. Cleve?" Jost Bloom asked Sam as he removed one from the door.
    
  "Do what journalists do," Sam said nonchalantly, "sell them to the highest bidder."
    
  Bloom let out an uneasy laugh, clearly indicating his disagreement with Sam. He slapped Sam on the shoulder. "Who said you'll get away with it, kid?"
    
  "Well, I live in the present moment, Mr. Bloom, and I try not to let power-hungry idiots like you write my destiny for me," Sam smirked. "I might even make a dollar off a photo of your corpse."
    
  Without warning, Bloom struck Sam hard in the face, sending him flying backwards and knocking him off his feet. As Sam fell against a steel cabinet, his camera crashed to the floor, shattering on impact.
    
  "You're talking to someone powerful and dangerous, who just so happens to have a firm grip on those Scotch balls, kid. Don't you fucking dare forget that!" Jost thundered as Nina rushed to Sam's aid.
    
  "I don't even know why I'm helping you," she said quietly, wiping his bloody nose. "You got us into this shit because you didn't trust me. You would have trusted Trish, but I'm not Trish, am I?"
    
  Nina's words caught Sam off guard. "Wait, what? I didn't trust your boyfriend, Nina. After everything he put us through, you still believe what he tells you, and I don't. And what's this whole Trish thing all about?"
    
  "I found the memoir, Sam," Nina said in his ear, tilting his head back to stop the bleeding. "I know I'll never be her, but you have to let go."
    
  Sam's jaw literally dropped. So that's what she meant back there, in the house! Letting Trish go, not her!
    
  Perdue walked in with Wesley's gun pointed at his back at all times, and the moment just vanished.
    
  "Nina, what do you know about this office? Is it in the records?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Purdue, no one even knows about this place. How could it be on any record?" she snapped.
    
  Jost rummaged through some papers on the table. "There are some apocryphal texts here!" he announced, looking fascinated. "Real, ancient writings!"
    
  Nina jumped up and joined him.
    
  "You know, in the basement of the western tower of Wewelsburg, there was a private safe that Himmler installed there. Only he and the castle commandant knew about it, but after the war, its contents were removed and never found," Nina lectured, browsing through secret documents she'd only heard of in legends and ancient historical codices. "I bet they moved it here. I'd even go so far as to say..." She turned around to carefully examine the age of the literature, "that it could very well have been a storage room as well. I mean, you saw the door we came through."
    
  When she looked down at the open drawer, she found a handful of scrolls of immense antiquity. Nina saw that Jost was oblivious, and upon closer inspection, she realized it was the same papyrus on which the diary had been written. Tearing off the end with her graceful fingers, she gently unfolded it and read something in Latin that took her breath away: "Alexandrina Bibliotes - Scenario from Atlantis"
    
  Could this be? She made sure no one had seen her as she carefully folded the scrolls into her bag.
    
  "Mr. Bloom," she said after she had retrieved the scrolls, "could you tell me what else the diary said about this place?" She kept his tone conversational, but wanted to keep him occupied and establish a more cordial connection between them so as not to give away her intentions.
    
  "To tell you the truth, I had no particular interest in the codex, Dr. Gould. My only concern was using Agatha Purdue to find this man," he replied, nodding toward Purdue as the other men discussed the age of the room with the hidden notes and its contents. "What was interesting, however, was what he wrote somewhere after the poem that brought you here, before we had to go through the trouble of deciphering it."
    
  "What did he say?" she asked with feigned interest. But what he'd inadvertently conveyed to Nina interested her purely from a historical perspective.
    
  "Klaus Werner was the city planner of Cologne, did you know?" he asked. Nina nodded. He continued, "In his diary, he writes that he returned to where he was stationed in Africa and returned to the Egyptian family that owned the land where he claimed to have seen this magnificent treasure of the world, right?"
    
  "Yes," she replied, glancing at Sam, who was nursing his bruises.
    
  "He wanted to keep it for himself, just like you," Jost chuckled. "But he needed the help of a colleague, an archaeologist who worked here at Wewelsburg, a man named Wilhelm Jordan. He accompanied Werner as a historian to retrieve treasure from an Egyptian's small holding in Algeria, just like you," he repeated his insult cheerfully. "But when they returned to Germany, his friend, who was then directing excavations near Wewelsburg on behalf of Himmler and the SS High Commissioner, got him drunk and shot him, taking the aforementioned loot, which Werner still hadn't directly mentioned in his writings. I guess we'll never know what it was."
    
  "That"s a shame," Nina feigned sympathy, her heart pounding in her chest.
    
  She hoped they could somehow get rid of these less-than-kind gentlemen sooner rather than later. Over the past few years, Nina had prided herself on transforming herself from a brash, albeit pacifistic, scientist into the capable, butt-kicking individual she'd been shaped into by the people she encountered. Once, she would have considered her goose cooked in a situation like this; now, she thought of ways to evade capture as if it were a given-and it was. In the life she currently lived, the threat of death constantly loomed over her and her colleagues, and she had become an unwitting participant in the madness of manic power games and its shady characters.
    
  The hum of a turbine echoed from the corridor-a sudden, deafening silence, replaced only by the soft, howling whistle of the wind, which haunted the complex tunnels. This time, everyone noticed, looking at each other in bewilderment.
    
  "What just happened?" Wesley asked, the first to speak in the dead silence.
    
  "It"s strange that you only notice the noise after it"s muted, isn"t it?" said a voice from the other room.
    
  "Yes! But now I can hear myself thinking," said another.
    
  Nina and Sam instantly recognized the voice and exchanged extremely worried glances.
    
  "Our time isn't up yet, is it?" Sam asked Nina in a loud whisper. Amid the others' puzzled expressions, Nina nodded her head at Sam, denying it. They both recognized the voices of Ludwig Bern and their friend Alexander Arichenkov. Purdue also recognized the Russian's voice.
    
  "What's Alexander doing here?" he asked Sam, but before he could answer, two men entered the doorway. Wesley pointed his gun at Alexander, and Jost Bloom roughly grabbed the petite Nina by the hair and pressed the barrel of his Makarov pistol to her temple.
    
  "Please, don't," she blurted out without thinking. Bern's gaze focused on the Dutchman.
    
  "If you harm Dr. Gould, I will destroy your entire family, Yost," Bern warned without hesitation. "And I know where they are."
    
  "Do you know each other?" Perdue asked.
    
  "This is one of the leaders from Mönkh Saridag, Mr. Perdue," Alexander replied. Perdue looked pale and very uncomfortable. He knew why the team was there, but he didn't know how they found him. In fact, for the first time in his life, the flamboyant and carefree billionaire felt like a worm on a hook; fair game for venturing too deep into places he should have left there.
    
  "Yes, Jost and I served the same master until I came to my senses and stopped being a pawn in the hands of idiots like Renata," Bern chuckled.
    
  "I swear to God, I'll kill her," Jost repeated, hurting Nina just enough to make her yelp. Sam assumed an attack stance, and Jost immediately exchanged a glare with the journalist. "Are you going to hide again, Highlander?"
    
  "Fuck you, you cheese dick! You hurt a hair on her head, and I'll rip your fucking skin off with that rusty scalpel in the other room. Test me!" Sam barked, and he meant it.
    
  "I'd say you're outnumbered not only by the men but also by bad luck, comrade," Alexander chuckled, pulling a joint from his pocket and lighting it with a match. "Now, boy, put down your weapon, or we'll have to put a leash on you too."
    
  With these words, Alexander threw five dog collars at Wesley's feet.
    
  "What have you done to my dogs?" he screamed heatedly, the veins in his neck bulging, but Bern and Alexander ignored him. Wesley released the safety on his pistol. His eyes were filled with tears, and his lips trembled uncontrollably. It was clear to everyone who witnessed him that he was fickle. Bern lowered his gaze to Nina, subconsciously asking her to make the first move with his subtle nod. She was the only one in immediate danger, so she had to gather her courage and try to catch Bloom off guard.
    
  The attractive historian took a moment to recall something her late friend Val had once taught her during a brief sparring session. A surge of adrenaline sent her body into motion, and with all her strength, she yanked Bloom's arm up by the elbow, forcing his gun down. Purdue and Sam simultaneously lunged at Bloom, knocking him down, Nina still in his grasp.
    
  A deafening shot rang out in the tunnels beneath Wewelsburg Castle.
    
    
  Chapter 34
    
    
  Agatha Purdue crawled across the filthy cement floor of the basement where she had woken up. The excruciating pain in her chest testified to the final trauma she had suffered at the hands of Wesley Bernard and Jost Bloom. Before they pumped two bullets into her torso, she had been brutally assaulted by Bloom for hours, until she lost consciousness from pain and blood loss. Barely alive, Agatha forced herself to continue moving on her skinned knees toward the small square of wood and plastic she could see through the blood and tears in her eyes.
    
  Struggling to expand her lungs, she wheezed with every grinding forward movement. The square of switches and currents on the grimy wall beckoned, but she didn't feel she could get that far before oblivion claimed her. The burning, throbbing, unhealing holes left by the metal bullets embedded in the flesh of her diaphragm and upper chest bled profusely, and it felt as if her lungs were pincushions on railroad spikes.
    
  Outside the room, the world was unaware of her plight, and she knew she would never see the sun again. But one thing the brilliant librarian knew was that her attackers would not long outlive her. When she accompanied her brother to the mountain fortress where Mongolia and Russia meet, they vowed to use the stolen weapons against the council at any cost. Rather than risk another Renata from the Black Sun rising at the council's demand if they lost patience in searching for Mirela, David and Agatha decided to eliminate the council as well.
    
  If they had killed the people who had chosen to lead the Order of the Black Sun, there would have been no one to choose a new leader when they handed Renata over to the Renegade Brigade. And the best way to do that would have been to use Longinus to destroy them all at once. But now she faced her own demise, with no idea where her brother was, or if he was even still alive after Bloom and his beasts found him. However, determined to do her part for the greater good, Agatha risked killing innocent people, if only to avenge herself. Besides, she had never been one to let her morals or emotions override what needed to be done, and she intended to prove it today before she breathed her last.
    
  Assuming she was dead, they threw a coat over her body to dispose of it as soon as they returned. She knew they planned to find her brother and force him to abandon Renata before killing him, then removing Renata to speed up the installation of a new leader.
    
  The power box invited her closer and closer.
    
  Using the wiring in it, she could redirect the current to the small silver transmitter Dave had fashioned for her tablet, to use as a satellite modem back in Thurso. With two broken fingers and most of the skin peeled off her knuckles, Agatha rummaged through her coat's sewn-in pocket to retrieve the small locator she and her brother had fashioned after returning from Russia. It had been designed and assembled specifically to Longinus's specifications and served as a remote detonator. Dave and Agatha planned to use it to destroy the council headquarters in Bruges, hoping to eliminate most, if not all, of the members.
    
  Reaching the electrical booth, she leaned against some broken, old furniture that had also been dumped there and forgotten, just like Agatha Purdue. With great difficulty, she worked her magic, slowly and carefully, praying that she wouldn't die before she finished setting up the detonation of the seemingly insignificant superweapon she'd skillfully planted on Wesley Bernard immediately after he'd raped her a second time.
    
    
  Chapter 35
    
    
  Sam rained blows on Bloom while Nina held Perdue in her arms. When Bloom's gun went off, Alexander lunged at Wesley, taking a bullet to the shoulder before Bern tackled the young man and knocked him unconscious. Perdue was wounded in the thigh by Bloom's downward-pointing pistol, but he was conscious. Nina tied a piece of cloth around his leg, which she tore into strips, to stop the bleeding for now.
    
  "Sam, you can stop now," Bern said, pulling Sam off Jost Bloom's limp body. It felt good to get even, Sam thought, and dealt himself another blow before letting Bern lift him off the ground.
    
  "We'll deal with you soon. As soon as everyone can calm down," Nina Perdue said, but she addressed her words to Sam and Bern. Alexander sat against the wall by the door, his shoulder bleeding, searching his coat pocket for the flask of elixir.
    
  "So what do we do with them now?" Sam asked Bern, wiping sweat from his face.
    
  "First, I'd like to return the item they stole from us. Then we'll take them back to Russia as hostages. They could provide us with a wealth of information about Black Sun's activities and inform us of any institutions and members we don't yet know about," Bern replied, binding Bloom with straps from the nearby medical ward.
    
  "How did you get here?" Nina asked.
    
  "A plane. As we speak, a pilot is waiting for me in Hanover. Why?" he frowned.
    
  "Well, we couldn"t find the item you sent us to return to you," she said to Bern with some concern, "and I was wondering what you were doing here; how you found us."
    
  Bern shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips at the deliberate tact with which the attractive woman asked her questions. "I suppose there was some synchronicity involved. You see, Alexander and I followed the trail of something stolen from the Brigade just after you and Sam set out on your journey."
    
  He crouched down next to her. Nina could tell he suspected something, but his affection for her kept him from losing his calm demeanor.
    
  "What worries me is that at first we thought you and Sam had something to do with it. But Alexander here convinced us otherwise, and we believed him, following Longinus's signal that we should find the very people we were assured had nothing to do with his theft," he chuckled.
    
  Nina felt her heart leap with fear. The kindness Ludwig had always shown her, the disdain in his voice and eyes, was gone. "Now tell me, Doctor Gould, what am I supposed to think?"
    
  "Ludwig, we have nothing to do with any theft!" she protested, carefully monitoring her tone.
    
  "Captain Byrne would be preferable, Dr. Gould," he snapped. "And please don't try to make a fool of me a second time."
    
  Nina looked to Alexander for support, but he was unconscious. Sam shook his head: "She's not lying to you, Captain. We definitely had nothing to do with this."
    
  "Then how did Longinus end up here?" Bern growled at Sam. He stood up and turned to face Sam, his imposing height in a menacing stance, his eyes icy. "That led us straight to you!"
    
  Perdue couldn't bear it anymore. He knew the truth, and now, once again because of him, Sam and Nina were being roasted, their lives at risk once again. Stuttering in pain, he raised his hand to get Bern's attention. "This wasn't Sam or Nina's doing, Captain. I don't know how Longinus brought you here, because he's not here."
    
  "How do you know that?" Bern asked sternly.
    
  "Because I was the one who stole it," Perdue admitted.
    
  "Oh, Jesus!" Nina exclaimed, throwing her head back in disbelief. "You can't be serious."
    
  "Where is it?" Byrne shouted, focusing on Perdue like a vulture waiting for the death rattle.
    
  "It's with my sister. But I don't know where she is now. In fact, she stole it from me the day she parted from us in Cologne," he added, shaking his head at the absurdity of it.
    
  "Good God, Perdue! What else are you hiding?" Nina shrieked.
    
  "I told you so," Sam said calmly to Nina.
    
  "Don't, Sam! Just don't do it!" she warned him and stood up from under Purdue. "You can help yourself out of this, Purdue."
    
  Wesley came out of nowhere.
    
  He plunged the rusty bayonet deep into Bern's stomach. Nina screamed. Sam pulled her out of harm's way as Wesley, grimacing maniacally, looked Bern straight in the eyes. He pulled the bloody steel from the tight vacuum of Bern's body and plunged it back in a second time. Perdue retreated as quickly as he could on one leg, while Sam held Nina close, her face buried in his chest.
    
  But Bern proved stronger than Wesley had imagined. He grabbed the young man by the throat and slammed them both into the bookshelves with a mighty blow. With a furious snarl, he snapped Wesley's arm like a twig, and the two engaged in a furious battle on the ground. The noise brought Bloom out of his stupor. His laughter drowned out the pain and the war between the two men on the floor. Nina, Sam, and Perdue frowned at his reaction, but he ignored them. He simply continued laughing, indifferent to his own fate.
    
  Bern was losing his breath, his wounds soaking his pants and boots. He could hear Nina crying, but he had no time to admire her beauty one last time-he had to commit murder.
    
  With a crushing blow to Wesley's neck, he immobilized the young man's nerves, stunning him momentarily, just long enough to break his neck. Bern fell to his knees, feeling his life slipping away. Bloom's irritating laughter caught his attention.
    
  "Please kill him too," Perdue said softly.
    
  "You just killed my assistant, Wesley Bernard!" Bloom smiled. "He was raised by foster parents in Black Sun, did you know, Ludwig? They were kind enough to let him keep part of his original surname-Bern."
    
  Bloom burst into a shrill laugh that enraged everyone within earshot, while Bern's dying eyes drowned in confused tears.
    
  "You just killed your own son, Daddy," Bloom chuckled. The horror of it was too much for Nina to bear.
    
  "I'm so sorry, Ludwig!" she wailed, holding his hand, but there was nothing left in Bern. His powerful body couldn't bear his desire to die, and he blessed himself with Nina's face before the light finally left his eyes.
    
  "Aren't you glad Wesley's dead, Mr. Purdue?" Bloom aimed his venom at Purdue. "As he should be, after the unspeakable things he did to your sister before he finished off that bitch!" He laughed.
    
  Sam grabbed a lead bookend from the shelf behind them. He walked up to Bloom and brought the heavy object down on his skull without hesitation or remorse. The bone cracked as Bloom laughed, and a disturbing hiss escaped his mouth as brain matter leaked onto his shoulder.
    
  Nina's reddened eyes looked at Sam with gratitude. Sam, in turn, looked shocked by his own actions, but he couldn't do anything to justify it. Perdue shifted uncomfortably, trying to give Nina time to mourn Bern. Swallowing his own loss, he finally said, "If Longinus is among us, it would be a good idea to leave. Right now. The Council will soon notice that their Dutch branches haven't registered, and they'll come looking for them."
    
  "That's right," Sam said, and they gathered up what old documents they could salvage. "And not a second sooner, because that dead turbine is one of two frail devices keeping the power flowing. The lights will go out soon, and we're screwed."
    
  Purdue thought quickly. Agatha had Longinus. Wesley killed her. The team tracked Longinus here, and he formulated his conclusion. So Wesley must have had the weapon, and the idiot had no idea he had it?
    
  Having stolen the weapon he wanted and touched it, Purdue knew what it looked like, and moreover, he knew how to transport it safely.
    
  They revived Alexander and grabbed some plastic-wrapped bandages they could find in the medical cabinets. Unfortunately, most of the surgical instruments were dirty and couldn't be used to heal Perdue and Alexander's wounds, but it was more important to escape the diabolical labyrinth of Wewelsburg first.
    
  Nina made sure to collect every scroll she could find, in case there were more priceless relics from the ancient world that needed to be saved. Though she was sick with disgust and sadness, she couldn't wait to explore the esoteric treasures she'd discovered in Heinrich Himmler's secret vault.
    
    
  Chapter 36
    
    
  Late that night, they had all emerged from Wewelsburg and were heading for the airstrip in Hanover. Alexander decided to avert his gaze from his companions, as they had been so kind to include his unconscious self in their escape from the underground tunnels. He woke up just before they emerged through the gate that Purdue had removed upon their arrival, feeling Sam's shoulders supporting his limp body in the dimly lit caves of World War II.
    
  Of course, the hefty salary offered by Dave Perdue didn't dampen his sense of loyalty, and he figured it was better to maintain the brigade's goodwill by going public. They planned to meet Otto Schmidt at the airstrip and contact the other brigade commanders for further instructions.
    
  Yet Perdue remained silent about his captive in Thurso, even after receiving a new message, muzzling the dog. This was madness. Now that he had lost his sister and Longinus, he was running out of cards as the opposing forces gathered against him and his friends.
    
  "There he is!" Alexander pointed to Otto when they arrived at Hanover Airport in Langenhagen. He was sitting in a restaurant when Alexander and Nina found him.
    
  "Dr. Gould!" he exclaimed joyfully when he saw Nina. "It's good to see you again."
    
  The German pilot was a very friendly man, and he was one of the brigade members who defended Nina and Sam when Bern accused them of stealing the Longinus. With great difficulty, they conveyed the sad news to Otto and briefly told him what had happened at the research center.
    
  "And you couldn"t bring his body back?" he finally asked.
    
  "No, Herr Schmidt," Nina interjected, "we had to get out before the weapon exploded. We still have no idea if it did. I suggest you refrain from sending more people there to retrieve Bern's body. It's too dangerous."
    
  He heeded Nina's warning but quickly contacted his colleague Bridges to inform him of their status and the loss of the Longinus. Nina and Alexander waited anxiously, hoping that Sam and Perdue wouldn't run out of patience and would join them before they devised a plan of action with Otto Schmidt's help. Nina knew Perdue would offer to pay Schmidt for his trouble, but she felt that would be inappropriate after Perdue had confessed to stealing the Longinus in the first place. Alexander and Nina agreed to keep this fact to themselves for now.
    
  "Okay, I've requested a status report. As Comrade Commander, I'm authorized to take any action I deem necessary," Otto told them, returning from the building where he'd made a private call. "I want you to know that the loss of Longinus and the continued lack of any hope of arresting Renata doesn't sit well with me...or us. But because I trust you, and because you reported when you could have escaped, I've decided to help you..."
    
  "Oh, thank you!" Nina sighed with relief.
    
  "BUT..." he continued, "I"m not returning to Mönkh Saridag empty-handed, so that doesn"t let you off the hook. Your friends, Alexander, still have an hourglass that"s rapidly losing sand. That hasn"t changed. Do I make myself clear?"
    
  "Yes, sir," Alexander replied, while Nina nodded gratefully.
    
  "Now tell me about your excursion you mentioned, Dr. Gould," he said to Nina, shifting in his chair to listen attentively.
    
  "I have reason to believe that I have discovered ancient writings, as ancient as the Dead Sea Scrolls," she began.
    
  "Can I see them?" Otto asked.
    
  "I"d prefer to show them to you in a more... private place?" Nina smiled.
    
  "Done. Where are we heading?"
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  In less than thirty minutes, Otto's Jet Ranger, carrying four passengers-Perdue, Alexander, Nina, and Sam-was headed for Thurso. They would stop at the Perdue estate, the very place where Miss Maisie had nursed the guest of her nightmares, unbeknownst to anyone but Perdue and his so-called housekeeper. Perdue suggested this would be the best place, as it had a makeshift laboratory in the basement where Nina could carbon-date the scrolls she'd found, scientifically dating the organic base of the parchment to verify their authenticity.
    
  For Otto, there was the promise of taking something from Discovery, although Perdue planned to get rid of this very expensive and annoying asset sooner rather than later. All he wanted to do first was see how Nina's discovery would play out.
    
  "So you think this is part of the Dead Sea Scrolls?" Sam asked her as she set up the equipment Purdue had provided her with while Purdue, Alexander, and Otto sought help from a local doctor to treat their bullet wounds without asking too many questions.
    
    
  Chapter 37
    
    
  Miss Maisie entered the basement with a tray.
    
  "Would you like some tea and cookies?" she smiled at Nina and Sam.
    
  "Thank you, Miss Maisie. And please, if you need any help in the kitchen, I'm at your service," Sam offered with his signature boyish charm. Nina grinned, setting up the scanner.
    
  "Oh, thank you, Mr. Cleve, but I can handle it myself," Maisie assured him, casting Nina a look of playful horror that appeared on her face, remembering the kitchen disasters Sam had caused the last time he'd helped her make breakfast. Nina lowered her head to giggle.
    
  With gloved hands, Nina Gould took the first scroll of papyrus in her hands with great tenderness.
    
  "So you think these are the scrolls we always read about?" Sam asked.
    
  "Yes," Nina smiled, her face shining with excitement, "and from my rusty Latin, I know that these three in particular are the elusive Atlantis scrolls!"
    
  "Atlantis, as in the sunken continent?" he asked, peering out from behind the car to look at the ancient texts in an unfamiliar language, written in faded black ink.
    
  "That"s right," she replied, concentrating on preparing the fragile parchment just right for the dough.
    
  "But you know, most of this is speculation, even its very existence, let alone its location," Sam mentioned, leaning his elbows on the table to watch her skilled hands at work.
    
  "There were too many coincidences, Sam. Several cultures sharing the same doctrines, the same legends, not to mention the countries believed to have surrounded the continent of Atlantis sharing the same architecture and zoology," she said. "Turn off that light, please."
    
  He walked over to the main overhead light switch, bathing the basement in a dim glow from two lamps on opposite sides of the room. Sam watched her work and couldn't help but feel endless admiration for her. Not only had she endured all the dangers Purdue and his supporters had exposed them to, but she had also maintained her professionalism, acting as a protector of all historical treasures. She never once considered appropriating the relics she handled or taking credit for the discoveries she made, risking her life to reveal the beauty of the unknown past.
    
  He wondered what she felt as she looked at him now, still torn between loving him and considering him some kind of traitor. The latter didn't go unnoticed. Sam realized that Nina considered him as distrustful as Perdue, and yet she was so close to both men that she could never truly leave.
    
  "Sam," her voice broke him from his silent contemplation, "Could you put this back in the leather scroll, please? That is, after you put on your gloves!" He rummaged through the contents of her bag and found a box of surgical gloves. He took a pair and ceremoniously put them on, smiling at her. She handed him the scroll. "Continue your oral search when you get home," she smiled. Sam chuckled, carefully placing the scroll in the leather roll and tying it neatly inside.
    
  "Do you think we"ll ever be able to go home without having to watch our backs?" he asked on a more serious note.
    
  "I hope so. You know, looking back, I can't believe my biggest threat was once Matlock and his sexist condescension at university," she shared, recalling her academic career under the tutelage of a pretentious, attention-seeking slut who appropriated all her accomplishments as her own for publicity when she and Sam first met.
    
  "I miss Bruich," Sam pouted, lamenting the absence of his beloved cat, "and a pint with Paddy every Friday night. God, it seems like a lifetime away, doesn't it?"
    
  "Yes. It's almost as if we're living two lives in one, don't you think? But then again, we wouldn't know half of what we have, or experience even an ounce of the amazing things we have, if we hadn't been thrust into this life, huh?" she consoled him, though in truth, she would have returned her boring teaching life to a comfortable, safe existence in a heartbeat.
    
  Sam nodded, agreeing with this 100 percent. Unlike Nina, he believed that in his past life, he would have already been hanged by a rope hanging from the bathroom sink. Thoughts of his near-perfect life with his late fiancée, now deceased, would haunt him with guilt every day if he were still working as a freelance journalist for various publications in the UK, as he had once planned to do at the suggestion of his therapist.
    
  There was no doubt that his apartment, his frequent drunken escapades, and his past would have caught up with him by now, but now he had no time to dwell on the past. Now he had to watch his step, had learned to judge people quickly, and stay alive at any cost. He hated to admit it, but Sam preferred to be in the embrace of danger rather than sleep in the fires of self-pity.
    
  "We'll need a linguist, a translator. Oh, my God, we're having to choose strangers we can trust again," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. It suddenly reminded Sam of Trish; how she'd often twirled a stray lock of hair around her finger, letting it spring back into place after she'd pulled it tight.
    
  "And you're sure these scrolls are supposed to indicate the location of Atlantis?" he frowned. The concept was too far-fetched for Sam to grasp. Never a firm believer in conspiracy theories, he had to acknowledge many inconsistencies he hadn't believed until he experienced them firsthand. But Atlantis? In Sam's view, it was some kind of historical city that had sunk.
    
  "Not only the location, but the Atlantean Scrolls are said to have recorded the secrets of an advanced civilization, so advanced in its time that it was inhabited by those whom mythology today proposes as gods and goddesses. The people of Atlantis were said to have possessed such superior intellect and methodology that they are credited with building the pyramids at Giza, Sam," she rambled. He could see Nina had spent a lot of time on the legend of Atlantis.
    
  "So where was it supposed to be located?" he asked. "And what the hell would the Nazis do with a submerged piece of land? Weren't they already satisfied with subjugating all the cultures above the water?"
    
  Nina tilted her head to the side and sighed at his cynicism, but it made her smile.
    
  "No, Sam. I think what they were hunting for was written somewhere in those scrolls. Many explorers and philosophers have speculated about the island's location, and most agree it's located between North Africa and the confluence of the Americas," she lectured.
    
  "It"s really big," he noted, thinking about the vast portion of the Atlantic Ocean occupied by a single land mass.
    
  "It was. According to Plato's works, and subsequently other more modern theories, Atlantis is the reason why so many different continents share similar building styles and fauna. All of this came from the Atlantean civilization, which, so to speak, connected the other continents," she explained.
    
  Sam thought for a moment. "So what do you think Himmler would want?"
    
  "Knowledge. Advanced knowledge. It wasn't enough that Hitler and his dogs thought the superior race was descended from some otherworldly breed. Perhaps they thought that was precisely who the Atlanteans were, and that they would possess secrets related to advanced technology and the like," she suggested.
    
  "That would be a tangible theory," Sam agreed.
    
  A long silence followed, broken only by the car. They locked eyes. It was a rare moment alone, unthreatening and in mixed company. Nina could see something was bothering Sam. As much as she wanted to dismiss their recent shocking experience, she couldn't contain her curiosity.
    
  "What"s the matter, Sam?" she asked almost involuntarily.
    
  "Did you think I was obsessed with Trish again?" he asked.
    
  "That's what I did," Nina said, looking down at the floor and clasping her hands in front of her. "I saw these stacks of notes and fond memories, and I... I thought..."
    
  Sam approached her in the soft light of the dreary basement and pulled her into his arms. She let him. For now, she didn't care what he was involved in or how far she had to believe he hadn't somehow deliberately led the council to them in Wewelsburg. Now, here, he was simply Sam-her Sam.
    
  "The notes about us-Trish and me-aren"t what you think," he whispered, his fingers playing with her hair, cradling the back of her head, while his other arm was wrapped tightly around her graceful waist. Nina didn"t want to ruin the moment with an answer. She wanted him to continue. She wanted to know what it was about. And she wanted to hear it directly from Sam. Nina simply remained silent and let him speak, savoring every precious moment alone with him; inhaling the faint scent of his cologne and the fabric softener of his sweater, the warmth of his body next to hers, and the distant beat of his heart within hers.
    
  "It"s just a book," he told her, and she could hear him smiling.
    
  "What do you mean?" she asked, frowning at him.
    
  "I'm writing a book for a London publisher about everything that happened, from the moment I met Patricia until... well, you know," he explained. His dark brown eyes now seemed black, the only white spot a faint glimmer of light that made him seem alive to her-alive and real.
    
  "Oh, God, I feel so stupid," she moaned, pressing her forehead hard into the muscular hollow of his chest. "I was devastated. I thought... oh, fuck, Sam, I'm sorry," she whined in confusion. He chuckled at her response and, lifting her face to his, pressed a deep, sensual kiss to her lips. Nina felt his heartbeat quicken, causing her to moan slightly.
    
  Purdue cleared his throat. He stood at the top of the stairs, leaning on his cane to transfer most of his weight to his injured leg.
    
  "We came back and fixed everything," he announced with a slight smile of defeat at the sight of their romantic moment.
    
  "Purdue!" Sam exclaimed. "That cane somehow gives you a sophisticated, James Bond villain look."
    
  "Thank you, Sam. I chose it for that very reason. There's a dagger hidden inside, which I'll show you later," Perdue winked, without much humor.
    
  Alexander and Otto approached him from behind.
    
  "And are the documents genuine, Dr. Gould?" Otto asked Nina.
    
  "Hmm, I don't know yet. The tests will take a few hours before we finally know whether they are genuine apocryphal and Alexandrian texts," Nina explained. "So, we should be able to determine from one scroll the approximate age of all the others written in the same ink and handwriting."
    
  "While we wait, I can let the others read it, right?" Otto suggested impatiently.
    
  Nina looked at Alexander. She didn't know Otto Schmidt well enough to trust him with her discovery, but on the other hand, he was one of the leaders of the Renegade Brigade and could therefore decide their fate instantly. If he didn't like them, Nina was afraid he'd order Katya and Sergey killed while he was playing darts with the Purdue team, as if he were ordering a pizza.
    
  Alexander nodded approvingly.
    
    
  Chapter 38
    
    
  The portly sixty-year-old Otto Schmidt sat at the antique desk upstairs in the living room, studying the inscriptions on the scrolls. Sam and Purdue played darts, challenging Alexander to throw right-handed, as the left-handed Russian had been injured in his left shoulder. Always willing to take risks, the crazy Russian performed remarkably well, even attempting a round with a sore arm.
    
  Nina joined Otto a few minutes later. She was fascinated by his ability to read two of the three languages they found in the scrolls. He briefly told her about his studies and his affinity for languages and cultures, which also intrigued Nina before she chose history as her major. Although she excelled in Latin, the Austrian could also read Hebrew and Greek, which was a godsend. The last thing Nina wanted to do was risk their lives again by using a stranger to work on her relics. She was still convinced that the neo-Nazis who had tried to kill them en route to Wewelsburg had been sent by graphologist Rachel Clark, and she was grateful that their company had someone who could help with the decipherable parts of the obscure languages.
    
  The thought of Rachel Clarke made Nina uneasy. If she'd been the one behind the bloody car chase that day, she would have already known her lackeys had been killed. The thought of ending up in the next town unsettled Nina even more. If she had to figure out where they were, north of Halkirk, they'd be in more trouble than they needed.
    
  "According to the Hebrew sections here," Otto pointed at Nina, "and here, it says that Atlantis... was not... it was a vast land ruled by ten kings." He lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke from the filter before continuing. "Judging by the time they"re written, this could very well have been written during the time when Atlantis is believed to have existed. It mentions the location of the continent, which on modern maps would place its coastline, uh, let"s see... from Mexico and the Amazon River in South America," he groaned through another exhale, his eyes focused on the Hebrew scripture, "all along the west coast of Europe and northern Africa." He raised an eyebrow, looking impressed.
    
  Nina had a similar expression. "I guess that's where the Atlantic Ocean gets its name. My God, this is so cool, how could everyone have missed this all this time?" She was joking, but her thoughts were sincere.
    
  "It looks that way," Otto agreed. "But, my dear Dr. Gould, you must remember that it's not the circumference or the size that matters, but the depths to which this land lies beneath the surface."
    
  "I suppose. But you'd think that with the technology they have to penetrate space, they could develop the technology to dive to great depths," she chuckled.
    
  "Preaching to the choir, lady," Otto smiled. "I've been saying that for years."
    
  "What are these writings?" she asked him, carefully unrolling another scroll, which contained several entries mentioning Atlantis or some derivative of it.
    
  "It's Greek. Let me see," he said, concentrating on each word his scanning index finger traced. "Typical of why the damn Nazis wanted to find Atlantis..."
    
  "Why?"
    
  "This text speaks of sun worship, which is the religion of the Atlanteans. Sun worship... does that sound familiar to you?"
    
  "Oh, God, yes," she sighed.
    
  "This was probably written by an Athenian. They were at war with the Atlanteans, refusing to cede their land to Atlantean conquest, and the Athenians kicked their asses. Here, in this part, it notes that the continent lay 'west of the Pillars of Hercules,'" he added, crushing out his cigarette butt in an ashtray.
    
  "And that could be?" Nina asked. "Wait, the Pillars of Hercules were Gibraltar. The Strait of Gibraltar!"
    
  "Oh, good. I thought it was supposed to be somewhere in the Mediterranean. Close it," he replied, stroking the yellow parchment and nodding thoughtfully. He was delighted with the antiquity from which he had the honor of studying. "This is an Egyptian papyrus, as you probably know," Otto told Nina in a dreamy voice, like an old grandfather telling a child a story. Nina enjoyed his wisdom and respect for history. "The most ancient civilization, descended directly from the super-developed Atlanteans, was established in Egypt. Now, if I were a lyrical and romantic soul," he winked at Nina, "I would like to think that this very scroll was written by a true descendant of Atlantis."
    
  His plump face was full of surprise, and Nina was no less delighted by the idea. The two shared a moment of silent bliss at the idea before they both burst into laughter.
    
  "Now all we have to do is map the geography and see if we can make history," Perdue smiled. He stood watching them, a glass of single malt whiskey in hand, listening to the compelling information from the Atlantis Scrolls that ultimately led Himmler to order Werner's assassination in 1946.
    
  At the guests' request, Maisie prepared a light supper. While everyone was settling down to a hearty meal by the fire, Perdue disappeared for a moment. Sam wondered what Perdue was hiding this time, leaving almost immediately after the housekeeper disappeared through the back door.
    
  No one else seemed to notice. Alexander told Nina and Otto terrifying stories about his time in Siberia in his late twenties, and they seemed completely captivated by his tales.
    
  After finishing the rest of his whiskey, Sam slipped out of the office to follow in Purdue's footsteps and see what he was up to. Sam was fed up with Purdue's secrets, but what he saw when he followed him and Maisie into the guest house made his blood boil. It was time for Sam to put an end to Purdue's reckless bets, always using Nina and Sam as pawns. Sam pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began doing what he did best-photographing the deals.
    
  Once he had enough evidence, he ran back to the house. Sam now had a few secrets of his own, and tired of being dragged into conflicts with the same evil groups, he decided it was time to switch roles.
    
    
  Chapter 39
    
    
  Otto Schmidt spent most of the night carefully calculating the best starting point from which to search for the lost continent. After considering numerous possible entry points from which to begin scanning for the dive, he finally determined that the best latitude and longitude would be the Madeira archipelago, located southwest of the coast of Portugal.
    
  Although the Strait of Gibraltar, or the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea, had always been the more popular choice for most excursions, he chose Madeira due to its close proximity to a previous discovery mentioned in one of the old Black Sun registers. He recalled the discovery mentioned in the Arcane reports when he was researching the location of Nazi-occult artifacts before dispatching appropriate research teams around the world to search for these items.
    
  They found quite a few of the fragments they were searching for back then, he recalled. However, many of the truly great scrolls, the fabric of legends and myths accessible even to the esoteric minds of the SS, eluded them all. Ultimately, they became nothing more than fool's errands for those who pursued them, like the lost continent of Atlantis and its priceless fragment, so sought after by those in the know.
    
  Now he had a chance to claim at least some credit for the discovery of one of the most elusive of them all-the Residence of Solon, said to be the birthplace of the first Aryans. According to Nazi literature, it was an egg-shaped relic containing the DNA of a superhuman race. With such a find, Otto couldn't even imagine the power the brigade would wield over the Black Sun, let alone the scientific world.
    
  Of course, if it were up to him, he would never have allowed the world access to such a priceless find. The general consensus among the Renegade Brigade was that dangerous relics should be kept secret and well guarded, lest they be misused by those who thrive on greed and power. And that's exactly what he would have done-claimed it and locked it away in the impenetrable cliffs of the Russian mountain ranges.
    
  Only he knew of Solon's location, and so he chose Madeira to occupy the remaining portions of the submerged landmass. Of course, discovering at least some part of Atlantis was important, but Otto was seeking something far more powerful, something more valuable than any conceivable estimate-something the world was never meant to know.
    
  It was quite a long journey south from Scotland to the coast of Portugal, but the core group of Nina, Sam, and Otto took their time, stopping to refuel the helicopter and have lunch on the island of Porto Santo. Meanwhile, Purdue secured a boat for them and outfitted it with scuba gear and sonar scanning equipment that would have put any institute other than the World Marine Archaeology Research Institute to shame. He had a small fleet of yachts and fishing trawlers around the world, but he tasked his affiliates in France with some quick-fix work to find him a new yacht that could carry everything he needed while still being compact enough to sail unassisted.
    
  The discovery of Atlantis would be Purdue's greatest find in history. It would undoubtedly surpass his reputation as an extraordinary inventor and explorer and catapult him straight into the history books as the man who rediscovered a lost continent. Beyond any ego or money, it would elevate his status to an unshakable position, the latter of which would ensure him security and prestige within any organization he chose, including the Order of the Black Sun, the Renegade Brigade, or any other powerful society he chose.
    
  Alexander was with him, of course. Both men had recovered well from their injuries, and, being true adventurers, neither of them let their wounds hinder them from this exploration. Alexander was grateful that Otto had reported Bern's death to the brigade and notified Bridges that he and Alexander would be helping here for a few days before returning to Russia. This would have kept them from executing Sergei and Katya for now, but the threat still loomed large, and it was this that greatly affected the Russian's usually cheerful and carefree demeanor.
    
  He was irritated that Perdue knew Renata's whereabouts but remained indifferent to the matter. Unfortunately, with the amount of money Perdue had paid him, he hadn't said a word on the matter and hoped he could do something about it before his time was up. He wondered if Sam and Nina would still be accepted into the Brigade, but Otto would have a legitimate representative of the organization present to speak for them.
    
  "So, my old friend, shall we set sail?" cried Purdue from the engine-room hatch from which he had emerged.
    
  "Aye, aye, captain," shouted the Russian from the helm.
    
  "We should have a good time, Alexander," Perdue chuckled, patting the Russian on the back as he enjoyed the breeze.
    
  "Yes, some of us don"t have much time left," Alexander hinted in an unusually serious tone.
    
  It was early afternoon and the ocean was perfectly gentle, breathing peacefully beneath the hull as the pale sun glinted on the silver streaks and surface of the water.
    
  A licensed skipper like Perdue, Alexander entered their coordinates into the control system, and the two men set off from Lorient toward Madeira, where they were to meet the others. Once out at sea, the group was to navigate according to information provided on scrolls translated for them by the Austrian pilot.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Nina and Sam shared some of their old war stories about their encounters with the Black Sun later that evening when they met Otto for drinks, awaiting Perdue and Alexander's arrival the next day, if all went according to plan. The island was stunning, and the weather mild. Nina and Sam had been assigned separate rooms for the sake of propriety, but Otto didn't think to mention it directly.
    
  "Why do you hide your relationship so carefully?" the old pilot asked them during a break between stories.
    
  "What do you mean?" Sam asked innocently, glancing quickly at Nina.
    
  "It's obvious you two are close. Oh my god, dude, you're obviously lovers, so stop acting like two teenagers screwing outside your parents' room and check in together!" he exclaimed, a little louder than he'd intended.
    
  "Otto!" Nina gasped.
    
  "Forgive me for being so rude, my dear Nina, but seriously. We are all adults. Or is it because you have a reason to hide your affair?" His raspy voice touched the scratch they were both avoiding. But before anyone could respond, Otto realized, and he exhaled loudly, "Ah! I see!" and leaned back in his chair, a foamy amber beer in his hand. "There"s a third player. I think I know who it is, too. A billionaire, of course! What beautiful woman wouldn"t share her affections with someone so wealthy, even if her heart yearns for less... a financially secure man?"
    
  "Let me tell you, I find that remark offensive!" Nina seethed, her infamous temper flaring.
    
  "Nina, don"t be defensive," Sam coaxed, smiling at Otto.
    
  "If you're not going to protect me, Sam, please shut up," she sneered, meeting Otto's indifferent gaze. "Herr Schmidt, I don't think you're in any position to generalize and make assumptions about my feelings for people when you know absolutely nothing about me," she reprimanded the pilot in a sharp tone, which she managed to keep as quiet as possible, considering how furious she was. "The women you meet at that level may be desperate and superficial, but I'm not like that. I take care of myself."
    
  He gave her a long, heavy look, the kindness in his eyes turning to vengeful punishment. Sam felt his stomach clench at Otto's quiet, smirking gaze. That was why he was trying to keep Nina from losing her temper. She seemed to have forgotten that the fate of both Sam and her depended on Otto's favor, otherwise the Renegade Brigade would quickly deal with them both, not to mention their Russian friends.
    
  "If that's the case, Dr. Gould, that you have to take care of yourself, I pity you. If this is the mess you're getting yourself into, I'm afraid you'd be better off as some deaf man's concubine than this rich idiot's lapdog," Otto replied with a raspy, menacing condescension that would have made any misogynist stand at attention and applaud. Ignoring her retort, he slowly rose from his chair. "I need to take a leak. Sam, get us another one."
    
  "Are you fucking crazy?" Sam hissed at her.
    
  "What? Did you hear what he was hinting at? You were too damn spineless to defend my honor, so what did you expect to happen?" she snapped back.
    
  "You know he's one of only two commanders left of the people who have us all by the balls; the people who brought Black Sun to its knees to this day, right? Piss him off, and we'll all have a cozy burial at sea!" Sam reminded her flatly.
    
  "Shouldn't you invite your new boyfriend to a bar?" she quipped, infuriated by her inability to belittle the men in her company as easily as she usually did. "He basically called me a slut who's willing to side with whoever's in power."
    
  Sam blurted out without thinking, "Well, between me, Perdue, and Bern, it was hard to say where you'd like to make your bed, Nina. Perhaps he has a point you'd like to consider."
    
  Nina's dark eyes widened, but her anger was clouded with pain. Had she just heard Sam say those words, or had some alcoholic demon manipulated him? Her heart ached and a lump formed in her throat, but her anger remained, fueled by his betrayal. She mentally tried to understand why Otto had called Purdue feeble-minded. Was it to hurt her, or to lure her out? Or did he know Purdue better than they did?
    
  Sam simply stood there, frozen, expecting her to tear him apart, but to his horror, tears welled up in Nina's eyes, and she simply stood up and left. He felt less remorse than he expected, because he truly felt that way.
    
  But no matter how pleasant the truth was, he still felt like a bastard for saying it.
    
  He sat down to enjoy the rest of the night with the old pilot and his interesting stories and advice. At the next table, two men seemed to be discussing the entire episode they had just witnessed. The tourists spoke Dutch or Flemish, but they didn't mind Sam watching them talk about him and the woman.
    
  "Women," Sam smiled and raised his glass of beer. The men laughed in agreement and raised their glasses.
    
  Nina was grateful they had separate rooms, otherwise she might have killed Sam in his sleep in a fit of rage. Her anger stemmed not so much from the fact that he had sided with Otto over her cavalier treatment of men, but from the fact that she had to admit there was much truth to his statement. Bern had been her bosom friend when they were prisoners in Mánh Saridag, largely because she had deliberately used her charms to soften their fate after learning she was the spitting image of his wife.
    
  She preferred Purdue's advances when she was angry with Sam to simply sorting things out with him. And what would she have done without Purdue's financial support while he was away? She never bothered to track him down seriously, but she did pursue her research, financed by his affection for her.
    
  "Oh my God," she screamed as quietly as she could after locking the door and collapsing onto the bed, "They're right! I'm just a entitled little girl using her charisma and status to keep herself alive. I'm the court whore of any king in power!"
    
    
  Chapter 40
    
    
  Perdue and Alexander had already scanned the ocean floor a few nautical miles from their destination. They wanted to determine whether there were any anomalies or unnatural variations in the geography of the slopes beneath them that could indicate human structures or uniform peaks that could represent the remains of ancient architecture. Any geomorphic inconsistencies in surface features could indicate that the submerged material differs from localized sediments, and this would be worth investigating.
    
  "I never knew Atlantis was so big," Alexander remarked, looking at the perimeter set on the deep sonar scanner. According to Otto Schmidt, it stretched far across the Atlantic, between the Mediterranean Sea and North and South America. On the western side of the screen, it reached the Bahamas and Mexico, which made sense for the theory that this was the reason Egyptian and South American architecture and religions contained pyramids and similar structures that exerted a common influence.
    
  "Oh yes, it was said to be larger than North Africa and Asia Minor combined," Perdue explained.
    
  "But then it"s literally too big to be found, because there are land masses around those perimeters," Alexander said, more to himself than to those present.
    
  "Oh, but I'm sure those landmasses are part of the underlying plate-like the peaks of a mountain range hiding the rest of the mountain," Perdue said. "My God, Alexander, think of the glory we'd achieve if we'd discovered that continent!"
    
  Alexander didn't care about fame. All he cared about was finding out where Renata was so he could get Katya and Sergei off the hook before their time was up. He noticed that Sam and Nina were already very friendly with Comrade Schmidt, which was in their favor, but as for the deal, there had been no change in the terms, and this kept him awake all night. He constantly reached for vodka to calm himself, especially when the Portuguese climate began to irritate his Russian sensibilities. The country was breathtakingly beautiful, but he missed home. He missed the piercing cold, the snow, the burning moonshine, and the hot women.
    
  When they reached the islands around Madeira, Perdue was eager to meet Sam and Nina, though he was wary of Otto Schmidt. Perhaps Perdue's Black Sun affiliation was still fresh, or perhaps Otto was displeased that Perdue had clearly not chosen a side, but the Austrian pilot was not in Perdue's inner sanctum, that was certain.
    
  However, the old man had played a valuable role and had so far been of great help to them in translating parchments into obscure languages and locating the probable place they were looking for, so Purdue had to come to terms with it and accept the presence of this man among them.
    
  When they met, Sam mentioned how impressed he was with the boat Purdue had bought. Otto and Alexander stepped aside and figured out where and at what depth the landmass was supposed to be. Nina stood to the side, breathing in the fresh ocean air and feeling a little out of place due to the numerous bottles of coral and countless glasses of poncha she'd purchased since returning to the bar. Feeling depressed and angry after Otto's insult, she cried on her bed for almost an hour, waiting for Sam and Otto to leave so she could go back to the bar. And she did, as expected.
    
  "Hello, dear," Perdue spoke from beside her. His face was flushed from the sun and salt of the past day or so, but he looked well-rested, unlike Nina. "What's wrong? Have the boys been bullying you?"
    
  Nina looked completely upset, and Purdue soon realized something was seriously wrong. He gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder, enjoying the feeling of her small body pressed against his for the first time in years. It was unusual for Nina Gould to say nothing at all, and that was proof enough that she was feeling out of place.
    
  "So, where are we heading first?" she asked out of the blue.
    
  "A few miles west of here, Alexander and I discovered some irregular formations at a depth of several hundred feet. I'm going to start with this one. It definitely doesn't look like an underwater ridge or any kind of shipwreck. It extends for about 200 miles. It's enormous!" he continued ramblingly, clearly excited beyond words.
    
  "Mr. Perdue," Otto called out, walking up to the two of them, "will I fly over you to see your dives from the air?"
    
  "Yes, sir," Purdue smiled, giving the pilot a hearty clap on the shoulder. "I'll contact you as soon as we reach the first dive site."
    
  "Right!" Otto exclaimed, giving Sam a thumbs-up. Neither Perdue nor Nina could figure out what it was for. "Then I'll wait here. You know pilots aren't supposed to drink, right?" Otto laughed heartily and shook Perdue's hand. "Good luck, Mr. Perdue. And Dr. Gould, you're a king's ransom by any gentleman's standards, my dear," he said unexpectedly to Nina.
    
  Taken aback, she thought about her answer, but as usual, Otto ignored it and simply turned on his heel to head to a cafe overlooking the dams and cliffs just outside the fishing area.
    
  "It was strange. Strange, but surprisingly desirable," Nina muttered.
    
  Sam was on her crap list, and she avoided him for most of the trip, except for the necessary notes here and there on diving gear and bearings.
    
  "See? More explorers, I bet," Perdue said to Alexander with a cheerful chuckle, pointing to a very decrepit fishing boat bobbing some distance away. They could hear the Portuguese arguing incessantly about the wind direction, judging by what they could decipher from their gestures. Alexander laughed. It reminded him of the night he and six other soldiers had spent on the Caspian Sea, too drunk to navigate and hopelessly lost.
    
  A rare two hours of rest blessed the crew of the Atlantis expedition as Alexander steered the yacht to the latitude recorded by the sextant he'd been consulting. Though they were engrossed in small talk and folk tales of old Portuguese explorers, runaway lovers, drowned sailors, and the authenticity of other documents found along with the Atlantis scrolls, they were all secretly eager to see if the continent truly lay beneath them in all its glory. None of them could contain their excitement about the dive.
    
  "Luckily, I took up more diving at a PADI-recognized dive school a little under a year ago, just to do something different to relax," Sam boasted as Alexander zipped up his suit before his first dive.
    
  "That's a good thing, Sam. At these depths, you have to know what you're doing. Nina, are you missing this?" Perdue asked.
    
  "Yeah," she shrugged. "I've got a hangover big enough to kill a buffalo, and you know how well it goes under pressure."
    
  "Oh, yeah, probably not," Alexander nodded, sucking on another joint as the wind ruffled his hair. "Don't worry, I'll be good company while those two tease sharks and seduce man-eating mermaids."
    
  Nina laughed. The image of Sam and Perdue at the mercy of the fish-women was amusing. However, the shark idea actually bothered her.
    
  "Don't worry about the sharks, Nina," Sam told her just before biting down on the mouthpiece, "they don't like alcoholic blood. I'll be fine."
    
  "It's not you I'm worried about, Sam," she smirked in her best bitchy tone and accepted the joint from Alexander.
    
  Perdue pretended not to hear, but Sam knew exactly what he was talking about. His remark last night, his honest observation, had weakened their bond just enough to make her vindictive. But he wasn't about to apologize for it. She needed to be woken up to her behavior and forced to make a choice once and for all, rather than toying with the emotions of Perdue, Sam, or anyone else she chose to entertain while it soothed her.
    
  Nina cast a concerned glance at Perdue before he plunged into the deep, dark blue of the Portuguese Atlantic. She considered giving Sam a stern, narrowed-eyed grin, but when she turned to look at him, all that remained of him was a blossoming flower of foam and bubbles on the surface of the water.
    
  Too bad, she thought, running a deep finger over the folded paper. I hope the mermaid rips your balls off, Sammo.
    
    
  Chapter 41
    
    
  Cleaning the drawing room was always last on the list for Miss Maisie and her two cleaning ladies, but it was their favorite room due to its large fireplace and eerie carvings. Her two subordinates were young ladies from the local college, hired for a hefty fee on the condition that they never discuss the estate or its security measures. Luckily for her, the two girls were modest students who enjoyed science lectures and Skyrim marathons, not the typical spoiled and undisciplined types Maisie encountered in Ireland when she worked in private security there from 1999 to 2005.
    
  Her girls were excellent students who took pride in their housework, and she regularly paid them tips for their dedication and efficiency. It was a good relationship. There were several areas of the Thurso estate that Miss Maisie personally chose to clean, and her girls tried to stay out of them-the guest house and the cellar.
    
  Today was particularly cold, thanks to a thunderstorm announced on the radio the day before, which was expected to devastate northern Scotland for at least the next three days. A fire crackled in the large fireplace, where tongues of flame licked the charred walls of the brick structure that extended up the tall chimney.
    
  "Almost done, girls?" Maisie asked from the doorway where she stood with a tray.
    
  "Yes, I'm done," greeted the slender brunette Linda, tapping her feather duster against the ample buttocks of her redheaded friend Lizzie. "Still a bit behind on the ginger, though," she joked.
    
  "What is this?" asked Lizzie when she saw the beautiful birthday cake.
    
  "A little free diabetes," Maisie announced, curtsying.
    
  "What"s the occasion?" Linda asked, pulling her friend to the table with her.
    
  Maisie lit one candle in the middle: "Today, ladies, is my birthday, and you are the unfortunate victims of my obligatory tasting."
    
  "Oh, the horror. Sounds absolutely awful, doesn't it, Ginger?" Linda joked, as her friend leaned over to run her fingertip through the frosting to taste. Maisie playfully slapped her hand and raised a carving knife in a mocking threat, causing the girls to squeal with delight.
    
  "Happy birthday, Miss Maisie!" they both shouted, eager for the head housekeeper to indulge in some Halloween humor. Maisie grimaced, closed her eyes, expecting an onslaught of crumbs and frosting, and lowered her knife onto the cake.
    
  As expected, the impact caused the cake to split in two, and the girls squealed with delight.
    
  "Come on, come on," said Maisie, "dig deeper. I haven"t eaten all day."
    
  "Me too," Lizzie moaned as Linda skillfully cooked for them all.
    
  The doorbell rang.
    
  "Any more guests?" Linda asked with her mouth full.
    
  "Oh, no, you know I don't have any friends," Maisie sneered, rolling her eyes. She'd just taken her first bite and now had to swallow it quickly to look presentable, a most annoying feat, just when she thought she could relax. Miss Maisie opened the door and was greeted by two gentlemen in jeans and jackets that reminded her of hunters or lumberjacks. Rain had already fallen on them, and a cold wind blew across the porch, but neither man even flinched or tried to raise their collars. It was clear the cold didn't bother them.
    
  "Can I help you?" she asked.
    
  "Good afternoon, madam. We hope you can help us," said the taller of the two friendly men, with a German accent.
    
  "With what?"
    
  "Without causing a scene or ruining our mission here," the other replied nonchalantly. His tone was calm, very civilized, and Maisie recognized an accent from somewhere in the Ukraine. His words would have devastated most women, but Maisie was adept at bringing people together and eliminating the majority. They were indeed hunters, as she believed, foreigners sent on a mission with orders to act as harshly as provoked, hence the calm demeanor and open request.
    
  "What is your mission? I can't promise cooperation if it jeopardizes my own," she said firmly, allowing them to identify her as someone who knew life. "Who are you with?"
    
  "We can"t say, madam. Could you step aside, please?"
    
  "And ask your young friends not to shout," the taller man asked.
    
  "They're innocent civilians, gentlemen. Don't drag them into this," Maisie said more sternly, stepping into the middle of the doorway. "They have no reason to scream."
    
  "Good, because if they do, we"ll give them a reason," the Ukrainian replied in a voice so kind it sounded angry.
    
  "Miss Maisie! Is everything all right?" Lizzie called from the living room.
    
  "Dandy, doll! Eat your pie!" Maisie shouted back.
    
  "What were you sent here to do? I'm the only resident of my employer's estate for the next few weeks, so whatever you're looking for, you've come at the wrong time. I'm just the housekeeper," she informed them formally, nodding politely before slowly pulling the door shut.
    
  They didn't react, and oddly enough, that's precisely what sent Maisie McFadden into a panic. She locked the front door and took a deep breath, grateful they'd gone along with her charade.
    
  A plate broke in the living room.
    
  Miss Maisie rushed to see what was going on and found her two girls in the tight embrace of two other men, who were obviously involved with her two visitors. She stopped dead in her tracks.
    
  "Where is Renata?" asked one of the men.
    
  "I-I don"t-I don"t know who it is," Maisie stammered, wringing her hands in front of her.
    
  The man pulled out a Makarov pistol and slashed a deep wound into Lizzie's leg. She began to wail hysterically, as did her friend.
    
  "Tell them to shut up, or we'll silence them with the next bullet," he hissed. Maisie did as she was told, asking the girls to remain calm so the strangers wouldn't execute them. Linda fainted, the shock of the intrusion too much to bear. The man holding her simply dropped her to the floor and said, "It's not like the movies, is it, sweetheart?"
    
  "Renata! Where is she?" he screamed, grabbing the trembling and terrified Lizzie by the hair and pointing his gun at her elbow. Now Maisie realized they were referring to the ungrateful wench she was supposed to care for until Mr. Purdue returned. As much as she hated the vain bitch, Maisie was paid to protect and feed her. She couldn't hand over the assets to them on her employer's orders.
    
  "Let me take you to her," she offered sincerely, "but please leave the cleaning girls alone."
    
  "Tie them up and hide them in the closet. If they squeal, we'll run them through like Parisian whores," the aggressive gunslinger smirked, meeting Lizzie's gaze in warning.
    
  "Let me just get Linda off the ground. For God's sake, you can't let a child lie on the floor in the cold," Maisie told the men, without fear in her voice.
    
  They allowed her to lead Linda to a chair next to the table. Thanks to the swift movements of her skilled hands, they didn't notice the carving knife that Miss Maisie pulled from under the cake and tucked into her apron pocket. With a sigh, she ran her hands over her chest to clear away crumbs and sticky icing and said, "Come on."
    
  The men followed her through the vast dining room with all its antiques, entering the kitchen, where the smell of freshly baked cake still lingered. But instead of leading them to the guest house, she led them to the basement. The men were unaware of the deception, as the basement was usually a place for hostages and secrets. The room was terribly dark and smelled of sulfur.
    
  "Is there no light down here?" asked one of the men.
    
  "There's a light switch downstairs. Not good for a coward like me who despises dark rooms, you know. Those damn horror movies will get you every time," she ranted nonchalantly.
    
  Halfway down the steps, Maisie suddenly sank to a sitting position. The man following closely behind her tripped over her crumpled body and went flying violently down the stairs, while Maisie quickly swung her cleaver back to strike the second man behind her. The thick, heavy blade sank into his knee, severing his kneecap from his shin, while the first man's bones crunched in the darkness where he landed, instantly silencing him.
    
  As he roared in utter agony, she felt a crushing blow to the face, momentarily immobilizing her, knocking her unconscious. When the dark haze cleared, Maisie saw two men emerge from the front door onto the landing above. As her training had dictated, even in her daze, she paid attention to their interaction.
    
  "Renata isn't here, you idiots! The photos Clive sent us show her in the guesthouse! That one's outside. Bring the housekeeper!"
    
  Maisie knew she could have handled three of them if they hadn't relieved her of the cleaver. She could still hear the kneecapped attacker screaming in the background as they stepped out into the yard, where the freezing rain drenched them.
    
  "Codes. Enter the codes. We know the security system specifications, dear, so don't even think about messing with us," a man with a Russian accent barked at her.
    
  "Have you come to free her? Are you working for her?" Maisie asked, pressing a sequence of numbers on the first keypad.
    
  "It's none of your business," the Ukrainian replied from the front door, his tone less than amiable. Maisie turned, her eyes fluttering as the running water interrupted the sound.
    
  "It's largely my business," she retorted. "I'm responsible for her."
    
  "You really take your job seriously. It's admirable," the friendly German at the front door said patronizingly. He pressed his hunting knife hard against her collarbone. "Now open the fucking door."
    
  Maisie opened the first door. Three of them entered the space between the two doors with her. If she could get them through with Renata and close the door, she could lock them in with their loot and contact Mr. Purdue for reinforcements.
    
  "Open the next door," the German ordered. He knew what she was planning and made sure she intervened first so she couldn't block them. He gestured for the Ukrainian to take his place at the outer door. Maisie opened the next door, hoping Mirela would help her get rid of the intruders, but she didn't know the extent of Mirela's selfish power plays. Why would she help her captors fight off intruders if both factions had no goodwill toward her? Mirela stood upright, leaning against the wall behind the door, holding onto the heavy porcelain toilet lid. When she saw Maisie enter the door, she couldn't help but smile. Her revenge was small, but it was enough for now. With all her strength, Mirela flipped the lid over and slammed it into Maisie's face, breaking her nose and jaw with one blow. The housekeeper's body fell on the two men, but when Mirela tried to close the door, they were too fast and too strong.
    
  While Maisie was on the floor, she pulled out the communication device she used to send Purdue her reports and typed out her message. She then tucked it into her bra and remained motionless as she heard two bandits subdue and brutalize the captive. Maisie couldn't see what they were doing, but she heard Mirela's muffled screams over the growls of her attackers. The housekeeper rolled over to look under the sofa, but she couldn't see anything directly in front of her. Everyone fell silent, and then she heard a German order: "Blow up the guesthouse as soon as we're out of range. Set the explosives."
    
  Maisie was too weak to move, but she still tried to crawl to the door.
    
  "Look, this one's still alive," the Ukrainian said. The other men muttered something in Russian as they set the detonators. The Ukrainian looked at Maisie and shook his head. "Don't worry, dear. We won't let you die a horrible death in the fire."
    
  He smiled behind his muzzle flash as the shot echoed off the heavy rain.
    
    
  Chapter 42
    
    
  The deep blue splendor of the Atlantic enveloped the two divers as they gradually descended toward the reef-covered summits of the underwater geographic anomaly Purdue had detected on his scanner. He dove as deep as he could safely and recorded the material, placing some of the various sediments in small sample tubes. This way, Purdue could determine which were local sand deposits and which were composed of foreign materials, such as marble or bronze. Sediments composed of minerals different from those found in local marine compounds could be interpreted as possibly foreign, perhaps man-made.
    
  From the deep darkness of the distant ocean floor, Purdue thought he saw the menacing shadows of sharks. This startled him, but he couldn't warn Sam, who stood a few meters away with his back to him. Purdue hid behind a reef overhang and waited, worried his bubbles would betray his presence. Finally, he dared to carefully examine the area and, to his relief, discovered the shadow was merely a lone diver filming the marine life on the reef. From the diver's outline, he could tell it was a woman, and for a moment he thought it might be Nina, but he wasn't about to swim up to her and make a fool of himself.
    
  Perdue found more discolored material that could be significant and collected as much as he could. He noticed that Sam was now moving in a completely different direction, oblivious to Perdue's position. Sam was supposed to be taking photos and videos of their dives so they could report back to the yacht, but he was quickly disappearing into the darkness of the reef. Having finished collecting the first samples, Perdue followed Sam to see what he was doing. As Perdue rounded a fairly large cluster of black rock formations, he spotted Sam entering a cave beneath another similar cluster. Sam emerged inside to film the walls and floor of the flooded cave. Perdue sped up to catch up, confident they would soon run out of oxygen.
    
  He tugged Sam's fin, scaring the man nearly to death. Purdue gestured for them to return to the surface and showed Sam the vials he'd filled with materials. Sam nodded, and they rose up into the bright sunlight that filtered through the rapidly approaching surface above them.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  After determining that there was nothing unusual at the chemical level, the group was a little disappointed.
    
  "Listen, this landmass isn't limited to just the west coast of Europe and Africa," Nina reminded them. "Just because there's nothing definitive directly below us doesn't mean it's not a few miles west or southwest of even the American coast. Cheers!"
    
  "I was just so sure there was something here," Perdue sighed, throwing his head back in exhaustion.
    
  "We'll be down again soon," Sam assured him, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure we're on to something, but I think we're just not deep enough yet."
    
  "I agree with Sam," Alexander nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "The scanner shows there are craters and strange structures a little lower down."
    
  "If only I had a submersible right now, easily accessible," Perdue said, rubbing his chin.
    
  "We have that remote explorer," Nina offered. "Yes, but it can't gather anything, Nina. It can only show us areas we already know."
    
  "Well, we can try to see what we find on another dive," Sam said, "the sooner the better." He held his underwater camera in his hand, scrolling through the various images to choose the best angles for uploading.
    
  "Exactly," Perdue agreed. "Let's try again before the day is out. Only this time we'll go more west. Sam, you write down everything we find."
    
  "Yes, and this time I"m going with you," Nina winked at Perdue as she prepared to put on her suit.
    
  During the second dive, they collected several ancient artifacts. Clearly, there was more sunken history to the west of this site, while the ocean floor also held a wealth of buried architecture. Perdue looked excited, but Nina could tell the items weren't old enough to belong to the famed Atlantean era, and she shook her head sympathetically every time Perdue thought he held the key to Atlantis.
    
  Ultimately, they combed most of the designated area they intended to explore, but still found no trace of the fabled continent. Perhaps they truly were buried too deep to be discovered without appropriate survey vessels, and Purdue would have no problem recovering them once he returned to Scotland.
    
    
  * * *
    
    
  Back at the bar in Funchal, Otto Schmidt was taking stock of his journey. Experts from Mönkh Saridag had now noticed that the Longinus had been moved. They informed Otto that it was no longer in Wewelsburg, although it was still active. In fact, they couldn't trace its current location at all, meaning it was contained in an electromagnetic environment.
    
  He also received word from his people in Thurso with good news.
    
  He called the Renegade Brigade shortly before 5 p.m. to report.
    
  "Bridges, it's Schmidt," he said under his breath, sitting at a table in the pub, where he was waiting for a call from Purdue's yacht. "We have Renata. Call off the vigil for the Strenkov family. Arichenkov and I will be back in three days."
    
  He watched the Flemish tourists standing outside, waiting for their friends on a fishing boat to dock after a day at sea. His eyes narrowed.
    
  "Don't worry about Purdue. The tracking modules in Sam Cleve's system have drawn the council directly to him. They think he still has Renata, so they'll take care of him. They've been keeping an eye on him since Wewelsburg, and now I see they're here in Madeira to pick them up," he informed Bridges.
    
  He said nothing about Solon's Place, which had become his own goal once Renata had been delivered and Longinus had been found. But his friend Sam Cleave, the last initiate of the Renegade Brigade, had locked himself in a cave located precisely where the scrolls had crossed paths. As a sign of loyalty to the Brigade, the journalist sent Otto the coordinates of the location he believed to be Solon's Place, which he pinpointed using the GPS device installed in his camera.
    
  When Perdue, Nina, and Sam surfaced, the sun was beginning to set, though pleasant, soft daylight lingered for another hour or two. They wearily climbed aboard the yacht, helping each other unload their scuba gear and research gear.
    
  Perdue perked up: "Where the hell is Alexander?"
    
  Nina frowned, turning her whole body to take a good look at the deck: "Maybe a sublevel?"
    
  Sam went down to the engine room, and Purdue checked the cabin, the bow, and the galley.
    
  "Nothing," Perdue shrugged. He looked as stunned as Nina.
    
  Sam walked out of the engine room.
    
  "I don"t see him anywhere," he breathed, placing his hands on his hips.
    
  "I wonder if the crazy fool fell overboard after drinking too much vodka," Purdue mused aloud.
    
  Purdue's comm device beeped. "Oh, excuse me, just a second," he said and checked the message. It was from Maisie McFadden. They said
    
  "Dogcatchers! Split up."
    
  Perdue's face fell and turned pale. It took him a moment to stabilize his heart rate, and he resolved to maintain an even keel. Without a sign of distress, he cleared his throat and returned to the other two.
    
  "In any case, we must return to Funchal before nightfall. We'll return to the Madeiran seas as soon as I have the appropriate equipment for these obscene depths," he announced.
    
  "Yes, I have a good feeling about what"s below us," Nina smiled.
    
  Sam knew otherwise, but he opened a beer for each of them and looked forward to what awaited them upon their return to Madeira. Tonight, the sun was setting over more than just Portugal.
    
    
  END
    
    
    

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