Рыбаченко Олег Павлович : другие произведения.

Stalin'S Preventive War

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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
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  • Аннотация:
    Gulliver enters the world where Stalin starts the first war against Hitler's Germany. And as a result, the USSR is already the aggressor, and the Third Reich is the victim. Yes, and Hitler cancels anti-Semitic laws. And now the United States, Britain and their allies are helping the Third Reich repel the aggression of the treacherously attacked Stalin.
  STALIN'S PREVENTIVE WAR
  ANNOTATION.
  Gulliver enters the world where Stalin starts the first war against Hitler's Germany. And as a result, the USSR is already the aggressor, and the Third Reich is the victim. Yes, and Hitler cancels anti-Semitic laws. And now the United States, Britain and their allies are helping the Third Reich repel the aggression of the treacherously attacked Stalin.
  . CHAPTER #1
  . And Gulliver was thrown with the help of a magic mirror into a parallel world. Here the viscountess girl tried. In fact, even a donkey can turn a millstone. And so let the eternal boy fight, and she and her friends will watch.
  Again, this is an alternate history of World War II.
  On June 12, 1941, Stalin struck the first blow against the Third Reich and its satellites, starting a preventive war. The decision was not easy for the leader. The authority of the Third Reich militarily was very high. And the USSR is not particularly. But Stalin decided to preempt Hitler, since the Red Army was not ready for a defensive war.
  And the Soviet troops crossed the border. It was such a bold move. And a battalion of barefoot Komsomol women runs on the attack. The girls are ready to fight for a brighter tomorrow. Well, for communism on a global scale with the International.
  Girls attack and sing;
  We are Komsomol proud girls,
  Born in the country of the great...
  Used to run forever with a gun,
  And our boy is so cool!
  
  We love barefoot, run in the cold,
  A snowdrift is pleasant with a bare heel ...
  Girls bloom magnificently, like roses,
  Driving the Fritz straight, full into the coffin!
  
  There are no girls, more beautiful and more beautiful,
  And the Komsomol is better not to find ...
  There will be peace and happiness on the whole planet,
  And we look no more than twenty!
  
  We girls fight tigers
  Imagine a tiger with us, there is a grin ...
  We're just devils in our own way
  And will inflict a blow of fate!
  
  For our violent Motherland of Russia,
  We soul, heart, boldly give ...
  And we will make the country of all countries more beautiful,
  Here we stand and win again!
  
  The homeland will become young and beautiful,
  Comrade Stalin is just an ideal ....
  And in the universe there will be mountains of happiness,
  After all, our faith is stronger than metal!
  
  We are very close friends with Jesus,
  For us, the great God and idol ...
  And it is not given to us to celebrate a coward,
  Because the world is looking at the girls!
  
  Our homeland is booming,
  In the wide color of grass and meadows ...
  Victory will come, I believe in magnificent May,
  Although sometimes a harsh fate!
  
  We will do wonderful things for the Motherland,
  And there will be communism in the universe ...
  Yes, we will win, I honestly believe in it,
  That furious fascism is destroyed!
  
  The Nazis are very strong bandits,
  Their tanks are like an infernal monolith...
  But the adversaries will be hard beaten,
  Fatherland, this is a sharp sword and shield!
  
  For the Motherland you will not find more beautiful,
  Than to fight for her, joking with the enemy ...
  Here happiness will be stormy in the universe,
  And the child will grow into a hero!
  
  There is no Motherland, believe the Fatherland above,
  She is our father and mother...
  Though the roar of war blows away the roofs,
  Grace poured out from the Lord!
  
  Russia is the motherland of the universe,
  You fight for her and don't be afraid...
  With its strength in battles unchanged,
  Let's prove it - the torch of Rus' is the universe!
  
  For our most radiant Fatherland,
  We will dedicate our soul, heart, hymns...
  Russia will live under communism,
  After all, we all know this - the Third Rome!
  
  A soldier will have such a song,
  And barefoot Komsomol women run ...
  Everything will become more interesting in the universe,
  The guns were turned on, a volley - salute!
  
  And therefore we are Komsomol members together,
  Let's exclaim loudly - hurrah!
  And if you need to be able for the earth,
  Let's get up, though it's not yet morning!
  The girls sang with great enthusiasm. They fight with their boots off to make their bare feet more dexterous. And it really does work. And the girls' bare heels flash like propeller blades.
  Natasha also fights and throws grenades with her bare toes,
  singing:
  I will show you everything that is in me,
  The girl is red, cool, and barefoot!
  Zoya giggled and remarked with a chuckle:
  - And I'm also a cool girl, and I'll kill everyone.
  In the very first days, Soviet troops were able to advance deep into the German positions. But they suffered heavy losses. The Germans launched counterattacks, and showed the best quality of their troops. In addition, the fact that the Red Army was noticeably inferior in the number of infantry had an effect. And the German infantry is more mobile.
  Well, it also turned out that the latest Soviet tanks: T-34 and KV-1, KV-2 are not ready for combat use. They don't even have technical documentation. And the Soviet troops, as it turned out, cannot break through everything so easily. Their main weapon was blocked and not ready for battle. This really turned out to be the entourage.
  The Soviet military showed themselves not quite up to par. And then there's...
  Japan decided that it was necessary to comply with the provisions of the Anti-Comintern Pact and, without declaring war, dealt a crushing blow to Vladivostok.
  And the invasion began. The Japanese generals were eager for revenge for Khalkhin Gol. In addition, Britain immediately offered a truce to Germany. Churchill spoke in the sense that Hitlerism is not very good, but communism and Stalinism are even more evil. And that in any case, killing each other for the sake of the Bolsheviks seizing Europe is not worth it.
  So Germany and Britain ended the war at once. And as a result, German, considerable forces were released. Divisions from France went into battle, and the French legions too.
  The fighting turned out to be very bloody. When forcing the Vistula, the German troops launched a counterattack and threw back the Soviet regiments. Not everything went well with the Red Army and in Romania. Although it managed to break through initially. All German satellites entered the war against the USSR, including Bulgaria, which in real history remained neutral. Well, what is even more dangerous, Turkey, Spain, and Portugal entered the war against the USSR.
  Soviet troops also attacked Helsinki, but the Finns fought heroically. Sweden also declared war on the USSR. And moved her troops.
  As a result, the Red Army received several additional fronts.
  And the fighting went on with great fury. Even the children of the pioneers and Komsomol members were eager to fight and sang with great enthusiasm;
  For the motherland, we are children born,
  Dashing pioneers-Komsomol members ...
  In fact, we are knights-eagles,
  And the voices of the girls are very ringing!
  
  We were born to win fascists
  Shine in joy in young faces ...
  It's time to take exams at five,
  To make the whole capital proud of us!
  
  To the glory of our Motherland, saint,
  Fascism is actively defeated by children ...
  Vladimir you are like a golden genius,
  Let the relics rest in the mausoleum!
  
  We love our Motherland very much,
  Boundless great Russia...
  The fatherland will not be taken away by the ruble,
  Although the fields were all irrigated under the blood!
  In the name of our Motherland, great,
  We will all fight with confidence...
  Let the globe spin faster
  And we just hide grenades in a satchel!
  
  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 battles!
  
  Yes, cool fascism has become very strong,
  The Americans got the change...
  But still there is great communism,
  And you know, it doesn't happen otherwise!
  
  Let's raise my empire
  After all, the Motherland does not know the word - I'm afraid ...
  I keep faith in Stalin in my heart,
  And God will never break it!
  
  I love my great Russian world,
  Where Jesus is the ruler of the most important ...
  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 a new fairy tale to people ...
  You punch a fascist in the face turn,
  So that flour and soot would fall from him!
  
  You can achieve anything, you know
  When drawing on a desk...
  Victorious will come, I know May soon,
  Although of course it is better to finish in March!
  
  Love, we girls are also good,
  Although the boys are not inferior to us ...
  Russia will not sell itself for pennies,
  We will find a place for ourselves in a bright paradise!
  
  For the Motherland, the most beautiful impulse,
  Press the red flag to your chest, the flag of victory!
  Soviet troops will go into the breakthrough,
  May our grandparents be in glory!
  
  We bring a new generation
  Krasu, escape in the color of communism ...
  Know the homeland from fires, we will save,
  Let's trample the evil vermin of fascism!
  
  In the name of Russian women and children,
  Knights will fight against Nazism...
  And kill the damn Fuhrer,
  Mind no higher than a miserable clown!
  
  Long live the big dream
  The sun shines brighter in the sky...
  No, Satan will not come to Earth,
  Because we can't be cooler!
  
  So boldly fight for the Fatherland,
  And the adult and the child will be happy ...
  And in eternal glory faithful communism,
  We will raise the Eden of the universe the bosom!
  This is how the fierce battles went. The girls fought. And Gulliver ended up on Soviet territory. He was just a boy of about twelve, wearing shorts, and walking around with his bare feet stamping.
  His soles were already hardened in bondage, and he seemed to be quite good at roaming the paths. And even great in its own way. And on occasion, a white-haired child will be fed in the village. So overall it's great.
  And there are battles on the fronts. Here is Natasha with her team, as always, in business.
  Komsomol girls go into battle in only one bikini, and shoot from submachine guns and rifles. They are so feisty and aggressive.
  Things are not going very well for the Red Army. Large losses, especially in tanks, and in East Prussia, where powerful German fortifications. Well, it also turned out that the Poles are also not happy with the Red Army. Hitler hastily forms a militia from the troops of the Polish ethnic group.
  Even the Germans are still ready to give up on the persecution of the Jews. All who can row into the army. Officially, the Fuhrer has already softened the anti-Semitic laws. In response, the US and Britain unblocked German accounts. And they began to restore trade.
  For example, Churchill expressed a desire to supply the Germans with Matilda tanks, which are better armored than any German vehicles and Soviet thirty-fours.
  Rommel's corps returned from Africa. This is not much, only two divisions, but selected and strong. And their counterattack in Romania is very 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 hard in a predictable world
  In it, humanity is extremely unpleasant ...
  The Komsomol girl holds a powerful oar,
  To make it Fritz - ladies in the eye and understandable!
  
  The beautiful girl fights in the war,
  A Komsomol member jumps barefoot in the cold...
  It will be a doubly fist to the evil Hitler,
  Even AWOL will not help the Fuhrer!
  
  So good people - fight furiously,
  To be a warrior, they need to be born ...
  Rush the Russian knight up like a falcon,
  Let the knights of blessed faces support!
  
  Pioneers young with strength like a giant,
  Their power is the greatest, cooler than the whole universe ...
  I know you will see - a furious alignment,
  To cover everything with daring, completely imperishable!
  
  Stalin of our Motherland is a great leader,
  The greatest wisdom, the banner of communism...
  And he will drive the enemies of Russia into trembling,
  Dispersing the clouds of formidable fascism!
  
  So proud people, you believe the king,
  Yes, if it seems that he is too strict ...
  I give a song to the Motherland,
  And the girls are barefoot in the snow!
  
  Why, our powerhouse is very large,
  The Red Empire, the powerful spirit of Russia...
  The wise will rule, I know for centuries,
  In that infinite power without any limits!
  
  And don't slow down the Russians with anything,
  Heroic strength, the laser will not measure ...
  Our life is not fragile, like a thread of silk,
  Know the dashing knights to the end in shock!
  
  We are faithful to our homeland, the heart is like a fire,
  Rushing into battle cheerful and great rage ...
  We'll soon drive a stake into the damned Hitler,
  And vile and bad old age will disappear!
  
  Then believe the Fuhrer Berlin will fall.
  The enemy capitulates, soon he will lay down his paws ...
  And over our Motherland in the wings of a cherub,
  And the evil dragon with a mace in the face!
  
  The beautiful motherland will flourish,
  And huge lilac petals...
  There will be glory and honor to our knights,
  We will get more than we have now!
  Komsomol girls are fighting desperately and showing their highest aerobatics and class.
  This is really women. But in general, the fights are hard. German tanks are not very good. But here's Matilda, that's better. Although its gun is not too strong 47mm caliber, no more than a German gun on the T-3, but the protection is serious - 80mm. And try this one and try it.
  And the first Matildas are already arriving in German ports and are being transported by rail to the east. Of course, there is also a collision between the Matilda and the T-34, which turns out to be serious and very bloody. And demonstration fights are going on. Soviet tanks - especially KVs - do not penetrate the cannons of German vehicles. But on the other hand, they take 88-millimeter anti-aircraft guns, and some captured guns.
  But wheeled-tracked BTs burn like candles. And their German machine guns are capable of setting fire to them.
  In short, the blitzkrieg failed and the Soviet offensive bogged down. And the mass of Russian cars are figuratively burning, the word is torches. This turned out to be extremely unpleasant for the Red Army.
  But all the same, the fighters sing it with enthusiasm. Here is one of the pioneer boys so actively and composed a rainbow song;
  What other country has proud infantry?
  In America, of course, the cowboy man.
  But we will be cut from platoon to platoon,
  Let every guy be groovy!
  
  No one can overcome the power of advice,
  Although the Wehrmacht is also no doubt 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 for sure
  In Gehenna be cast out you villain!
  
  We are a lot of pioneers
  For us, know not the problem of the machine ...
  Let's serve as an example for humanity
  Let each of the guys be in glory!
  
  Shoot, dig know it's not a problem
  Give a hard shovel to the fascist ...
  Know big changes ahead
  And we will pass any lesson for five!
  
  In Russia, every adult and boy,
  Able to fight very zealously ...
  Sometimes we are even too aggressive
  In the desire to trample the Nazis!
  
  For a pioneer, weakness is impossible,
  Almost from the cradle, the boy is hardened ...
  It"s extremely difficult to argue with us,
  And the arguments are legion!
  
  Don't give up, you guys believe
  In winter, I run barefoot in the snow ...
  The devils will not overcome the pioneer,
  I will sweep away all the fascists in a rage!
  
  No one will humiliate us pioneers,
  We are born strong fighters...
  Let's serve as an example for humanity
  Such sparkling archers!
  
  Cowboy of course is also a Russian guy,
  For us, native and London and Texas ...
  We crush everything if the Russians are on a roll,
  We'll hit the enemy right in the eye!
  
  The boy was also captured,
  They roasted him on the rack with fire ...
  But only the executioners laughed in the face,
  He said that soon we will take Berlin!
  
  The iron was red-hot, to the bare heel,
  They pressed the pioneer, he is silent ...
  The boy knows the Soviet hardening,
  His Fatherland is a true shield!
  
  They broke their fingers, the enemies turned on the current,
  In response, only laughter is heard ...
  How many Fritz did not beat the boy,
  But success came to the executioners!
  
  These animals are already leading him to hang,
  The boy is all wounded ...
  He said in the end: I believe in Rod,
  And then our Stalin will come to Berlin!
  
  When it calmed down - the soul rushed to Rod,
  He received me very kindly...
  Said you'll have total freedom
  And my soul was incarnated again!
  
  I began to shoot at the rabid fascists,
  For the glory of the Family, the Fritz drenched everyone ...
  Holy cause, the cause of communism,
  It will add strength to the pioneer!
  
  A dream come true, I'm walking around Berlin
  Above us is a golden-winged cherub...
  We brought the light of happiness to the whole world,
  The people of Russia - know that we will not win!
  Children also sing very well, but so far they do not go into battle. And the Swedish divisions, together with the Finns, have already launched a counterattack. And the Soviet troops, breaking through to Helsinki, received strong blows on the flanks, and bypassing the positions of the enemy. And now they come to strike power and cut off the communications of the Red Army. And Stalin forbade retreat and the Swedish-Finnish troops break through to Vyborg.
  In the country of Suomi, there is general mobilization, the people are happy to fight Stalin and his pack.
  In Sweden, they also remembered Charles the Twelfth and his glorious campaigns. More precisely, that he lost, and now it's time for revenge. And it's very cool - when a whole army of Swedes is mobilized for new exploits.
  Moreover, the USSR itself attacked the Third Reich and, in fact, all of Europe. And along with the Germans, volunteer battalions even arrived from Switzerland. And Salazar and Franco officially entered the war with the USSR and announced a general mobilization. And this, I must say, is a cool act on their part - which creates big problems for the Red Army.
  Troops enter the battle more and more. Especially from the side of Romania, which caused the Soviet tanks to be completely cut off.
  The situation was also aggravated by the exchange of prisoners - all for all from Germany, Britain, Italy. As a result, many pilots shot down over Britain returned to the Luftwaffe. But even more Italians returned - more than half a million soldiers. And Mussolini threw all his forces on the USSR.
  And Italy - not counting the colonies, fifty million people, which is a lot.
  So the position of the USSR became extremely difficult. Although the Soviet troops were still in Europe. But they were under the threat of flanking and encirclement.
  And in some places the fighting crossed into Russian territory. The assault on Vyborg has already begun, which was attacked by the Finns and Swedes.
  
  RUSSIAN MAFIA DISCOVERY - COMPILATION
  ANNOTATION
  The Russian mafia has spread its tentacles almost all over the world. Both Interpol and the FSB and the CIA are fighting with the bandits, and various agents, including the famous Mosad, and the fight is not for life, but for death, with varying degrees of success.
  Prologue
  
  
  Winter has never scared Misha and his friends. In fact, they enjoyed the fact that they could walk barefoot where tourists wouldn't even dare to leave their hotel lobbies. It was great fun for Misha to watch tourists, not only because their weakness for luxury and comfortable climate delighted him, but also because they paid. They paid well.
  
  Many in the heat of the moment have mixed up their currencies, if only to have him point them to the best places for a photo shoot or nonsensical reporting on the historical events that once haunted Belarus. This was when they overpaid him, and his friends were only too happy to share the booty as they gathered at the deserted train station after sunset.
  
  Minsk was big enough to have its own criminal underground, both international and petty. Nineteen-year-old Misha was a good example in his own right, but he did what he had to do to graduate from college. His lanky, fair-haired image was attractive in an Eastern European sense, which attracted him enough attention from foreign guests. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of late nights and malnutrition, but his striking light blue eyes made him attractive.
  
  Today was a special day. He was supposed to stay at the Kozlov Hotel, a not-too-luxury establishment that passed for decent accommodation given the competition. The afternoon sun was pale in a cloudless autumn sky, but it shone on the dying tree branches along the paths throughout the park. The temperature was mild and pleasant, the perfect day for Misha to earn extra money. Due to the pleasant environment, he was obliged to convince the Americans in the hotel to visit at least two more places for photographic entertainment.
  
  "The new ones from Texas," Misha said to his buddies, sucking on a half-smoked Fest cigarette as they gathered around the fire at the train station.
  
  "How many?" - asked his friend Victor.
  
  "Four. Should be simple. Three women and a fat cowboy," Misha laughed, his chuckle throwing rhythmic puffs of smoke through his nostrils. "And best of all, one of the women is a pretty little girl."
  
  "Edible?" asked Mikel curiously, a dark-haired tramp, taller than all of them by at least a foot. He was a strange looking young man with skin the color of an old pizza.
  
  "Tiny. 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 honestly claimed territory from another group of clowns from their high school. As they plotted their scam, broken windows whistled hymns of misery and strong winds defied the gray walls of the old abandoned station. Silent railroad tracks lay beside the collapsing platform, rusty and overgrown.
  
  "Mickel, you're acting as the headless stationmaster while Vic whistles," Misha instructed. "I'll make sure the car stalls before reaching the side track so we have to get off and up the platform." His eyes lit up at the sight of his tall friend. "And don't screw up like last time. They made me look like a complete fool when they saw you pissing on the railing."
  
  "You came early! You weren't supposed to bring them in until ten minutes later, you moron!" Mikel defended himself fervently.
  
  "Doesn't matter, idiot!" Misha hissed, tossing his cigarette aside and taking a step forward to growl. "You have to be ready no matter what!"
  
  "Hey, you're not giving me a big enough share to take that shit from you," Mikel growled.
  
  Victor jumped up and separated the two testosterone monkeys. "Listen! We don't have time for this! If you get into a fight now, we can't continue this fuss, got it? We need all the credulous groups we can get. But if you two want to fight right now, I'm out! "
  
  The other two stopped fighting and straightened their clothes. Mikel looked worried. He quietly muttered, "I don't have any pants for tonight. This is my last pair. My mother will fucking kill me if I mess this up."
  
  "For God's sake, stop growing," Viktor snorted as he playfully slapped his monstrous friend. "Soon you will be able to steal ducks in flight."
  
  "At least then we can eat," Mikel chuckled, lighting a cigarette behind his palm.
  
  "They don't have to see your legs," Misha told him. "Just stay behind the window frame and move along the platform. As long as they see your body."
  
  Mikel agreed that this was a good decision. He nodded, peering through the shattered pane of glass where the sun tinted the sharp edges a bright red. Even the bones of the dead trees lit up crimson and orange, and Mikel imagined the park on fire. For all its loneliness and abandoned beauty, the park was still a peaceful place.
  
  In summer, the leaves and lawns were dark green and the flowers extraordinarily bright - this was one of Mikel's favorite places in Molodechno, where he was born and raised. Unfortunately, during the colder seasons, the trees seemed to shed their leaves, becoming colorless tombstones with claws that scratched each other. Creaking, they pushed, seeking the attention of the ravens, begging to keep them warm. All these assumptions raced through the tall, thin boy's head as his friends discussed the prank, but he was focused nonetheless. Despite his dreams, he knew today's joke would be something else. Why, he couldn't reason.
  
  
  1
  Misha's prank
  
  
  The three-star hotel "Kozlova" practically did not work, except for a bachelor party from Minsk and a few temporary guests on their way to St. Petersburg. It was a terrible time of the year for business, summer was over and most of the tourists were middle-aged, reluctant spenders who had come to see the historic sites. Right after 18:00 Misha showed up at the two-story hotel in his Volkswagen Kombi and his lines were well rehearsed.
  
  He glanced at his watch in the oncoming streak of shadows. The cement-brick facade of the hotel overhead swayed in silent reproach for his wayward methods. Kozlova was one of the city's original buildings, as evidenced by its turn-of-the-century architecture. Since Misha was a small boy, his mother told him to stay away from the old place, but he never listened to her drunken mumbling. In fact, he didn't even listen to her when she told him she was dying, a slight regret on his part. Since then, the rogue teen has been cheating and working his way through what he thought was his last attempt to redeem himself for his miserable existence - a short college course in basic physics and geometry.
  
  He hated the subject, but in Russia, Ukraine and Belarus it was the way to a respectable job. This was the only advice Misha received from his late mother after she told him that his late father was a physicist at the Dolgoprudny Institute of Physics and Technology. According to her, it was in Misha's blood, but at first he dismissed it, considering it a parental whim. It is amazing how a short stay in a juvenile prison can change a young person's need for guidance. However, having neither money nor work, Misha had to resort to street smarts and cunning. Since most Eastern Europeans were trained to see through bullshit, he had to change his target to lowly foreigners, and the Americans were his favorites.
  
  Their naturally energetic manner and generally liberal stance made them very open to the stories of Third World struggles that Misha told them. His American clients, as he called them, gave the best tips and were delightfully gullible about the "extras" that his guided tours offered. As long as he could evade the authorities who asked for permits and guide registration, he was fine. It was supposed to be one of those evenings when Misha and his crooked buddies had to earn extra money. Misha had already teased a fat cowboy, one Mr. Henry Brown III of Fort Worth.
  
  "Ah, speaking of the devil," Misha chuckled as a small group emerged from the front doors of the Kozlov. Through the freshly polished windows of his van, he peered at the tourists. Two elderly ladies, one of whom was Mrs. Brown, chatted animatedly in high voices. Henry Brown was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, partially hidden by a sleeveless vest that reminded Misha of Michael J. Fox from "Back to the Future" - four sizes too large. Contrary to expectations, a rich American chose a baseball cap instead of a ten-gallon hat.
  
  "Good evening, son!" Mr. Brown called out loudly as they approached the old minivan. "Hope we're not too late."
  
  "No sir," Misha smiled as he jumped out of his car to open the sliding door for the ladies while Henry Brown rocked the shotgun seat. "My next group is only at nine o'clock." Misha, of course, lied. It was a necessary lie to use the gimmick that his services are in demand by many, thereby increasing the chances of getting a higher fee when the shit is presented in the trough.
  
  "Then better hurry up," the charming young lady, presumably Brown's daughter, rolled her eyes. Misha tried not to show his attraction to the spoiled teenage blonde, but he found her almost irresistible. He liked the idea of playing hero tonight, when she would no doubt be horrified by what he and his comrades had planned. As they drove to the park and its World War II memorial stones, Misha began to apply his charm.
  
  "It's a pity you won't see the station. It also has a rich history," Misha remarked as they turned onto Park Lane. "But I believe that its reputation deters many visitors. I mean, even my nine o'clock group turned down the night tour."
  
  "What reputation?" inquired young Miss Brown hastily.
  
  "Hooked," thought Misha.
  
  He shrugged. "Well, this place has a reputation," he made a dramatic pause, "a haunted place."
  
  "With using what?" Miss Brown nudged, amused by her smirking father.
  
  "Damn it Carly, he's just kidding you hone," Henry chuckled as he stared at the two women taking pictures. Their incessant yapping faded as they moved away from Henry, and the distance soothed his ears.
  
  Misha smiled: "This is not an empty line, sir. Locals have been reporting sightings for years, but we keep it a secret, mostly. Look, don't worry, I understand that 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 into this," Henry smirked.
  
  "Dad, everything I've seen since we left Poland bored me to hell. Can't we just do it for me?" she insisted. "Please?"
  
  Henry, a seasoned businessman, gave the young man a flickering, carnivorous look. "How many?"
  
  "Don't feel embarrassed now, Mr. Brown," Misha replied, trying not to meet the eyes of the young lady standing next to her father. "For most people, these tours are a bit steep because of the danger involved."
  
  "Oh my God, daddy, you should take us with you!" she wailed excitedly. Miss Brown turned to Misha. "I just, like, love dangerous things. Ask my father. I am such an enterprising person..."
  
  'I bet you,' Misha's inner voice agreed with lust as his eyes studied the smooth marbled skin between her scarf and the seam of her unbuttoned collar.
  
  "Carly, there is no such thing as a haunted train station. It's all part of the show, isn't it, Misha?" Henry roared merrily. He again leaned towards Misha. "How many?"
  
  "... line and sinker!" Misha shouted within 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 for his daughter's entreaties, Henry struggled to fasten his seatbelt on his stomach as Misha started the Volkswagen Combi.
  
  "It will take a lot of time?" - asked the aunt. Misha hated her. Even her calm expression reminded him of someone who smelled something rotten.
  
  "Do you want me to give you a lift to the hotel first, ma"am?" Misha moved deliberately.
  
  "No, no, can we just go to the train station and finish the tour?" Henry said, disguising his firm decision as a request to be tactful.
  
  Misha hoped that this time his friends would be ready. There couldn't be any hiccups this time, especially the pissing ghost caught on the rails. He was relieved to find the eerie desert station as planned-secluded, dark, and dreary. The wind scattered the autumn leaves along the overgrown paths, bending down the stems of weeds in the Minsk night.
  
  "So, the story goes that if you stand at platform 6 of the Dudko railway station at night, you will hear the whistle of an old locomotive that transported convicted prisoners of war to Stalag 342," Misha retold fabricated details to his clients. "And then you see the station chief looking for his head after being beheaded by the NKVD during interrogation."
  
  "What is Stalag 342?" Carly Brown asked. By this time, her father looked a little less cheerful, as the details sounded too real to be a scam, and he answered her in a solemn tone.
  
  "It was a POW camp for Soviet soldiers, hun," he said.
  
  They walked in tight quarters, reluctantly crossing platform 6. The only light on the gloomy building came from the beams of a Volkswagen van a few meters away.
  
  "Who is NK... what again?" Carly asked.
  
  "Soviet secret police," Misha boasted, to give his story more credibility.
  
  He took great pleasure in watching the women tremble, their eyes like saucers, as they expected to see the ghostly form of the stationmaster.
  
  "Come on, Victor," Misha prayed that his friends would pull through. Immediately, a lone train whistle came from somewhere off the rails, carried by an icy northwest wind.
  
  "Oh, merciful God!" squealed Mr. Brown's wife, but her husband was skeptical.
  
  Not real, Polly, Henry reminded her. "Probably a group of people are working with him."
  
  Misha paid no attention to Henry. He knew what would happen. Another, louder howl came closer to them. Trying desperately to smile, Misha was most impressed by the efforts of his accomplices when a faint cyclopean gleam appeared from the darkness on the tracks.
  
  "Look! Damn lord! Here he is!" Carly whispered in panic, pointing over the sunk rails to the other side, where Michael's slender figure appeared. Her knees buckled, but the other frightened women barely supported her in their own tantrums. Misha didn't smile as he continued his ruse. He looked at Henry, who was simply watching the trembling movements of the towering Michael, posing as the headless stationmaster.
  
  "Do you see this?" Henry's wife whined, but the cowboy said nothing. Suddenly his eyes fell on the approaching light of a roaring locomotive, panting like a leviathan dragon as it rushed towards the station. The fat cowboy's face turned red as the antique steam engine emerged from the night, slithering toward them with throbbing thunder.
  
  Misha frowned. It was all a little too well done. There shouldn't have been a real train, and yet it was in plain sight, racing towards them. No matter how he puzzled, the attractive young charlatan could not comprehend the events taking place.
  
  Mikel, under the impression that Victor was responsible for blowing the whistle, stumbled across the tracks to cross them and scared the tourists quite a bit. His feet found their way over iron bars and loose stones. Under the cover of his coat, his hidden face giggled with joy at the horror of women.
  
  "Miquel!" Misha screamed. "No! No! Come back!"
  
  But Mikel stepped over the rails, heading to where he heard the sighs. His vision was obscured by the cloth that covered his head to effectively resemble a headless human. Victor left the empty ticket office and rushed to the group. At the sight of another silhouette, the whole family rushed screaming to save the Volkswagen. In fact, Victor was trying to warn his two friends that he was not 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 behind nothing but a nauseatingly scarlet mess of bone and flesh. His big blue eyes were frozen in place, as was his slack jaw. Shocked to the core, he saw the train disappear into thin air. Only the screams of the American women rivaled the fading whistle of the killing machine as Misha's mind left his senses.
  
  
  2
  Virgin of Balmoral
  
  
  "Now listen, boy, I won't let you in that door until you empty your pockets! I've had enough of the fake bastards acting like the real Wally and walking around here calling themselves the K-squad. Only over my dead body!" Seamus warned. His red face trembled as he expounded the law to the man trying to leave. "K-squad is not for losers. Yes?"
  
  The group of burly, angry men standing behind Seamus agreed with a roar of approval.
  
  Yes!
  
  Seamus screwed up one eye and growled, "Now! Now, damn it!"
  
  The pretty brunette crossed her arms over her chest and sighed impatiently, "God, Sam, just show them the product already."
  
  Sam turned and looked at her in horror. "In front of you and the ladies here? I don't think so, Nina."
  
  "I saw it," she chuckled, looking the other way though.
  
  Sam Cleave, elite journalist and prominent local celebrity, has turned into a blushing schoolboy. Despite his gruff appearance and fearless attitude, compared to Balmoral's K-squad, he was nothing more than a prepubescent altar server with a complex.
  
  "Turn out your pockets," Seamus chuckled. His thin face was crowned with a knitted cap, which he wore at sea while fishing, and his breath smelled of tobacco and cheese, which were complemented by thin beer.
  
  Sam swallowed the bullet, otherwise he would never have been accepted into the Balmoral Arms. He lifted his kilt, showing off his naked outfit to a group of brutes who called the pub a home. For a moment they froze in condemnation
  
  Sam whimpered, "It's cold, guys."
  
  "Shriveled - that's what it is!" Seamus roared in jest, leading the choir of visitors in a deafening cheer. They opened the door to the establishment, allowing Nina and the other ladies to enter first before seeing handsome Sam off with a pat on the back. Nina grimaced at the embarrassment he felt and winked, "Happy birthday, Sam."
  
  "Ta," he sighed and happily accepted the kiss she planted on his right eye. The latter had been a ritual between them since before they became ex-lovers. He kept his eyes closed for a while after she pulled away, enjoying the memories.
  
  "For God's sake, give the man a drink!" shouted one of the pub-goers, pointing at Sam.
  
  "I take it K-squad means wearing a kilt?" Nina guessed, referring to the swarm of raw Scots and their various tartans.
  
  Sam took a sip of his first Guinness. "Actually, "K" means pen. Do not ask."
  
  "There's no need for that," she replied, pressing the neck of a beer bottle to her maroon lips.
  
  "Sheamus is old school, as you can see," Sam added. "He is a traditionalist. No underwear under the kilt."
  
  "Of course," she smiled. "So, how cold is it there?"
  
  Sam laughed and ignored her teasing. He was secretly delighted that Nina was with him on his birthday. Sam would never admit it, but he was delighted that she survived the horrific injuries she received on their last expedition to New Zealand. If not for Perdue's foresight, she would have died, and Sam did not know if he would ever survive the death of another woman he loved. She was very dear to him, even as a platonic friend. At the very least, she still allowed him to flirt with her, which kept his hopes up for a possible future revival of what they once had.
  
  "Did you hear anything from Purdue?" he suddenly asked, as if trying to sidestep a mandatory question.
  
  "He is 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 basic medical treatment and he is now moving on to the next phase," she said.
  
  "Next stage?" Sam asked.
  
  "They are preparing him for some kind of corrective surgery," she replied. "You can't blame the person. 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 tell you, this man is made of steel."
  
  "Why do you say that?" She smiled.
  
  Sam shrugged and sighed, thinking of the resilience of their mutual friend. "Don't know. I believe that wounds heal and plastic surgery restores, but, God, what mental anguish was that day, Nina."
  
  "You're too right, love," she replied with equal uneasiness. "He would never admit it, but I think Purdue's mind must be going through unfathomable nightmares because of what happened to him in the Lost City. Jesus."
  
  "Die hard, that bastard," Sam shook his head in admiration for Purdue. He raised his bottle and looked into Nina's eyes. "Perdue...may the sun never scorch him, and the snakes know his wrath."
  
  "Amen!" Nina echoed, clinking her bottle against Sam's. "For Purdue!"
  
  Most of the noisy crowd at the Balmoral Arms did not hear Sam and Nina's toast, but there were a few who did - and knew the meaning of the chosen phrases. Unbeknownst to the celebrating duo, a silent figure was watching them from the far side of the pub. The heavily built man who watched them drank coffee, not alcohol. His hidden eyes are secretly looking at the two people it took him weeks to find. Everything will change tonight, he thought as he watched them laugh and drink.
  
  All he had to do was wait long enough for their libation to effectively make them less discerning to react. All he needed was five minutes alone with Sam Cleave. Before he could ask when the opportunity would come, Sam struggled to his feet from his chair.
  
  Ironically, the famous investigative reporter grabbed the edge of the counter, tugging at his kilt, fearing that his buttocks would fall into the lens of one of the visitors' mobile phones. To his terrible surprise, this had happened before, when he was photographed in the same set on an unstable plastic display table at the Highland Festival a few years ago. Wrong gait and a bad swing of the kilt soon led to the fact that in 2012 the Women's Auxiliary Military Corps in Edinburgh recognized him as the sexiest Scot.
  
  He cautiously crept up to the darkened doors on the right side of the bar marked 'Chickens' and 'Roosters', hesitantly moving towards the corresponding door. Nina watched him with great amusement, ready to rush to his aid if he confuses the two genders in a moment of drunken semantics. In the noisy crowd, elevated football volume on a large wall-mounted flat screen played the soundtrack of culture and tradition, Nina took it all in. After a stay in New Zealand last month, she yearned for Old Town and tartans.
  
  Sam disappeared into the right closet, leaving Nina to focus on her single malt and the gay men and women around her. Despite all their frantic shouting and pushing, it was a peaceful crowd visiting Balmoral tonight. In the turmoil of spilling beer and stumbling drinkers, in the movement of darts opponents and dancing ladies, Nina quickly noticed one anomaly - a figure sitting alone, almost motionless, and silently alone. It was rather intriguing how out of place this man looked, but Nina decided that he probably didn't come to celebrate. Not everyone drank to celebrate. She knew this all too well. Every time she lost someone close or mourned some regret about the past, she got drunk. This stranger seemed to be here for another reason, to drink.
  
  He seemed to be waiting for something. It was enough to keep the sexy storyteller on his toes. She watched him in the mirror behind the bar, sipping her whiskey. It was almost ominous, the way he didn't move, except for the occasional raise of his hand to drink. Suddenly he got up from his chair, and Nina perked up. She watched his surprisingly fast movements, and then discovered that he was not drinking alcohol, but Irish iced coffee.
  
  "Oh, I see a sober ghost," she thought to herself, following him with her eyes. She took a pack of Marlboros from her leather purse and pulled a cigarette out of a cardboard box. The man looked in her direction, but Nina remained in the dark, lighting a cigarette. Through her deliberate puffs of smoke, she could watch him. She was silently grateful that this place didn't follow the smoking law because it was on land owned by David Purdue, the rebel billionaire she was dating.
  
  Little did she know that the latter was the very reason the man had decided to visit the Balmoral Arms tonight. A non-drinker and apparently non-smoker, the stranger had no reason to choose this pub, Nina thought. This aroused her suspicions, but she knew that she used to be too self-protective, even paranoid, so she left it alone for now and returned to the current task.
  
  "One more please, Rowan!" she winked at one of the bartenders, who immediately complied.
  
  "Where is that haggis that was here with you?" he joked.
  
  "In the swamp," she chuckled, "doing God knows what."
  
  He laughed as he poured her another amber pacifier. Nina leaned forward to speak as quietly as possible in such a noisy environment. She pulled Rowan's head to her mouth and plugged his ear with her finger to make sure he could hear her words. "Did you notice the man sitting in that corner over there?" she asked, nodding her head towards the empty table with half-finished iced coffee. "I mean, do you know who he is?"
  
  Rowan knew who she was talking about. Such dutiful characters were easy to spot in Balmoral, but he had no idea who the visitor was. He shook his head and continued the conversation in the same manner. "Virgin?" he shouted.
  
  Nina frowned at the epithet. "Ordered virgin drinks all night. No alcohol. He had been here for three hours when you and Sam showed up, but he only ordered iced coffee and a sandwich. Never said anything, you know?"
  
  "Oh good," she accepted Rowan's information and raised her glass with a smile to let him go. "Ta."
  
  It had been a while since Sam had been on the toilet, and by now she was beginning to feel a hint of anxiety. Especially since the stranger had followed Sam to the men's room and he, too, was still missing from the main room. There was something she didn't like. She couldn't help it, but she was just one of those people who couldn't let go of something as soon as it bothered her.
  
  "Where are you going, Dr. Gould? You know what you find there can't be good, huh?" Seamus roared. His group burst into laughter and defiant cries that only made the historian smile. "I didn"t know you were such a doctor!" To their howls of amusement, Nina knocked on the door of the men's room and leaned her head against the door to better hear any response.
  
  "Sam?" - she exclaimed. "Sam, are you all right there?"
  
  Inside, she could hear male voices in animated conversation, but it was impossible to tell if any of them belonged to Sam. "Sam?" she continued to chase the tenants, knocking. The argument turned into a loud crack on the other side of the door, but she didn't dare to enter.
  
  "Damn," she chuckled. "It could be anyone, Nina, so don't come in and make a fool of yourself!" As she waited, her high-heeled boots tapped impatiently on the floor, but still no one came out of the 'Cock' door. Immediately, another powerful noise was heard in the toilet, which sounded quite serious. It was so loud that even the wild crowd paid attention to it, somewhat muffling their conversations.
  
  The china shattered and something large and heavy hit the inside of the door, hitting Nina's miniature skull hard.
  
  "Good God! What the hell is going on there?" she squealed angrily, but at the same time she was afraid for Sam. In less than a second, he jerked open the door and ran straight into Nina. The Force knocked her off her feet, but Sam caught her in time.
  
  "Let's go, Nina! Fast! Let's get the fuck out of here! So Nina! Now!" he boomed, 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 Purdue struggled to open his eyes, he felt like an inanimate piece of road corpse.
  
  "Well, good morning, Mr. Perdue," he heard, but was unable to locate the friendly female voice. "How are you feeling, sir?"
  
  "I'm a little nauseous, thanks. Can I have some water, please?" he wanted to say, but what Perdue was distressed to hear from his own lips was a request best left at the door of the brothel. The nurse tried desperately not to laugh, but she too surprised herself with a giggle that instantly ruined her professional demeanor, and she squatted down, covering her mouth with both hands.
  
  "Oh my God, Mr. Perdue, I apologize!" she muttered, covering her face with her hands, but her patient looked visibly more ashamed of his behavior than she had ever been able to. His pale blue eyes looked at her in horror. "No, please," he appreciated the accuracy of his intentional words, "Excuse me. I assure you it was an encrypted broadcast." Finally, Perdue dared to smile, though it was more like a grimace.
  
  "I know, Mr. Perdue," the kind green-eyed blonde admitted, helping him sit up just enough to take a sip of water. "Does it help you to say so you know that I have heard much, much worse and much more confused than this?"
  
  Perdue moistened his throat with clean, cool water and replied, "Would you believe that it would not bring me comfort to know this? I still said what I said despite others making fools of themselves too." He laughed. "That was pretty obscene, wasn't it?"
  
  Nurse Madison, when her name was written on her name tag, giggled heartily. It was a genuine chuckle of delight, not something she staged to make him feel better. "Yes, Mr. Perdue, it was superbly well aimed."
  
  The door to Purdue's private office opened, and Dr. Patel looked out from behind it.
  
  "Looks like you're doing well, Mr. Perdue," he smiled, raising one eyebrow. "When you woke up?"
  
  "Actually, I woke up a while ago feeling pretty awake," Perdue smiled back at Nurse Madison to echo their personal joke. She pursed her lips to hold back a laugh and handed the board to the doctor.
  
  "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 rather not eat right now, if you don't mind. I think the drugs make me nauseous for a while longer."
  
  "I'm afraid I would have to insist, Mr. Perdue," insisted Dr. Patel. "You have already been sedated for more than a day and your body needs some hydration and nourishment before we proceed with the next treatment."
  
  "Why was I under the influence for so long?" - Immediately asked Perdue.
  
  "Actually," the doctor said under his breath, looking very worried, "we have no idea. Your vital signs were satisfactory, even good, but you seemed to continue to sleep, so to speak. Usually this kind of surgery is not too dangerous, the success rate is 98%, and most patients wake up about three hours after."
  
  "But it took me another day, give or take, to get out of my state of calm?" Perdue frowned as he struggled to sit properly on the hard mattress that was uncomfortably wrapped around his buttocks. "Why did this have to happen?"
  
  Dr. Patel shrugged. "Look, everyone is different. Could be anything. Could be nothing. Perhaps your mind is tired and decided to take a time out." The Bangladeshi doctor sighed, "God knows, from your incident report, I think your body has decided enough is enough for today-and damn well, with good reason!"
  
  Perdue 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 thought a little about his hardships in New Zealand. In truth, it hadn't yet dawned on him how horrifying his experience there had been. Clearly, Purdue's mind had dealt with the trauma of a belated sense of ignorance. I will 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 able to read minds, Mr. Perdue," Sister Madison remarked as she wheeled the silver cart into the room. On it was a mug of tea, a tall glass of water, and a bowl of watercress soup, which smelled wonderful in this sterile setting. "It's about soup, not wateriness," she added.
  
  "It does look very appetizing," Purdue admitted, "but frankly, I can't."
  
  "I'm afraid these are doctor's orders, Mr. Perdue. Even you only eat a few spoonfuls?" she persuaded. "As long as you just have something, we would be grateful."
  
  "Quite right," Dr. Patel smiled. "Just try it, Mr Perdue. As I'm sure you would appreciate, we cannot continue treating you on an empty stomach. The medicine will wreak havoc on your body."
  
  "Good," Purdue agreed reluctantly. The creamy green dish in front of him smelled like heaven, but all his body wanted was water. He, of course, understood why he needed to eat, and so he took a spoon and made an effort. Lying under a cold blanket in his hospital bed, he felt thick padding on his legs from time to time. Beneath the bandage, it burned like a cigarette cherry on a bruise, but he maintained his posture. After all, he was one of the main shareholders of this clinic - Salisbury Private Medical Care - and Perdue did not want to look like a weakling in front of the very staff he was responsible for employing.
  
  Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain, he raised the spoon to his lips and enjoyed the culinary arts of the private hospital he would call home for some time to come. However, the exquisite taste of the food did not distract him from the strange foreboding he was experiencing. He couldn't help but think of what his lower body looked like under the padding of gauze and band-aid.
  
  After signing Purdue's final post-surgery vital signs assessment, Dr. Patel wrote Nurse Madison's prescriptions for the following week. She opened the blinds in Purdue's room, and he finally realized that he was on the third floor from the courtyard garden.
  
  "I'm not on the ground floor?" he asked rather nervously.
  
  "No," she sang out, looking puzzled. "Why? Does it matter?
  
  "I guess not," he replied, still looking a little puzzled.
  
  Her tone was somewhat concerned. "Do you have a fear of heights, Mr Perdue?"
  
  "No, I don't have phobias, per se, my dear," he explained. "Actually, I can't say exactly what it's about. Maybe I was just surprised I didn't see the garden when you lowered the blinds."
  
  "If we knew it was important to you, I assure you we would put you on the first floor, sir," she said. "Should I ask the doctor if we can move you?"
  
  "No, no, please," Perdue protested softly. "I'm not going to complicate things with the landscape. 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 light green dress looked sympathetically at her patient. She said softly, "Don't worry about it, Mr. Perdue. Look, you've had a nasty problem with a terrible... - she hesitated respectfully, desperately trying to soften the blow, - ...experience you had. But don't worry Mr. Perdue, you will see that Dr. Patel's experience is second to none. You know, whatever your assessment of this corrective surgery, sir, I'm sure you'll be impressed."
  
  She gave Perdue a genuine smile that served its purpose of reassuring him.
  
  "Thank you," he nodded, a slight smirk touching his lips. "And will I be able to evaluate the work in the near future?"
  
  The little framed nurse with a kind voice picked up an empty water jug and a glass and headed for the door, returning shortly. When she opened the door to go out, she looked back at him and pointed to the soup. "But only after you leave a solid dent in that bowl, mister."
  
  Perdue did his best to make the ensuing chuckle painless, though his efforts were in vain. A thin seam was pulled over his carefully stitched skin, where missing tissues were replaced. Perdue made an effort to eat as much of the soup as he could, although by this time it had cooled and turned into a crunchy, spreadable dish - not quite the kind of cuisine billionaires usually settle for. On the other hand, Perdue was too grateful that he had survived in the jaws of the monstrous inhabitants of the Lost City at all, and he was not going to complain about the cold broth.
  
  "Made?" He heard.
  
  Nurse Madison entered, armed with tools to clean her patient's wounds and a fresh bandage to close the stitches after. Perdue didn't know how to feel about this revelation. He didn't feel the slightest hint of fear or timidity, but the thought of what the beast in the Lost City labyrinth would do to him made him feel uneasy. Of course, Perdue didn't dare show any of the traits of a man who was about to have a panic attack.
  
  "It will hurt a little, but I will try to make it as painless as possible," she told him without looking at him. Perdue was grateful, because he imagined that his expression was not pleasant now. "There will be some burning," she continued, sterilizing her dainty tool to loosen the edges of the patch, "but I could give you a topical ointment if you find it too tiresome."
  
  "No thanks," he chuckled slightly. "Just keep it up and I'll get through it."
  
  She looked up for a moment and gave him a smile, as if approving his boldness. It was not a difficult task, but secretly she understood the danger of traumatic memories and the anxiety they could cause. Although none of the details of the David Purdue attack were ever revealed to her, Nurse Madison had previously had the misfortune to deal with a tragedy of this intensity. She knew what it was like to be maimed, even 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 explorer on a personal level.
  
  He caught his breath and closed his eyes as she peeled off the first thick layer of plaster. It made a sickening sound that made Purdue cringe, but he was not yet ready to satisfy his curiosity by opening his eyes. She stopped. "This is fine? Do you want me to drive slower?"
  
  He grimaced, "No, no, just hurry up. Just do it quickly, but give me time in between to catch my breath."
  
  Without saying a word in response, Sister Madison suddenly ripped off the band-aid with a single tug. Perdue screamed in agony, choking on the instantaneous flight of his breath.
  
  "Gee-zuss Charist!" he screamed, his eyes wide with shock. His chest heaved rapidly as his mind processed the excruciating inferno in a localized area of skin.
  
  "Sorry, Mr. Perdue," she sincerely apologized. "You said I should just go ahead and get it over with."
  
  "I-I know-wh-wh-what I said," he muttered, regaining the ability to breathe slightly. He never expected it to be like interrogation torture or nail pulling. "You're right. I really said it. My God, it nearly killed me."
  
  But what Perdue never expected was what he would see when he looked at his wounds.
  
  
  4
  The phenomenon of dead relativity
  
  
  Sam hurriedly tried to open his car door while Nina wheezed wildly next to him. By this time, she realized that it was useless to question her old comrade about anything while he was focused on serious things, so she preferred to take a breath and hold her tongue. The night was frosty for this time of year, and his legs, feeling the burning chill of the wind, curled up under his kilt, and his hands were also numb. From the direction of the pub outside the establishment, voices were heard, similar to the cries of hunters, ready to rush in the wake of the fox.
  
  "For heaven's sake!" Sam hissed in the darkness as the tip of the key continued to claw at the lock, finding no way out. Nina looked back at the dark figures. They didn't move away from the building, but she could see the quarrel.
  
  "Sam," she whispered, panting, "can I help you?"
  
  "He will come? Is he coming already?" he asked urgently.
  
  Still puzzled by Sam's escape, she replied, "Who? I need to know who to pay attention to, but I can tell you that so far no one is following us."
  
  "T-t-this... this fu-" he stuttered, "the fucking guy who attacked me."
  
  Her big dark eyes swept the area, but still, as far as Nina could see, there was no movement between the pub fight and Sam's wreck. The door creaked open before Nina could figure out who Sam meant, and she felt his hand grab her arm. He threw her into the car as gently as he could and pushed her after her.
  
  "God, Sam! Your manual shifting is hell for my feet! ' she complained as she struggled into the passenger seat. Normally, Sam would have had some quip about the double entendre she'd made, but he didn't have time for humor right now. Nina rubbed her hips, still wondering what all the fuss was about when Sam started the car. The execution of her usual locking of the door came just in time, for, not before, a loud bang on the window made Nina scream in horror.
  
  "My God!" she screamed at the sight of a cloaked, saucer-eyed man suddenly appearing out of nowhere.
  
  "Son of a bitch!" Sam seethed as he shifted the lever first and accelerated the car.
  
  The man outside Nina's door was yelling at her furiously, throwing quick blows at the window. As Sam prepared to speed up, time slowed down for Nina. She looked closely at the man, whose face was contorted with tension, and immediately recognized him.
  
  "Virgin," she muttered in amazement.
  
  As the car pulled out of its parking space, the man yelled something at them through the red stoplights, but Nina was too shocked to pay attention to what he was saying. Mouth gaping, she waited for the correct explanation that Sam could give, but her mind was jumbled. At the late hour they passed two red lights down the main street of Glenrothes, heading south towards North Queensferry.
  
  "What you said?" Sam asked Nina when they finally pulled out onto the main road.
  
  "Approximately?" she asked, so overwhelmed by it all that she forgot most of what she was talking about. "Oh man at the door? Is this the keel you are running from?"
  
  "Yes," Sam replied. "What did you call him there?"
  
  "Oh, Blessed Virgin," she said. "Watched him in the pub while you were in the swamp and I noticed that he doesn"t drink alcohol. So, all his drinks..."
  
  "Virgins," Sam suggested. "I understand. I understand." His face was flushed and his eyes were still wild, but he kept a close eye on the winding road in the high beam headlights. "I really need to buy a car with central locking."
  
  "Shit yourself," she agreed, tucking her hair into a knit cap. "I would think that it has already become obvious to you, especially in the business that you are in. It would take better transportation to have your ass chased and molested so often."
  
  "I like my car," he muttered.
  
  "It looks like a mistake, Sam, and you are rich enough to afford something that suits your needs," she preached. "Like a tank."
  
  "Did he say anything to you?" Sam asked her.
  
  "No, but I saw him go to the bathroom after you. I just didn't think about it. Why? Did he say something to you there, or did he just attack you?" Nina asked, seizing the moment to comb his black locks behind his ear to keep the hair out of his face. "Good God, you look like you've seen a dead relative or something."
  
  Sam looked at her. "Why do you say that?"
  
  "It's just such a manner of speaking," Nina defended herself. "Unless he was your deceased relative."
  
  "Don't be stupid," Sam chuckled.
  
  It dawned on Nina that her companion didn't quite follow the rules of the road, given that he had a million gallons of pure whiskey in his veins and a shot of shock to make it more convincing. She gently ran her hand from his hair to his shoulder so as not to frighten him. "Don't you think it's better for me to drive?"
  
  "You don't know my car. It has... tricks," protested Sam.
  
  "No more than you have, and I can take you just fine," she smiled. "Let's do now. If the cops stop you, you'll be up to your neck in 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 turned off the road and switched places with Nina. Still agitated by what had happened, Sam combed the dark road for signs of pursuit, but was relieved to find that the threat was gone. Even though Sam was drunk, he didn't get enough sleep 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 say exactly who," Sam admitted. His words were as confused as the emotions that overwhelmed him. He ran his fingers through his hair and stroked his face gently before looking back at Nina. "I thought he was going to kill me. He didn't lunge or anything like that, but he mumbled something and pushed me, so I got angry. The bastard didn't bother to say a simple "hello" or anything, so I took it as a push to fight or thought maybe he was trying to shove me in the crap, you know? "
  
  "Makes sense," she agreed, keeping a close eye on the road in front of them and behind them. "What did he mutter anyway? It might give you a clue as to who he was or what he was there for."
  
  Sam remembered the vague incident, but nothing specific came to mind.
  
  "I have no idea," he replied. "Again, I am light years away from any compelling thought right now. Maybe the whiskey washed away my memory or something, because what I remember is like a Dali painting live. Just everything," he belched 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. Soon you will be able to sleep it all off. Tomorrow you'll remember this shit better. What's more, there's a good chance that Rowan could tell you a little more about your molester since he's been serving him all evening."
  
  Sam's drunken head turned to glare at her and tilted to one side in disbelief. "My molester? God, I'm sure he was gentle because I don't remember him hitting on me. Also... who the hell is Rowan?"
  
  Nina rolled her eyes. "Oh my God, Sam, you are a journalist. One would assume that you know that the term has been used for centuries to refer to someone who is annoying or annoying. It is not as hard a noun as a rapist or a rapist. And Rowan is a bartender at Balmoral."
  
  "Oh," Sam sang as his eyelids drooped. "Yeah, then, yeah, that muttering motherfucker was pestering the hell out of me. I tell you, I haven't felt like this being pestered in a long time."
  
  "Okay, okay, cut the sarcasm. Stop being stupid and stay awake. We're almost at your house," she instructed as they drove through the Turnhouse golf course.
  
  "Are you staying the night?" he asked.
  
  "Yeah, but you're going straight to bed, birthday boy," she said sternly.
  
  "I know we are. And if you come with us, we'll show you what lives in the Republic of Tartan," he announced, smiling at her in the light of passing yellow lights lining the road.
  
  Nina sighed and rolled her eyes. "Talk about seeing the ghosts of old acquaintances," she muttered as they turned onto the street where Sam lived. He didn't say anything. Sam's foggy mind worked on auto-pilot as he swayed in silence around the corners of the car, while distant thoughts kept pushing the blurred face of the stranger in the men's room out of his mind.
  
  Sam wasn't much of a burden when Nina laid his head on the stuffed pillow in his bedroom. It was a welcome change in his long-winded protests, but she knew that the evening's sour event, along with the embittered Irishman's drinking, was bound to take a toll on her friend's behavior. He was exhausted, and no matter how tired his body was, his mind fought against rest. She could see it in the movement of his eyes behind the closed lids.
  
  "Sleep well, boy," she whispered. Kissing Sam on the cheek, she pulled up the covers and tucked the edge of his fleece blanket under his shoulder. Faint flashes of light illuminated the half-drawn curtains as Nina turned off Sam's bedside lamp.
  
  Leaving him in contented excitement, she made her way to the living room, where his beloved cat lounged on the mantelpiece.
  
  "Hello, Bruich," she whispered, feeling completely empty. "Do you want to warm me up tonight?" The cat did nothing but peer through the slits of his eyelids to study her intentions before dozing off peacefully as the thunder rolled over Edinburgh. "No," she shrugged. "Could have accepted your teacher's offer if I knew you were going to snub me. You fucking males are all the same."
  
  Nina plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV, not so much for entertainment as for company. Snippets of the night's events flashed through her mind, but she was too tired to review too much of it. All she knew was that she was unsettled by the sound the virgin let out when he punched her car window before Sam left. It was like a yawn in slow motion; a horrible, haunting sound she couldn't forget.
  
  Something caught her attention on the screen. It was one of the parks in her hometown of Oban in the northwest of Scotland. Outside, rain poured down to wash away Sam Cleve's birthday and herald a new day.
  
  Two o'clock at night.
  
  "Oh, we're on the news again," she said, turning up the volume over the sound of the rain. "Although not overly exciting." There was nothing serious in the news report, other than that the newly elected mayor of Oban was heading to a national convention of high priority and great credibility. "Confidence, damn it," Nina chuckled as she lit up a Marlboro. "Just a pretty name for a secret emergency cover protocol, hey you bastards?" With her characteristic cynicism, Nina tried to understand how a mere mayor could be considered important enough to be invited to a meeting of such high rank. It was strange, but Nina's sandy eyes could no longer stand the blue light of the TV, and she fell asleep to the sound of rain and the incoherent, fading chatter of a reporter on Channel 8.
  
  
  5
  Another nurse
  
  
  In the morning light that filtered through Purdue's window, his wounds looked much less grotesque than the day before, when Sister Madison had washed them. He hid his initial shock at the sight of the pale blue slits, but he could hardly argue that the work of the doctors at the Salisbury Clinic was top notch. Considering the devastating damage done to his lower body in the bowels of the Lost City, the corrective surgery had gone brilliantly.
  
  "Looks better than I thought," he told the nurse as she removed the bandage. "On the other hand, maybe I"m just recovering well?"
  
  The nurse, a young lady whose bedside manner was a little less personal, smiled uncertainly at him. Perdue 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 figure out why. Being who he was, the billionaire extrovert simply asked.
  
  "Are you allergic?" he joked.
  
  "No, Mr Perdue?" she answered cautiously. "For what?"
  
  "For me," he smiled.
  
  For a brief moment, the old 'hunted deer' expression appeared on her face, but his grin soon relieved her of her confusion. She immediately smiled at him. "Hmm, no, I'm not like that. They tested me and found that I was actually immune to you."
  
  "Ha!" he exclaimed, trying to ignore the familiar burning sensation from the tension of the stitches in his skin. "You seem reluctant to talk much, so I figured there must be some medical reason for it."
  
  The nurse took a deep, long breath before answering him. "This is a private matter, Mr Perdue. Please try not to take my harsh professionalism to heart. It's just my way. All patients are dear to me, but I try not to get attached to them personally."
  
  "Bad experience?" he asked.
  
  "Hospice," she replied. "Seeing patients come to an end after I got close to them was just too much for me."
  
  "Damn it, I hope you don't mean I'm about to die," he muttered with wide eyes.
  
  "No, of course, that's not what I had in mind," she quickly denied her claim. "I'm sure it went wrong. Some of us are just not very social people. I became a nurse to help people, not to join the family, if that's not too snarky of me to say."
  
  Perdue understood. "I understand. People think that because I am rich, a scientific celebrity and the like, I like to join organizations and meet 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 of the recurring phenomena in our eras, you know? Just because we're out there somewhere, achieving great victories in those worldly things that really matter, people automatically think we're doing it for the glory."
  
  She nodded, wincing as she removed the last bandage that made Perdue catch his breath. "Too true, sir."
  
  "Please call me David," he groaned as the cold liquid licked at the stitched incision in his right quadriceps. His hand instinctively grabbed her arm, but he stopped her movement in the air. "God, this is a terrible feeling. Cold water on dead flesh, you understand?"
  
  "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, funny people. How are we all doing today?"
  
  The nurse just smiled, concentrating on her work. Purdue had to wait for his breath to recover before he could try to answer, but the doctor continued to study the chart without hesitation. His patient studied his face as he read the latest results, reading a blank opinion.
  
  "What's the matter, doctor?" Perdue frowned. "I think my wounds are looking better now, right?"
  
  "Don't overestimate everything, David," Dr. Patel chuckled. "You're all right and everything looks good. Just had a long overnight operation that pretty much pulled everything out of me."
  
  "Did the patient get out?" Perdue joked, hoping he wasn't too insensitive.
  
  Dr. Patel gave him a mocking look full of amusement. "No, in fact, she died from an urgent need to have boobs bigger than her husband's mistress." Before Perdue could deal with it, the doctor sighed. "Silicone has leaked into the tissue because some of my patients," he looked at Purdue warningly, "do not adhere to follow-up treatment and end up wearing out worse."
  
  "Subtle," Purdue said. "But I didn't do anything that could jeopardize your work."
  
  "Good man," said Dr. Patel. "So today we're going to start laser treatment, just to loosen up a lot of the hard tissue around the incisions and take the pressure off the nerves."
  
  The nurse left the room for a moment to allow the doctor to speak to Purdue.
  
  "We use IR425," Dr. Patel boasted, and rightly so. Purdue was the inventor of the elemental technique and produced the first line of therapy instruments. Now it's time for the creator to capitalize on his own work, and Purdue was delighted when he saw firsthand its effectiveness. Dr. Patel smiled proudly. "The latest prototype has exceeded our expectations, David. Maybe you should use your brain to push Britain forward in the medical device industry.
  
  Perdue laughed. "If only I had the time, my dear friend, I would have accepted the challenge with dignity. Unfortunately, there are just too many things to reveal."
  
  Dr. Patel suddenly looked more serious and concerned. "Like Nazi-created venomous boas?"
  
  He wanted to impress with this statement, and judging by Perdue's reaction, he succeeded. His hardheaded patient paled slightly at the memory of the monstrous snake that had half swallowed him before Sam Cleve rescued him. Dr. Patel paused to let Purdue reminisce about the terrible memories, to make sure he was still aware of how lucky he was to be able to breathe.
  
  "Don't take anything for granted, that's all I want to say," the doctor advised gently. "Look, I understand your free spirit and that innate desire to explore, David. Just try to keep things in perspective. I have been working with and for you for some time now, and I must say that your reckless pursuit of adventure... or knowledge... is admirable. All I ask is that you watch your mortality. Geniuses like yours are quite rare in this world. People like you are the pioneers, the forerunners of progress. Please do not die ".
  
  Perdue couldn't help but smile at that. "Weapons are just as important as the tools that heal damage, Harun. To some in the medical world it may not seem like it, but we cannot go unarmed against the enemy."
  
  "Well, if there were no guns in the world, we would never have had fatalities to begin with, and no enemies trying to kill us," Dr. Patel countered somewhat indifferently.
  
  "This discussion will come to a standstill within minutes, and you know it," Purdue promised. "Without destruction and mutilation, you wouldn"t have a job, you old rooster."
  
  "Physicians take on a wide range of functions; not just healing wounds and extracting bullets, David. There will always be childbirth, 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 backed up his argument with a simple answer. "And there will always be threats to the innocent, even without wars and secret arsenals. It is better to have martial prowess in times of peace than to face enslavement and disappearance because of your nobility, Harun."
  
  The doctor exhaled and put his hands on his hips. "I understand, yes. A dead end has been reached."
  
  Perdue didn't want to continue on that dark note anyway, so he changed the subject to something he wanted to ask the plastic surgeon. "Tell me, Harun, then what is this nurse doing?"
  
  "What do you have in mind?" asked Dr. Patel, 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 is more to her interaction."
  
  "I know," Dr. Patel muttered as he lifted Perdue's leg to examine the opposite wound that ran over the knee on the inside of the calf. "God, this is the worst contraction of all. You know, I planted it for hours."
  
  "Very good. The work is amazing. So what does "you know" mean? Did she say something? he asked the doctor. "Who is she?"
  
  Dr. Patel looked a little annoyed by the constant interruption. However, he decided to tell Purdue what he wanted to know, if only to stop the researcher from acting like a lovesick schoolboy in need of solace for being abandoned.
  
  "Lilith Hurst. She's into you, David, but not in the way you think. This is all. But please, in the name of all that is holy, do not court a woman half your age, even if it is fashionable," he advised. "It's actually not as cool as it seems. I find it rather sad."
  
  "I never said I'd go after her, old chap," breathed Perdue. "Her mannerisms were just unusual for me."
  
  "She was apparently a real scientist, but she got involved with her colleague and they ended up getting married. From what Nurse Madison told me, the couple has always been jokingly compared to Madame Curie and her husband," Dr. Patel explained.
  
  "So what does this have to do with me?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Her husband fell ill with multiple sclerosis three years after their marriage and his condition rapidly deteriorated, leaving her unable to continue her studies. She had to give up her program and her research to spend more time with him until he died in 2015," said Dr. Patel. "And you have always been her husband's main inspiration, both in science and technology. Let's just say that this person was a big follower of your work and always wanted to meet you."
  
  "Then why didn"t they contact me to meet him? I would love to get to know him, even just to cheer the man up a bit," Perdue lamented.
  
  Patel's dark eyes pierced Purdue as he replied, "We tried to contact you, but at the time you were chasing some Greek relic. Philip Hirst died shortly before you returned to the modern world."
  
  "My God, I'm so sorry to hear this," Perdue said. "No wonder she's a little frigid towards me."
  
  The doctor could see his patient's sincere pity, and some hint of emerging guilt towards a stranger he might know; whose behavior he could improve. In turn, Dr. Patel took pity on Purdue and decided to correct his anxiety with words of comfort. "It doesn't matter, David. Philip knew you were a busy man. Besides, he didn't even know that his wife was trying to contact you. It doesn't matter, it's all water under the bridge. He couldn't be disappointed with what he didn't know.
  
  That helped. Perdue nodded, "I guess you're right, old chap. However, I need to be more accessible. I'm afraid that after a trip to New Zealand I will be a little out of my mind, 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 that they both take a time out. Now you did it for me. Please, David, take some time. You may not think so, but underneath your stern exterior, you still have a very human spirit. Human souls tend to crack, curl, or even break if they have the right impression of the terrible. Your psyche needs the same rest as your flesh."
  
  "I know," Purdue admitted. His doctor did not even suspect that Perdue's tenacity had already helped him skillfully hide what was haunting him. Behind the billionaire's smile was a terrible fragility that appeared any time he fell asleep.
  
  
  6
  Apostate
  
  
  
  Collection of the Academy of Physics, Bruges, Belgium
  
  
  At 10:30 p.m., the meeting of scientists closed.
  
  "Good night, Kasper," exclaimed a female rector from Rotterdam who visited us on behalf of the Dutch Allegiance University. She waved at the flippant man she addressed before getting into the taxi. He waved modestly back, grateful that she hadn't approached him about his dissertation-the Einstein Report-which he had submitted a month earlier. He was not a person who enjoyed attention, unless it came from those who could enlighten him in his area of expertise. And they were, admittedly, few and far between.
  
  For some time Dr. Kasper Jacobs headed the Belgian Association for Physical Research, the secret branch of the Order of the Black Sun in Bruges. The Academic Department under the Ministry of Science Policy worked closely with a secret organization that had infiltrated the most powerful financial and medical institutions throughout Europe and Asia. Their research and experiments were funded by many of the world's leading institutions, while the senior members of the board enjoyed complete freedom of action and many benefits that went beyond the mercantile kind.
  
  Protection was paramount, as was trust, between the main players of the Order and the politicians and financiers of Europe. There were several government organizations and private institutions wealthy enough to partner with the devious, but turned down the membership offer. Thus, these organizations were fair game in the hunting grounds for the worldwide monopoly of scientific development and monetary annexation.
  
  Thus, the Order of the Black Sun perpetuated their relentless pursuit of world domination. Enlisting the help and loyalty of those who were greedy enough to give up power and honesty in the name of selfish subsistence, they secured positions in power structures. Corruption was rampant to the point that even honest shooters didn't realize they were catering to dishonest deals anymore.
  
  On the other hand, some crooked shooters really wanted to shoot straight. Casper pressed a button on his remote lockout device and listened for the beep. For a moment, the small lights of his car flashed on, propelling him towards freedom. After dealing with brilliant criminals and unsuspecting Geeks of the world of science, the physicist desperately wanted to get home and deal with the evening's more important issue.
  
  "Your performance was great as always, Kasper," he heard from two cars in the parking lot. Within obvious earshot, it would be very strange to pretend to ignore a loud voice. Casper sighed. He should have reacted, so he turned with a full charade of cordiality and smiled. He was mortified to see that it was Clifton Taft, the insanely rich Chicago high society tycoon.
  
  "Thanks, Cliff," Casper replied politely. He never thought he'd have to deal with Taft again, after Kasper's infamous termination of his contract under Taft's Unified Field project. So, it was a bit of a bummer to see the arrogant entrepreneur again after flatly calling Taft a golden-ringed baboon before flying out of Taft's Washington, DC chemistry lab two years ago.
  
  Kasper was a shy man, but by no means did he realize his worth. He was disgusted by exploiters like the tycoon, using their wealth to buy geeks desperate for recognition under a promising slogan, only to take credit for their genius. As for Dr. Jacobs, there was nothing for people like Taft to do in science or technology but to use what real scientists had created. According to Kasper, Clifton Taft was a monkey with money, no talent of his own.
  
  Taft shook his hand and grinned like a twisted priest. "It's great to see that you're still progressing every year. I have read some of your latest hypotheses about interdimensional portals and possible equations that could prove the theory once and for all."
  
  "Oh, you did?" Casper asked as he opened his car door to show his haste. "You know, it was gleaned by Zelda Bessler, so if you want some of it, you'll have to convince her to share it." There was justified bitterness in Kasper's voice. Zelda Bessler was the chief physicist of the Bruges branch of the Order, and although she was almost as smart as Jacobs, she rarely managed to do 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 big shots.
  
  "I heard, but I thought you'd fight harder to keep the rights, mate," drawled Cliff in his annoying accent, making sure his condescension was audible to everyone around them in the parking lot. "A way to let a damn woman take your research. I mean, God, where are your balls?"
  
  Casper saw the others look at each other or nudge each other as they all made their way to their cars, limousines and taxis. He fantasized about putting his brain aside for a moment and using his body to stomp the life out of Taft and knock out his huge teeth. "My balls are in perfect condition, Cliff," he replied calmly. "Some research requires real scientific intelligence to apply. Reading fancy phrases and writing constants in sequence with variables is not enough to turn theory into practice. But I am sure that a scientist as strong as Zelda Bessler knows this."
  
  Casper enjoyed a feeling he was not familiar with. Apparently, this was called gloating, and he rarely managed to kick the notorious balls of a bully, as he had just done. He glanced at his watch, enjoying the astonished looks he was giving the idiot tycoon, 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 had a date with.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  After being told off by the boastful jerk with bad hair, Casper drove down the bumpy east parking lot road. He just wanted to avoid the line of luxury limousines and Bentleys leaving the hall, but after his successful line before farewell to Taft, it certainly looked arrogant too. Dr. Casper Jacobs was a mature and innovative physicist, among other roles, but he was always too humble in his work and dedication.
  
  The Order of the Black Sun held him in high esteem. Over the years working on their special projects, he realized that the members of the organization were always ready to provide a favor and cover themselves. Their devotion, like that of the Order itself, was unparalleled; it's something that Casper Jacobs has always admired. When he drank and began to philosophize, he thought about it a lot and came to one conclusion. If only people could care so much about the common goals of their schools, welfare systems, and health care systems, the world would prosper.
  
  He found it amusing that a group of Nazi ideologues could be a model of decency and progress in the social paradigm these days. By the state of the world's disinformation and propriety propaganda that enslaved morality and held back individual consideration, Jacobs was clear.
  
  The highway lights flickering in time on his windshield plunged his thoughts into the dogmas of the revolution. According to Kasper, the Order would have easily succeeded in overthrowing regimes if only civilians did not view representatives as objects of power, throwing their fate into the abyss of liars, charlatans and capitalist monsters. Monarchs, presidents and prime ministers held the fate of people in their hands, while such a thing should be an abomination, Kasper believed. Unfortunately, there was no other way to govern successfully but to deceive and spread fear among one's own people. He expressed regret that the people of the world would never be free. That even thinking about alternatives to the only entity that dominates the world became ridiculous.
  
  Turning off the Ghent-Bruges canal, he soon after passed the Assebruck cemetery, where both of his parents were buried. On the radio, a female TV presenter announced that it was already 11 p.m., and Kasper felt a relief he hadn't felt in a long time. He likened the feeling to the joy of waking up late for school and realizing that it was Saturday-and it was.
  
  "Thank God I can sleep a little later tomorrow," he smiled.
  
  Life has been hectic ever since he took on a new project led by that academic equivalent of a cuckoo, Dr. Zelda Bessler. She was in charge of a top-secret program that only a few members of the Order knew about, except for the author of the original formulas, Dr. Casper Jacobs himself.
  
  As a pacifist genius, he always brushed aside that she took credit for his work under the guise of cooperation and teamwork 'for the good of Order', as she put it. But lately he has begun to grow increasingly resentful of his colleagues for being excluded from their ranks, especially considering that the tangible theories he put forward would be worth a lot of money in any other institution. Money that he could have at his disposal. Instead, he had to settle for only a fraction of the cost, while the Order's pets, who offered the highest rates, were favored in the wages department. And they all lived comfortably on his hypotheses and his hard work.
  
  When he stopped in front of his apartment in a gated complex in a cul-de-sac, Casper felt sick. For so long he had avoided internal antipathy in the name of his research, but today's reacquaintance with Taft has increased the hostility again. It was such an unpleasant subject that tarnished his mind, but it refused to be suppressed all the time.
  
  He hopped up the stairs to a platform of granite slabs that led to the front door of his private apartment. A light was on in the main house , but it always moved quietly so as not to disturb the landlord. Compared to his peers, Casper Jacobs led a remarkably solitary and modest life. With the exception of those who stole his work and made a profit, his less intrusive associates also made pretty good money. By average standards, Dr. Jacobs was comfortable, but by no means rich.
  
  The door creaked open and the smell of cinnamon hit his nostrils, stopping him halfway in the dark. Casper smiled and turned on the light, confirming the secret delivery by his landlord's mother.
  
  "Karen, you're spoiling me terribly," he said to the empty kitchen, heading straight for a baking sheet full of raisin buns. He quickly grabbed two soft loaves and popped them into his mouth as quickly as he could chew. He sat down at the computer and logged in, swallowing slices of delicious raisin bread.
  
  Kasper checked his email before moving on to browse the latest news on Nerd Porn, an underground science website he was a member of. Suddenly, Kasper felt better after a crappy evening when he saw a familiar logo using symbols from chemical equations to create the name of a website.
  
  Something caught his attention on the Recent tab. He leaned forward to make sure he was reading correctly. "You fucking jerk," he whispered, looking at a photo of David Perdue with the subject line:
  
  "Dave Perdue has found the Dire Serpent!"
  
  "You fucking idiot," Casper breathed. "If he puts this equation into practice, we're all screwed."
  
  
  7
  The day after
  
  
  When Sam woke up, he wished he had a brain at all. Used to hangovers, he knew the consequences of drinking on his birthday , but it was a special kind of hell smoldering inside his skull. He stumbled out into the hallway, each step echoing in his eye sockets from within.
  
  "Oh God, just kill me," he muttered as he painfully wiped his eyes while wearing only a bathrobe. Under the soles of his feet, the floor was like a hockey rink, while a cold gust of wind under his door warned of another cold day on the other side. The TV was still on, but Nina was gone, and his cat, Bruichladich, chose this awkward moment to start whining for food.
  
  "Damn it, my head," Sam complained, holding his forehead. He sauntered into the kitchen for strong black coffee and two shots of Anadin, as was customary in his days when he was a hardened newspaperman. The fact that it was the weekend didn't matter to Sam. Whether it's an investigative reporter job, a writer's job, or field trips with Dave Purdue, Sam never had a day off, a holiday, or a day. Every day was just like the previous one for him, and he counted his days by deadlines and commitments in his diary.
  
  Satisfying the big ginger cat with a can of fish porridge, Sam tried not to choke. The awful smell of dead fish was not the best smell to suffer from, given his condition. He quickly assuaged his distress with hot coffee in the living room. Nina left a note:
  
  
  Hope you have some mouthwash and a strong stomach. I showed you something interesting about the ghost train on global news this morning. Too good to miss. I have to go back to Oban for a college lecture. Hope you get through the Irish flu this morning. Good luck!
  
  - Nina
  
  
  "Ha ha, very funny," he groaned as he washed down Anadina's cakes with a mouthful of coffee. Satisfied, Bruich appeared in the kitchen. He took his place in an empty chair and happily began to put himself in order. Sam resented the nonchalant happiness of his cat, not to mention the total lack of discomfort that Bruich enjoyed. "Oh, back off," Sam said.
  
  He was curious about Nina's news entry, but didn't think her stomach warning was welcome. Not with this hangover. In a quick tug-of-war, his curiosity overcame his illness and he turned on the tape she referred to. Outside, the wind brought more rain, so Sam had to turn up the volume on the TV.
  
  In an excerpt, the journalist reported on the mysterious death of two young people in the city of Molodechno, near Minsk, in Belarus. A woman dressed in a thick coat was standing on a dilapidated platform of what looked like an old train station. She alerted viewers to the graphic scenes before the camera switched to the smeared remains on the old rusty rails.
  
  "What the fuck?" Sam spoke through his lips, frowning as he tried to make sense of what had happened.
  
  "Young people appear to have crossed the railroad tracks here," the reporter pointed to a plastic-covered red mess just below the edge of the platform. "According to the statement of the sole surviving participant, whose identity the authorities are still hiding, two of his friends were hit ... on a ghost train."
  
  "I would have thought so," Sam muttered, reaching for a bag of crisps that Nina forgot to finish eating. He didn't much believe in superstition and ghosts, but what prompted him to adopt such a turn of phrase was that the paths were clearly unworkable. Ignoring the obvious gore and tragedy, as he had been taught to do, Sam noticed that sections of the track were missing. Other camera shots showed severe corrosion of the rails that would have made it impossible for any train to run on them.
  
  Sam paused the frame to take a closer look at the background. In addition to the intensive growth of foliage and shrubs on the rails, signs of burning were found on the surface of the folding wall that adjoined the railroad. It looked fresh, but he couldn't be sure. Not too well versed in science or physics, Sam had a gut feeling that the black burn mark had been left by something that used intense heat to create the power to turn two people into mush.
  
  Sam scrolled through the report several times, considering every possibility. This shocked his brain to such an extent that he forgot about the terrible migraine that the gods of alcohol had blessed him with. In fact, he was used to experiencing severe headaches while working on intricate crimes and similar mysteries, so he chose to believe that his hangover was simply the result of the hard work of the brain trying to unravel the circumstances and reasons for this exciting incident.
  
  "Perdue, I hope you're up and getting well, my friend," Sam smiled as he zoomed in on the stain, which charred half the wall in a matte black finish. "Because I have something for you, buddy."
  
  Perdue would have been the perfect person to ask something like that, but Sam vowed not to disturb the billionaire genius until he's fully recovered from his surgeries and feels ready to socialize again. On the other hand, Sam saw fit to pay Purdue a visit to see how he was doing. He has been in intensive care in Wellington and two other hospitals since returning to Scotland two weeks later.
  
  It's time for Sam to go say hello, even just to cheer Perdue up. For such an active person to suddenly be bedridden for such a long time must have been somewhat depressing. Perdue was the most active mind and body Sam had ever encountered, and he couldn't imagine the frustration of a billionaire having to spend every day in hospitals doing orders and being locked up.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Sam contacted Jane, Purdue's personal assistant, for the address of the private clinic where he was staying. He hurriedly scribbled directions on a white Edinburgh Post he had just bought before the trip and thanked her for her help. Sam dodged the rain pouring through his car window, and only then did he begin to wonder how Nina got home.
  
  A quick call would be enough, Sam thought, and called Nina. The call was constantly repeated without answer, so he tried to send a message, hoping that she would answer as soon as she turned on her phone. While sipping coffee to go from a roadside diner, Sam noticed something unusual on the front page of the Post. It wasn't a headline, but a headline tucked into the bottom corner in small letters that was enough to take the front page without being too imposing.
  
  World Summit at an unknown location?
  
  The article did not provide many details, but did raise the issue of a sudden arrangement by Scottish municipal councils and their representatives to attend a meeting at an undisclosed location. It didn't seem like much to Sam, except for the fact that the new mayor of Oban was the Hon. Lance McFadden has also been cited as representative.
  
  "Punch a little over your weight, Mac Fadden?" Sam teased under his breath as he drank the rest of his cold drink. "You must be so important. If you'd like," he chuckled, tossing the newspaper aside.
  
  He knew McFadden from his relentless campaigning over the past few months. According to most people in Oban, McFadden was a fascist masquerading as a liberal-minded modern-day governor-a kind of "people's mayor," if you will. Nina called him a bully, and Perdue knew him from a joint venture in Washington, D.C., sometime in 1996, when they collaborated on a failed intradimensional transformation experiment 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 running mate.
  
  Nina mentioned that she wondered where this large amount came from, since McFadden was never a rich man. Why, he even approached Purdue himself some time ago for financial help, but of course Perdue turned him down. He must have found some dumbass who couldn't see right through him to support his campaign, otherwise he would never have made his way into this pleasant, unremarkable town.
  
  At the end of the last sentence, Sam noted that the article was written by Aidan Glaston, senior journalist at the political desk.
  
  "No way, old dog," Sam chuckled. "Are you still posting all this shit after all these years, mate?" Sam recalled working on two exposés with Aidan years before Purdue's fateful first expedition that turned him away from newspaper journalism. He was surprised that a fifty-something journalist had not yet retired to something more worthy, perhaps a political consultant on a television show or something.
  
  There was a message on Sam's phone.
  
  "Nina!" he exclaimed and grabbed his old Nokia to read her message. His eyes studied the name on the screen. "Not Nina."
  
  It was actually a message from Purdue and implored Sam to bring the video footage of the Lost City expedition to Reichtisousis, Purdue's historic residence. Sam frowned at the strange message. How could Perdue ask him to meet at Reichtisusis 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 Purdue to make sure he did have his cell phone and that he had indeed placed the call. Perdue answered almost immediately.
  
  "Sam, did you get my message?" he started talking.
  
  "Yeah, 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 for?"
  
  Assuming someone was in the room with Purdue, Sam readily agreed to what Purdue asked him to. "Let me just come home and pick it up and I"ll meet you at your house later this evening, okay?"
  
  "Perfect," Perdue replied, and unceremoniously hung up. It took Sam a moment to process the sudden shutdown before starting the car to return home for the expedition video footage. He recalled Perdue asking him to photograph, in particular, the massive drawing on the great wall below the Nazi scientist's house in Neckenhall, an ominous piece of land in New Zealand.
  
  They learned that it was known as the Dire Serpent, but as to its exact meaning, Purdue, Sam, and Nina didn't really have a clue. As far as Perdue is concerned, it was a powerful equation that hasn't been explained...yet.
  
  That was what kept him from wasting time in the hospital recovering and resting - he was, in fact, haunted day and night by the mystery of the Dire Snake's origins. He needed Sam to get a detailed image so that he could copy it into the program and analyze the nature of his mathematical evil.
  
  Sam was in no hurry. He still had a few hours left before dinner, so he decided to buy some takeaway Chinese and drink some beer while he waited at home. This would give him time to review the footage and see if there was anything in particular that Purdue might be interested in. As Sam pulled his car out into the driveway, he noticed that someone was darkening his doorstep. Not wanting to act like a true Scot and simply confront a stranger, he turned off the engine and waited for what the dubious type wanted.
  
  The man fiddled with the doorknob at first, but then turned and looked straight at Sam.
  
  "Jesus Christ!" Sam howled in his car. "It's a damn virgin!"
  
  
  8
  Face under the felt hat
  
  
  Sam's hand dropped to his side, where he hid his Beretta. At the same moment, the stranger started screaming madly again as he ran down the stairs to Sam's car. Sam started the car and shifted into reverse before the man could drive up to him. His tires licked hot black marks on the pavement as he accelerated backwards, out of the reach of the madman with the broken nose.
  
  In the rearview mirror, Sam saw that the stranger wasted no time in jumping into his car, a navy blue Taurus that looked much more civilized and burly than its owner.
  
  "Are you fucking serious? For heaven's sake! Are you really going to follow me?" Sam cried out in disbelief. He was right and he put his foot down. It would be a mistake to drive out onto the open road, as his little clunker would never be able to outrun a six-cylinder 'Taurus' in terms of torque, so he headed straight for the old abandoned high school compound a few blocks from his apartment.
  
  Not even a moment passed before he saw a spinning blue car in the side mirror. Sam was worried about pedestrians. It would be some time before the road became less crowded, and he was afraid that someone might get out in front of his charging car. Adrenaline fueled his heart, the most unpleasant feeling remained in his stomach, but he had to run away from the maniac pursuer at any cost. He knew him from somewhere, though he couldn't remember what it was, and given Sam's career, it was very likely that his many enemies had become little more than faintly familiar faces by now.
  
  Due to the fickle play of clouds, Sam had to turn on the wipers on his strongest windshield to make sure he could see people under umbrellas and those reckless enough to cross the road in the pouring rain. Many people couldn't see the two speeding cars heading their way, their eyes obscured by the hoods of their coats, while others simply thought the vehicles would stop at intersections. They made a mistake, and it almost cost them dearly.
  
  The two women screamed as Sam's left headlight nearly hit them as they crossed the street. Rushing along the sparkling asphalt and concrete road, Sam continuously flashed his headlights and honked. The Blue Taurus did nothing of the sort. The pursuer was only interested in one thing - Sam Cleave. At a sharp bend on Stanton Road, Sam slammed on the handbrake, and the car skidded into a curve. It was a trick he knew from his familiarity with the surroundings that the virgin did not. Tires screeching, the Taurus swerved wildly from pavement to pavement. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see bright sparks from the collision of the cement coating with the aluminum hubcaps, but the Taurus remained steady once he got the deflection under control.
  
  "Crap! Crap! Crap!" Sam chuckled, sweating heavily under his thick sweater. There was no other way to get rid of the madman who followed him around. Shooting was not an option. By his calculations, too many pedestrians and other vehicles used the road for bullets to fly.
  
  Finally, the old school yard appeared to his left. Sam turned to break through what was left of the diamond mesh fence. It would be simple. The rusty, torn fence was barely attached to the corner post, leaving a weak spot that many vagrants had discovered long before Sam. "Yeah, it looks more like it!" he yelled and sped straight onto the pavement. "That must be something to embarrass you, hey bastard?"
  
  With a defiant laugh, Sam turned sharply to the left, preparing to hit the pavement on the front bumper of his poor car. No matter how prepared Sam thought he was, the encounter was ten times worse. Its neck twitched forward along with the crunch of its wing. At the same time, his short rib was brutally driven into his pelvic bone, or so it seemed to him, before he continued to fight. Sam's old Ford scraped horribly against the rusted edge of the fence, digging into the paint like the claws of a tiger.
  
  Head down, eyes peering under the top of the steering wheel, Sam steered the car onto the cracked surface of what had once been tennis courts. Now only the remains of the demarcation and design remain on the flat area, leaving only tufts of grass and wild plants sticking through it. The Taurus roared into him just as Sam ran out of surface to go on. There was only a low cement wall in front of his speeding curved machine.
  
  "Oh shit!" he yelled, gritting his teeth.
  
  A small broken wall led to a steep drop on the other side. Beyond that, the old S3 classrooms of gabled red brick loomed large. An instant stop that would surely end Sam's life. He had no choice but to apply the handbrake again, even though it was a little late. The Taurus lunged at Sam's car like it had a mile of runway to play with. With great force, the Ford spun almost on two wheels.
  
  The rain worsened Sam's eyesight. His stunt flying over the fence disabled the windshield wipers, and only the left wiper blade worked for him - useless for the driver of a right-hand drive car. However, he hoped that his out-of-control turn would slow his vehicle enough to avoid crashing into the class building. This was his immediate concern, given the intentions of the passenger of the Taurus as the closest assistant. Centrifugal force was a terrible state to be in. Even though the movement made Sam vomit, its influence was just as effective in keeping it all to himself.
  
  The clang of metal, followed by a sudden jerky stop, made Sam jump from his seat. Luckily for him, his body didn't fly through the windshield, but landed on the shifter and most of the passenger seat after the spin stopped.
  
  The only sound in Sam's ears was the sound of rain and the tinny click of a cooling engine. His ribs and neck were in terrible pain, but he was fine. Sam let out a deep breath as he realized he wasn't hurt that badly after all. But suddenly he remembered why he was involved in this disaster in the first place. Lowering his head to pretend to be dead to his pursuer, Sam felt a warm trickle of blood seep out of his arm. The skin had been torn just below the elbow, where his hand had hit the open lid of the ashtray between the seats.
  
  He could hear clumsy footsteps splashing through puddles of wet cement. He was afraid of the stranger's mumbling, but the man's disgusting cries sent goosebumps through his skin. Luckily, he was only mumbling now, as his target wasn't running away from him. Sam deduced that the man's terrible scream was heard only when someone was running away from him. It was creepy to say the least, and Sam didn't move to fool the strange stalker.
  
  Come a little closer, you bastard, Sam thought as his heart pounded in his ears, mimicking thunder overhead. His fingers curled around the pistol grip. As much as he hoped his feigned death would keep the stranger from bothering or hurting him, the man simply jerked Sam's door open. "Just a little more," the inner voice of his victim admonished Sam, "so I can blow your fucking brains out. No one can even hear it out here in the rain."
  
  "Pretending," 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 that he had heard about a patient who had escaped from the asylum for the criminally insane at Broadmoor, and he wondered if it could be the same person. However, following this request, the question arose of whether the name Sam was familiar to him.
  
  In the distance, Sam could hear police sirens. One of the local businessmen must have called the authorities when a car chase broke out in their neighborhood. He felt relieved. This, no doubt, would have sealed the fate of the stalker, and he would have been spared the threat once and for all. At first, Sam thought it was just a one-time misunderstanding, like the ones that often happen in pubs on Saturday nights. However, this creepy man's persistence made him more than just a coincidence in Sam's life.
  
  They sounded louder and louder, but the human presence was still undeniable. To Sam's surprise and disgust, the man darted under the roof of the car and grabbed the motionless journalist, lifting him effortlessly. Suddenly Sam dropped his charade, but he couldn't reach his gun in time and he dropped it too.
  
  "What in the name of all that is holy are you doing, you brainless bastard?" Sam yelled angrily, trying to wrench the man's arms. It was in such a cramped room as this that he finally saw the maniac's face in broad daylight. Beneath his fedora hat was a face that demons would recoil from, similar horror at his disturbing speech, but up close he seemed completely normal. First of all, the terrible strength of the stranger convinced Sam not to fight back 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 it was missing all the lock and panel with the handle. By the time Sam turned to try to get out of the driver's seat, his kidnapper 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 that his captor was neither crazy nor crawled out of the black lagoon. He was mutilated, leaving him virtually speechless and forced to wear a cape and fedora.
  
  My God, he reminds me of Darkman, Sam thought as he watched the man expertly 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. Also, before Perdue got hold of his cell phone, he too was an antique from Nokia BC and could do little other than send text messages and make quick calls.
  
  "Oh shit! Purdue!" he accidentally exclaimed, remembering that he was supposed to pick up the footage and meet with the billionaire in the late afternoon. His captor simply looked at him between evasive moves to get out of the densely populated areas of Edinburgh. "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 infatuation you have for me."
  
  "Don't flatter yourself," the burned man chuckled as he drove like a well-trained Hollywood stuntman. His words were very slurred, and his s was mostly 'sh', but Sam found that a little time in his company allowed his ear to get used to the clear diction.
  
  The Taurus jumped over protruding road signs painted yellow along the side of the road where they left the highway ramp. Until now, there were no police cars on their way. They hadn't arrived yet when the man took Sam off the set and didn't know where to start chasing him.
  
  "Where are we going?" Sam asked, his initial panic slowly turning into frustration.
  
  "A place to talk," the man replied.
  
  "Oh my God, you look so familiar," Sam muttered.
  
  "How can you even know?" the kidnapper asked sarcastically. It was clear that his handicap hadn't affected his attitude, and that made him one of those types - the type who didn't give a damn about limits. Effective ally. Deadly enemy.
  
  
  9
  Coming home with Purdue
  
  
  "I want to record this as a very bad idea," moaned Dr. Patel, reluctantly discharging his recalcitrant patient. "I don't have a specific excuse for keeping you locked up at the moment, David, but I'm not sure if you're still fit to go home."
  
  "Noted," Perdue smiled, leaning on his new cane. "Whatever it is, old chap, I'll try not to aggravate my cuts and stitches. In addition, I arranged for home care twice a week until our next check-up."
  
  "You did? It really makes me feel some relief," admitted Dr. Patel. "What medical care do you use?"
  
  Perdue's mischievous smile aroused some unease in the surgeon. "I used Nurse Hearst for a private fee over and above her working hours here at the clinic, so it shouldn't interfere with her work at all. Two times a week. One hour for evaluation and treatment. What do you say?
  
  Dr. Patel was stunned into silence. "Damn it, David, you really can't let any mystery get past you, can you?"
  
  "Look, I feel terrible about not being around when her husband could have taken my inspiration, even just in terms of morale. The least I can do is try to somehow make up for my absence back then."
  
  The surgeon sighed and put a hand on Purdue's shoulder, leaning down to gently remind him, "It won't save anything, you know. The man is dead and no more. Nothing good you are trying to do now will bring him back or fulfill his dreams."
  
  "I know, I know, it doesn't make much sense, but whatever, Harun, let me do it. In any case, a meeting with Nurse Hearst will ease my conscience a little. Please provide me with this," Purdue pleaded. Dr. Patel could not 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 that his wounds would heal almost as well as they had before the attack, but Purdue needed to occupy his psyche at all costs.
  
  "Don't worry, David," Dr. Patel replied. "Believe it or not, I completely understand what you are trying to do. And I'm with you my friend. Do what you consider redemptive and corrective. It can only do you good."
  
  "Thank you," Perdue smiled, genuinely pleased with his doctor's agreement. A short moment of awkward silence passed between the end of the conversation and the arrival of Nurse Hearst from the locker room.
  
  "Sorry it took me so long, Mr. Perdue," she breathed out hastily. "I had a little stocking problem, if you want to know."
  
  Dr. Patel pursed his lips and suppressed his amusement at her statement, but Perdue, always a polite gentleman, immediately changed the subject to save her further embarrassment. "Then maybe 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 take Mr. Perdue home on the way home. I thought it would be an opportunity to find the best route to his estate. I have never climbed this way, so now I can remember the way."
  
  "Ah, I see," Harun Patel replied, although his face showed suspicion. He was still of the opinion that David Purdue needed more than Lilith's medical experience, but alas, that was none of his business.
  
  Perdue arrived at Reichtisusis later than he expected. Lilith Hurst insisted that they stop first to fill up the tank of her car, which delayed them a bit, but they still made good time. Inside, Purdue felt like a child on the morning of his birthday. He couldn't wait to get home, expecting Sam to be waiting for him with the prize he'd been craving ever since they got lost in the Lost City's hellish labyrinth.
  
  "Good God, Mr. Purdue, what a place you have here!" Lilith exclaimed. Her mouth was gaping as she leaned forward on her steering wheel to view the majestic gate to Reichtishusis. "It's amazing! Lord, I can't imagine what your electricity bill is."
  
  Perdue laughed heartily at her frankness. Her seemingly modest lifestyle was a welcome change from the company of wealthy landowners, magnates and politicians he was used to.
  
  "That's pretty cool," he played along.
  
  Lilith rolled her eyes at him. "Certainly. Like someone like you might know what a cool guy is. I bet it's never too expensive for your wallet." She knew immediately what she was hinting at and gasped, "Oh my God. Mr Perdue, I apologize! I'm depressed. I tend to say what I think..."
  
  "It's all right, Lilith," he laughed. "Please don't apologize for this. 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 to the imposing old building Purdue called home. As the car approached the mansion, Purdue could practically jump out of it to see Sam and the videotape that would accompany him. He wanted the nurse to drive a little faster, but he didn't dare to ask.
  
  "Your garden is beautiful," she remarked. "Look at all these amazing stone structures. Was it a castle before?
  
  "Not a castle, my dear, but close. This is a historic site, so I'm sure it once held back invasion and protected many people from harm. When we first toured the property, we found the remains of huge stables and servants quarters. There are even ruins of an old chapel in the far east of the estate," he described dreamily, feeling no small pride in his residence in Edinburgh. Of course, he had several houses around the world, but he considered the main house in his native Scotland to be the main location of Purdue fortune.
  
  As soon as the car stopped in front of the main doors, Perdue opened his door.
  
  "Be careful, Mr Perdue!" she screamed. Worried, she turned off the engine and hurried over to him, just as Charles, his butler, opened the door.
  
  "Welcome back, sir," Charles said stiffly in his dry manner. "We were expecting you in just two days." He went down the steps to retrieve Purdue's bags while the grey-haired billionaire rushed to the stairs as fast as he could. "Good afternoon, madam," Charles greeted the nurse, who in turn nodded in recognition that he had no idea who she was, but if she came with Purdue, he considered her an important person.
  
  "Mr. Perdue, you can't put that much pressure on your leg yet," she whined after him, trying to keep up with his wide strides. "Mr Perdue..."
  
  "Just help me up the stairs, okay?" he asked politely, though she caught a note of deep concern in his voice. "Charles?"
  
  "Yes, sir".
  
  "Mr. Cleve has already arrived?" Perdue asked, stepping impatiently.
  
  "No, sir," Charles replied casually. The answer was modest, but Purdue's expression in response was one of utter horror. He stood motionless for a moment, holding the nurse's hand and looking longingly at his butler.
  
  "No?" he snorted in panic.
  
  Just at that moment, Lillian and Jane, his housekeeper and personal assistant respectively, appeared at the door.
  
  "No, sir. He was gone all day. Did you expect him? Charles asked.
  
  "Was I... d-was I expected... God, Charles, would I ask if he was here if I wasn"t expecting him?" Perdue spoke in an uncharacteristic way. It was a shock to them to hear a yell from their usually unflappable employer, and the women exchanged puzzled glances with Charles, who remained mute.
  
  "He called?" Perdue asked Jane.
  
  "Good evening to you, Mr. Perdue," she replied sharply. Unlike Lillian and Charles, Jane was not averse to reprimanding her boss when he was out of line or when something was wrong. She was usually his moral compass and decision-making right hand when he needed an opinion. He saw her cross her arms over her chest and knew she was acting like a jerk.
  
  "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I'm just urgently waiting for Sam. 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 it took to get to the door. "My goose was almost ready, yes, but I had the upper hand." They could see that Perdue was extremely upset, but he tried to remain cordial. "That's it, this is Nurse Hurst from the Salisbury Clinic. She will treat my wounds twice a week."
  
  After a brief exchange of pleasantries, everyone fell silent and stepped aside to let Purdue into the lobby. He finally looked back at Jane. In a much less derisive tone, he again asked, "Did Sam even call, Jane?"
  
  "No," she answered softly. "Do you want me to call him while you settle down for such a long time?"
  
  He wanted to protest, but he knew that her suggestion would be in the order of things. Nurse Hurst would certainly have insisted on assessing him before he left, and Lillian would have insisted on giving him a good meal 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 started up the stairs to the first floor of the office. She called him back. "And please get some rest. I'm sure Sam will be there even if I can't get through to him."
  
  "Yes, yes," he waved a friendly hand at her and continued to struggle up the stairs. Lilith toured the magnificent residence while attending to her patient. She had never seen such luxury in the dwelling of someone who was not of royal status. Personally, she had never been in a house of such prosperity. Having lived in Edinburgh for several years now, she knew a famous explorer who had built an empire on his superior IQ. Purdue was an eminent citizen of Edinburgh whose fame and infamy spread throughout the world.
  
  Most famous personalities in the world of finance, politics and science knew David Purdue. However, many of them began to hate his existence. She knew that too well. However, even his enemies could not deny his genius. As a former student of physics and theoretical chemistry, Lilith was fascinated by the variety of knowledge Purdue displayed over the years. Now she was witness to the product of his inventions and the history of relic hunting.
  
  The high ceilings of the lobby of the Wrichtishousis reached three stories before being swallowed up by the load-bearing walls of the individual divisions and tiers, as were the floors. Marble and ancient limestone floors adorned the Leviathan's house, and judging from the appearance of the site, there was little decoration younger than the 16th century.
  
  "You have a beautiful home, Mr. Perdue," she breathed.
  
  "Thank you," he smiled. "You used to be a scientist by profession, right?"
  
  "I was," she replied with a slightly serious look.
  
  "When you return next week, I might give you a short tour of my labs," he suggested.
  
  Lilith looked less enthusiastic than he thought. "Actually, I was in the labs. In fact, your company, Scorpio Majorus, runs three different branches," she boasted to impress him. Purdue's eyes flashed with a mischievous gleam. He shook his head.
  
  "No, my dear, I mean the test labs in the house," he said, feeling the effects of the painkiller and the recent frustration with Sam, making him sleepy.
  
  "Here?" she swallowed, finally reacting the way he had hoped she would.
  
  "Yes ma'am. Right down there, below the lobby level. I'll show you next time," he boasted. He loved the way the young nurse blushed at his suggestion. Her smile made him feel good, and for a moment he believed that he might be able to make up for the sacrifice she had to make because of her husband's illness. That was his intention, but she meant more than a little redemption for David Purdue.
  
  
  10
  Swindle in Oban
  
  
  Nina rented a car to drive back to Oban from Sam's house. It was great to be back home, to my old house, which overlooked the temperamental 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 a heritage site she purchased many years ago. She eventually got fed up with giving the antiques away to the cleaners who demanded extra money from any gullible antique collector. Other than sticky fingers, Nina has lost more than enough of her favorite things to negligent housekeepers, smashing precious relics she acquired by risking her life on the Purdue expeditions, basically. Being a historian was not a calling for Dr. Nina Gould, but a very specific obsession that she felt closer to than the modern conveniences of her era. This was her life. The past was her treasure trove of knowledge, her bottomless well of fascinating accounts and beautiful artefacts, crafted with the pen and clay of bolder, stronger civilizations.
  
  Sam hadn't called yet, but she recognized him as a man with a scattered mind and always busy with this or that new business. Like a bloodhound, he only needed to smell adventure or a chance of close attention to focus on something. She wondered what he thought of the news report she had left him to watch, but she wasn't as diligent in reviewing it.
  
  It was an overcast day, so there was no reason to walk along the shore or go to a cafe to taste the sinful act of strawberry cheesecake - in the refrigerator, not baked. Even something as delicious as a cheesecake couldn't make Nina go outside on a grey, drizzly day, which was indicative of the discomfort on the street. Through one of her bay windows, Nina saw the agonizing journeys of those who nevertheless decided to go out today, and again thanked herself.
  
  "Oh, and what are you thinking?" - she whispered, pressing her face against the fold of the lace curtain and looking out not very imperceptibly. Beneath her house, down the steep slope of the lawn, Nina noticed old Mr. Hemming coming slowly up the road in terrible weather, calling for his dog.
  
  Mr. Hemming was one of the oldest residents of Dunuaran Road, a widower with a distinguished past. She knew this because after a few shots of whiskey, 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, for anyone sober enough to remember. When he started to cross the road, Nina noticed that a black car was speeding a few houses away from him. Because her window was so high above the street below, she was the only one who could have foreseen this.
  
  "Oh my God," she breathed, and quickly rushed to the door. Barefoot, in nothing but jeans and a bra, Nina ran down the stairs to her cracked path. She called out his name as she ran, but the rain and thunder prevented him from hearing her warning.
  
  "Mr. Hemming! Watch out for the car!" Nina squealed, her feet barely feeling the cold from the wet puddles and grass she walked across. An icy wind burned her bare skin. Her head turned to the right to measure the distance to the fast-approaching car, which was splashing across the crowded ditch. "Mr. Hemming!"
  
  By the time Nina reached the gate in her fence, Mr. Hemming was already plodding along halfway, calling his dog. As always, in a hurry, her damp fingers slid and fiddled with the latch of the lock, unable to remove the pin fast enough. When she tried to open the lock, she still called out his name. Since there were no other walkers crazy enough to go out in this weather, she was his only hope, his only harbinger.
  
  "Oh my gosh!" she screamed in frustration as soon as the pin came free. In fact, it was her swearing that finally caught Mr. Hemming's attention. He frowned and turned slowly to see where the swearing was coming from, but he turned clockwise, preventing him from seeing the approaching car.When he saw the handsome, scantily clad historian, the old man felt a strange pang of nostalgia for his old days.
  
  "Hi, 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 considering the cold weather and all.
  
  "Mr. Hemming!" she was still screaming as she ran towards him. His smile faded as he began to doubt the crazy woman's intentions towards him. But he was too old to run away from her, so he waited for the blow and hoped that she would not harm him. There was a deafening splash of water to his left, and finally he turned his head to see the monstrous black Mercedes gliding towards him. On either side of the road, white, foamy wings rose as the tires cut through the water.
  
  "Damn it...!" he breathed, his eyes wide with horror, but Nina grabbed his forearm. She jerked him so hard that he tripped on the pavement, but the speed of her action saved him from the wing of the Mercedes. Caught in a wave of water raised by the car, Nina and old Mr. Hemming cowered behind a parked car until the jolt in the Merc passed.
  
  Nina immediately jumped up.
  
  "You're going to get caught for this, you moron! I'll hunt you down and kick your ass, you jerk!" she saluted her insults to the idiot in the fancy car. Her dark hair framed her face and neck, curling over the mounds of her breasts as she snarled in the street. "Mercedes" turned at the turn of the road and gradually disappeared behind a stone bridge. Nina was furious and cold. She held out her hand to the stunned senior citizen, shivering from the cold.
  
  "Come, Mr. Hemming, let's get you inside before you catch your death," Nina suggested firmly. His twisted fingers closed around her arm, and she carefully lifted the frail man to his feet.
  
  "My dog, Betsy," he muttered, still in shock from the fright caused by the threat, "she ran away when the thunder started."
  
  "Don't worry, Mr. Hemming, we'll find her for you, okay? Just hide from the rain. My God, I'm still tracking this asshole," she assured him, catching her breath in short breaths.
  
  "You can't do anything to them, Dr. Gould," he muttered as she led him across the street. "They'd rather kill you than waste a minute justifying their actions, scum."
  
  "Who?" she asked.
  
  He nodded his head towards the bridge where the car had disappeared. "They! Discarded after what was once a good municipality when Oban was ruled by a righteous council of worthy men."
  
  She frowned, looking confused. "Wh-what? Are you saying that you know who owns this car?"
  
  "Certainly!" he answered when she opened the garden gate for him. "Those damn vultures in the town hall. McFadden! Here is the pig! He's going to end this city, but the young people no longer care who's in charge as long as they can continue to whore and party. These are the ones who should have voted. Voted to remove him, they should have, but no. Money won. I voted against this bastard. I did. And he knows it. He knows everyone who voted against him."
  
  Nina recalled seeing McFadden on the news some time ago, where he attended a very important secret meeting, the nature of which the news channels were unable to reveal. Most people in Oban liked Mr. Hemming, but most thought his political views were too old-fashioned, that he was one of those seasoned opponents who refused to allow progress.
  
  "How can he know who voted against him? And what could he do? she challenged the villain, but Mr. Hemming was adamant, demanding that she be careful. She patiently led him up the steep slope of her path, knowing that his heart would not be able to withstand the strenuous march uphill.
  
  "Listen, Nina, he knows. I am not tech savvy, 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 to chatter, as he always did. Only this time his babbling wasn't a fable or a pleasant memory of days gone by, no; he sounded in the form of serious accusations.
  
  "How can he afford all these things, Mr. Hemming?" she asked. "You know it will cost a fortune."
  
  Big eyes looked askance 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 hearth, where the fire licked at the mouth of the chimney. She grabbed a cashmere blanket from her sofa and wrapped it around him, rubbing his hands over the blanket to keep him warm. 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 opposed the McFadden 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 that Leving would get another seat in the city council chambers, but we were all devastated when McFadden unexpectedly won. Is Leving going to object or propose another vote in the council?"
  
  The old man chuckled bitterly as he stared into the fire, his mouth twisted into a grim smile.
  
  "He is dead".
  
  "Who? Living?" she asked incredulously.
  
  "Yes, Leving is dead. Last week he" - Mr. Hemming looked at her with a sarcastic expression - "had an accident, as they said."
  
  "What?" she frowned. Nina was completely stunned by the ominous events taking place in her own city. "What happened?"
  
  "Apparently he fell down the stairs of his Victorian house while intoxicated," the old man said, but his face played a different card. "You know, I've known Living for thirty-two years, and he never drank more than a glass of blue moon sherry. How could he be intoxicated? How could he be so drunk that he couldn't climb the damn stairs he'd been walking for twenty-five years in the same house, Dr. Gould? He laughed, remembering his own almost tragic experience. "And it looks like it was my turn to be hanged today."
  
  "It will be on that day," she chuckled, mulling over the information as she put on her robe and tied it.
  
  "Now you're involved, Dr. Gould," he warned. "You robbed them of their chance to kill me. You are in the middle of a shitty storm right now."
  
  "Okay," Nina said with a steely look. "This is where I am at my best."
  
  
  eleven
  Essence of the question
  
  
  Sam's kidnapper left the highway east on the A68, heading into the unknown.
  
  "Where are you taking me?" Sam asked, keeping his voice even and friendly.
  
  "Wagry," the man replied.
  
  "Wagry Country Park?" Sam answered without thinking.
  
  "Yes, Sam," the man replied.
  
  Sam thought about Swift's response for a moment, assessing the level of threat associated with the venue. In fact, it was quite a pleasant place, not one where he would have to be gutted or hung from a tree. In fact, the park was constantly visited as it was laid out with wooded areas where people came to play golf, go hiking or entertain their children at 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 courtesy of our mutual friend Aidan of the Edinburgh Post," he explained.
  
  "When talking about Aidan as a friend, are you being sarcastic or is he really your friend?" Sam inquired.
  
  "No, we're friends in the old-fashioned sense of the word," George replied without taking his eyes off the road. "I'll take you to Vaughry 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 follow you, but you have a tendency to react with extreme prejudice even before you know what's going on. The way you handle yourself during bite operations is beyond my comprehension."
  
  "I was drunk when you cornered me in the men's room, George," Sam tried to explain, but it had no corrective effect. "What should I have thought?"
  
  George Masters chuckled. "I guess you didn't expect to see someone as handsome as me in this bar. I could do better... or you could spend more time sober."
  
  "Hey, it was my fucking birthday," Sam defended himself. "I had the right to be angry."
  
  "Maybe so, but it doesn't matter now," George protested. "You ran away then and ran again without even giving me a chance to explain what I want from you."
  
  "I guess you're right," Sam sighed as they turned onto the road leading to the beautiful area of Vaugrey. The Victorian house, from which the name of the park came, appeared from behind the trees when the car slowed down significantly.
  
  "The river will block our discussion," George mentioned, "in case they are 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 before. "You mean, anyone who hasn"t seen the carnival of speed fucking we did next door?"
  
  "You know who they are, Sam. They were amazingly patient watching you and the handsome historian... watching David Purdue...," he said as they walked towards the banks of the River Tyne that ran through the estate.
  
  "Wait, do you know Nina and Perdue?" Sam gasped. "What do they have to do with why you are following me?"
  
  George sighed. It's time to get to the heart of the matter. He stopped without saying another word, combing the horizon with his eyes hidden under his mutilated brows. The water gave Sam a sense of peace, Eve in a drizzle of gray clouds. His hair flowed over his face as he waited for George to explain his purpose.
  
  "I'll be brief, Sam," said George. "I can"t explain now how I know all this, but just trust me that I know." Noting that the journalist was just staring at him without expression, he continued. "Do you still have the Dire Serpent video, Sam? Do you have the video that you recorded when you were all in the Lost City?"
  
  Sam thought quickly. He decided to keep his answers vague until he was certain of George Masters' intentions. "No, I left a note with Dr. Gould, but it's overseas."
  
  "Really?" George replied nonchalantly. "You should read the newspapers, Mr. well-known journalist. She saved the life of a prominent member of her hometown yesterday, so either you're lying to me or she's capable of bilocation."
  
  "Look, just tell me what you have to tell me, for heaven's sake. Because of your crappy approach, I wrote off my car and I still have to deal with this crap when you finish playing games at the game park," Sam barked.
  
  "Do you have a video of the Dire Serpent with you?" George repeated with his own way of intimidation. Every word was like a hammer on an anvil for Sam's ears. He had no way out of the conversation, and there was no way out of the park without George.
  
  "The... Terrible Serpent?" Sam persisted. He didn't know much about the stuff Perdue asked him to shoot in the bowels of a mountain in New Zealand, and he preferred it to be that way. His curiosity was usually limited to what interested him, and physics and numbers were not his forte.
  
  "Jesus Christ!" George raged in his slow, slurred speech. "Terrible Serpent, a pictogram composed of a sequence of variables and symbols, Split! Also known as Equation! Where is this entry?
  
  Sam threw up his hands in surrender. The people under the umbrellas noticed the raised voices of the two men peeking out from their hiding places, and the tourists turned around to see what was causing the commotion. "Okay, God! Relax," Sam whispered harshly. "I don't have any footage with me, George. Not here and now. Why?"
  
  "These photographs should never fall into the hands of David Perdue, you understand?" George warned with a hoarse shudder. "Never! I don't care what you're going to say to him, Sam. Just delete it. Corrupt files, whatever."
  
  "That's all he cares about, mate," Sam informed him. "I would go so far as to say that he is obsessed with it."
  
  "I'm aware of that, mate," George hissed back at Sam. "That's the damn problem. He is being used by a puppeteer much, much bigger than himself."
  
  "They?" Sam asked sarcastically, referring to George's paranoid theory.
  
  Fed up with Sam Cleave's youthful antics, the faded-skinned man rushed forward, grabbing Sam by the collar and shaking him with terrifying force. For a moment, Sam felt like a small child being tossed about by a St. Bernard, making him remember that George's physical strength was almost inhuman.
  
  "Now listen, and listen carefully, buddy," he hissed into Sam's face, his breath smelling of tobacco and mint. "If David Perdue gets this equation, the Order of the Black Sun will triumph!"
  
  Sam tried in vain to unclench the burnt man's hands, only further angering him at Eve. George shook him again and then released him so abruptly that he staggered back. While Sam was trying to find a foothold, George stepped closer. "Do you even understand what you are calling? Perdue shouldn't work with the Dire Serpent. He's the same genius they've been waiting for to solve this fucking math problem since their previous golden boy worked it out. Unfortunately, said golden boy had a conscience and destroyed his work, but not before the 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.
  
  Startled, George looked at Sam. "You do not know? Ever heard of a guy named Einstein, my friend? Einstein, 'Theory of Relativity'-guy, was working on something a little more destructive than an atomic bomb, but with similar characteristics. Look, I'm a scientist, but I'm not a genius. Thank God no one could complete this equation, which is why the late Dr. Kenneth Wilhelm wrote it down in The Lost City. No one was supposed to survive in that fucking snake pit."
  
  Sam remembered Dr. Wilhelm, who owned a farm in New Zealand where the Lost City was located. He was a Nazi scientist that most people didn't know about and who went by the name Williams for many years.
  
  "Good good. Suppose I bought all this," Sam pleaded, raising his hands again. "What are the implications of this equation? I'm going to need a really concrete excuse to tell Purdue, who, by the way, must be planning my demise right about now. Your insane drive cost me meeting him. God, he must be furious."
  
  George shrugged. "You shouldn't have run away."
  
  Sam knew he was right. If Sam had just run into George at his front door and asked, that would have saved him a lot of trouble. First of all, he would still have a car. On the other hand, grieving over the shit that had already come out didn't do Sam any good.
  
  "I'm not clear on the finer details, Sam, but between me and Aidan Glaston, the consensus is that this equation will contribute to a monumental shift in the current paradigm of physics," George acknowledged. "From what Aidan has been able to figure out from his sources, this calculation will cause havoc on a global scale. This will allow the object to break through the veil between dimensions, causing our own physics to collide with what lies on the other side. The Nazis experimented with it, like the Unified Field Theory claims that could not be proven."
  
  "And how will Black Sun benefit from this, Masters?" - Asked Sam, using his journalistic talent to understand the shit. "They live in the same time and space as the rest of the world. It is ridiculous to think that they will experiment with crap that will destroy them along with everything else."
  
  "Maybe so, but did you understand at least half of the weird, twisted shit they actually used during World War II?" George objected. "Most of what they tried to do was of absolutely no use at all, and yet they continued to conduct monstrous experiments just to overcome this barrier, believing that this would advance their knowledge of the work of other sciences - those sciences which we cannot yet comprehend. Who's to say this isn't just another ridiculous attempt to perpetuate their madness and control?"
  
  "I understand what you're saying, George, but I honestly don't think even they are that crazy. In any case, 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 there were too many gaps in his theories. On the other hand, judging by the desperation of this man, his story was worth at least checking.
  
  "Look, Sam, believe me or not, just do me a favor and look at this before you let David Purdue get his hands on this equation," George pleaded.
  
  Sam nodded in agreement. "He is a good man. If there was any seriousness in these statements, he would destroy it himself, believe me."
  
  "I know he is a philanthropist. I know how he fucked Black Sun in six ways until Sunday when he realized what they were planning for the world, Sam," the slurred scientist explained impatiently. "But what I can't seem to get across to you is that Purdue is unaware of his role in the destruction. He is blissfully unaware that they are using his genius and natural curiosity to send him straight into the abyss. It's not about whether he agrees or not. He better not have a clue where the equation is or they'll kill him... and you and the lady from Oban."
  
  Finally, Sam got the hint. He decided to stall for a bit before passing the footage to Purdue, if only to give George Masters the benefit of the doubt. It would be difficult to clear up a suspicion without passing on vital information to random sources. Apart from Purdue, there were few people who could advise him on the danger lurking in this calculation, 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 confidence. "If you don't destroy this record, you will regret it for the short span of what would be left of your life."
  
  
  12
  Olga
  
  
  At the end of his wit, Casper Jacobs ran his fingers through his sand-colored hair, leaving it upright like an eighties pop star. His eyes were bloodshot from reading all night, the opposite of what he hoped for at night - to relax and sleep. Instead, the news of the discovery of the Dire Serpent infuriated him. He hoped desperately that Zelda Bessler or her lap dogs were still oblivious to the news.
  
  Someone outside was making a terrible noise, which he tried to ignore at first, but due to his fears of the impending ominous world and lack of sleep, he couldn't bear much today. It sounded like a smashing plate and some subsequent crash in front of his door, accompanied by the howl of a car alarm.
  
  "Oh, for God's sake, now what?" he shouted loudly. He rushed to the front door, ready to take out his annoyance on whoever disturbed him. Pushing the door aside, Casper roared, "What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?" What he saw at the foot of the stairs leading to his driveway disarmed him instantly. The most ravishing blonde was squatting next to his car, looking downcast. On the pavement in front of her was a mess of cake and icing balls that had previously belonged to a large wedding cake.
  
  As she looked pleadingly at Casper, her clear green eyes stunned him. "Please sir, please don't get angry! I can erase it all at once. Look, the 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 control button on his set of keys shut off the howl of the alarm. Casper hurried to help the sobbing beauty pick up the spoiled cake. "Please do not cry. Hey, I'll tell you what. Once we sort this out, I'll take you to the local home bakery and replace the cake. On me."
  
  "Thanks, 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 this is 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 anywhere."
  
  Her bloodshot, tear-filled eyes broke Kasper's heart. He reluctantly placed his hand on her forearm and rubbed it gently to express his sympathy. Completely infatuated with her, he felt a pang in his chest, that familiar pang of disappointment that comes when confronted with a harsh reality. Casper's insides ached. He didn't want to hear the answer, but he desperately wanted to ask a question. "Is... I-is this a 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 a bride!" his heart seemed to scream. He had never been in love before, except for technology and science, it was. The fragile blonde looked at him through tears. when a wry smile appeared on her lovely face.
  
  "Oh God, no," she shook her head, sniffing and giggling stupidly. "Do I seem so stupid to you?"
  
  "Thank you, Jesus!" the jubilant physicist heard his inner voice rejoice. He suddenly smiled broadly at her, feeling immensely relieved that not only was she single, but she also had a sense of humor. "Ha! I can't help but agree! Bachelor here! he muttered awkwardly. Realizing how stupid that sounded, Kasper thought he could say something safer. "By the way, my name is Casper," he said, holding out a scruffy hand. "Dr. Casper Jacobs". He made sure she noticed his name.
  
  Enthusiastic, the pretty woman grabbed his arm with her icing-sticky fingers and laughed, "Just now you were talking like James Bond. My name is Olga Mitra, uh...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 leaving a girl of this degree of splendor in danger. It was his only chance to make a lasting impression, and a good one at that. He immediately snapped his fingers, and an idea popped into his head that sent pieces of the cake flying. "Perhaps I 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 always baked, always left sweet rolls and bagels in his attic. To his delight, the landlord's mother agreed to help Casper's new girlfriend save 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 prepare a new wedding cake, which luckily for Olga and Karen was modest at first, they shared a glass of sherry to toast their success.
  
  "Not only have I found the perfect crime partner in the kitchen," greeted the graceful Karen, raising her glass, "but I've made a new friend! For cooperation and new friends!"
  
  "I support it," Kasper smiled slyly, clinking glasses with two pleased 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 guess it was your knight over there who set it all up, dear," said sixty-five-year-old red-haired Karen, pointing her glass at Casper.
  
  "That's right," agreed Olga. She turned to Casper and looked deep into his eyes. "He not only forgave me for my clumsiness and mess in his car, but he also saved my ass... And they say chivalry is dead."
  
  Casper's heart skipped a beat. Behind his smile and imperturbable exterior was a blush like that of a schoolboy in the women's locker room. "Someone has to save the princess from stepping into the dirt. It might as well be me." He winked, surprised by his own charm. Kasper was by no means unattractive, but his passion for his career made him a less outgoing person. In fact, he couldn't believe his luck in finding Olga. Not only did he seem to win her attention, but she practically showed up on his doorstep. Personal delivery, courtesy of fate, he thought.
  
  "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 ahead and have the cake delivered. Just bring me half a bottle of brandy, you know, for the trouble." She winked.
  
  Delighted, Olga kissed Karen on the cheek. Karen and Kasper exchanged victorious looks at the sudden appearance of a walking sunbeam 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 rolled his eyes at her. He wanted to remain in the dark about the question that also crossed his mind, but now the outspoken Karen 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 my car when I lost my balance due to a rough road."
  
  "Your apartment?" Casper asked. "Here?"
  
  "Yes, next door, across the hedge. I'm your neighbor, silly girl," she laughed. "Didn't you hear the noise when I drove in on Wednesday? The movers made such a fuss that I thought I was going to be severely reprimanded, but fortunately no one showed up."
  
  Casper looked at Karen with a surprised but pleased smirk. "Do you hear that, Karen? She is our new neighbor."
  
  "I hear it, Romeo," Karen teased. "Now start. I'm running out of libations."
  
  "Oh hell yes," Olga exclaimed.
  
  He gently helped her lift the base of the cake, a sturdy coin-shaped wooden panel covered with pressed foil for display. The pie wasn't overly complex so it was easy to strike a balance between the two. Like Kasper, Olga was tall. With her high cheekbones, fair skin and hair, and slender build to boot, she was a typical Eastern European stereotype of beauty and stature. They took the cake to her Lexus and managed to stuff it into the back seat.
  
  "You will drive," she said, tossing him the keys. "I'll sit in the back with the cake."
  
  As they drove, Kasper had a thousand questions he wanted to ask the amazing woman, but he decided to keep calm. He took instructions from her.
  
  "I must say, this just proves that I can drive any car effortlessly," he boasted as they walked to the back of the reception hall.
  
  "Or my car is just comfortable to use. You know, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to fly it," she joked. In a moment of desperation, Kasper remembered the discovery of Dire Serpent and that he still needed to make sure David Perdue didn't study it. It must have shown on his face as he helped Olga carry the cake to the kitchen in the hall.
  
  "Casper?" she pressed. "Casper, is something wrong?"
  
  "No, of course not," he smiled. "Just thinking about work stuff."
  
  He could hardly tell her that her arrival and her gorgeous looks had wiped all priorities out of his head, but the truth was that it had happened. Only now did he remember how insistently he had tried to contact Purdue, without giving any sign that he was doing it. After all, he was a member of The Order, and if they found out that he was in cahoots with David Purdue, they would have killed him for sure.
  
  It was an unfortunate coincidence that the very field of physics that Kasper was heading would be the subject of The Dread Serpent. He was afraid of what it might lead to if applied correctly, but Dr. Wilhelm's clever presentation of the equation has reassured Kasper... until now.
  
  
  13
  Purdue Pawn
  
  
  Purdue was furious. The normally level-headed genius has been acting like a maniac ever since Sam missed his meeting. Because he was unable to locate Sam via email, phone, or satellite tracking on his car, Purdue was torn between feelings of betrayal and horror. He confided to an investigative reporter the most important information the Nazis had ever hidden, and now he found himself hanging on a thin thread of sanity.
  
  "If Sam is lost or sick, I don"t care!" he snapped at Jane. "All I want is fucking footage of the lost city wall, for heaven'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, looked at each other with great concern. She would never resort to any criminal act for any reason, and Purdue knew it, but he sincerely expected it from her. Charles, as always, stood in tense silence next to Purdue's dining table, but his eyes showed how concerned he was with new developments.
  
  At the door of the huge kitchen at Reichtisusis, Lillian, the housekeeper, stood and listened. While wiping down cutlery from the ruined breakfast she'd cooked, her usual cheerful demeanor had bottomed out and dropped to a sullen level.
  
  "What is happening to our castle?" she muttered, shaking her head. "What upset the manor owner so much that he turned into such a monster?"
  
  She mourned the days when Perdue was himself - calm and collected, suave and at times even moody. Now there was no more music playing from his lab and no football on TV while he was yelling at the referee. Mr. Cleave and Dr. Gould were away, and poor Jane and Charles had to put up with the boss and his new obsession, a sinister equation they discovered on their last expedition.
  
  It seemed that even the light did not penetrate the high windows of the mansion. Her eyes wandered over the high ceilings and extravagant decorations, relics and majestic paintings. None of this was beautiful anymore. Lillian felt as if the colors themselves had disappeared from the interior of the quiet mansion. "Like a sarcophagus," she sighed, turning around. A figure stood in her path, strong and imposing, and Lillian went straight into it. A high-pitched screech escaped the frightened Lillian.
  
  "Oh my God, Lily, it's just me," laughed the nurse, comforting the pale housekeeper with a hug. "Then what got you so excited?"
  
  Lillian was relieved when the nurse appeared. She wiped her face with a kitchen towel, trying to recover from her start. "Thank God you're here, Lilith," she croaked. "Mr Perdue is going crazy, I swear it. Could you give him a sedative for a few hours? The staff is exhausted by his insane demands."
  
  "I assume you still haven't found Mr. Cleve?" - Sister Hearst suggested with a hopeless look.
  
  "No, and Jane has reason to believe that something has happened to Mr. Cleve, but she doesn't have the heart to tell Mr. Perdue... bye. Not before it gets a little smaller, you know." Lillian made a frowning gesture to convey Purdue's fury.
  
  "Why does Jane think something happened to Sam?" the nurse asked the weary cook.
  
  Lillian leaned over and whispered, "Apparently they found his car crashed into the schoolyard fence on Old Stanton Road, completely scrapped."
  
  "What?" Sister Hurst gasped softly. "Oh my God, I hope he's all right?"
  
  "We don't know anything. All Jane could figure out was that Mr Cleave's car was found by the 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 uptight," she frowned. "You must tell him immediately."
  
  "With all due respect, Miss Hurst, is he not mad 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 dose.
  
  "I think he should be told. At this point, he probably thinks that Mr. Cleve has betrayed him or is simply ignoring him for no reason. If he knows that someone has been stalking his friend, he may feel less vindictive. Have you ever thought about it?" Sister Hearst suggested. "I will talk to him".
  
  Lillian nodded. Perhaps the nurse was right. "Well, you would be the best person to tell him. After all, he took you on a tour of his labs and shared some science talks with you. He trusts you."
  
  "You're right, Lily," the nurse admitted. "Let me talk to him while I check his progress. I will help him with this."
  
  "Thank you, Lilith. You are a gift from God. This place has become a prison for all of us since the boss returned," Lillian complained about the situation.
  
  "Don't worry, dear," Sister Hearst replied with a reassuring wink. "We'll get him back in great shape."
  
  "Good morning, Mr. Perdue," the nurse smiled as she entered the dining room.
  
  "Good morning, Lilith," he greeted wearily.
  
  "It's unusual. You haven't eaten anything?" She said. "You must eat so that I can treat you.
  
  "For God's sake, I ate a piece of toast," Perdue said impatiently. "As far as I know, that will be enough."
  
  She couldn't argue with that. Sister Hurst could feel the tension in the room. Jane anxiously waited for Purdue's signature on the document, but he refused to sign before she went to Sam's house to investigate.
  
  "It can wait?" the nurse asked Jane calmly. Jane's gaze darted to Purdue, but he pushed his chair back and stumbled to his feet with some encouragement from Charles. She nodded to the nurse and gathered her paperwork, taking Nurse Hearst's hint at once.
  
  "Go Jane, get my footage from Sam!" Perdue called after her as she left the huge room and went up to her office. "Did she hear me?"
  
  "She heard you," Sister Hearst confirmed. "I'm sure she'll be gone soon."
  
  "Thank you Charles, I can handle this," Perdue barked at his butler as he escorted him out.
  
  "Yes, sir," Charles replied and left. The butler's normally stony expression was shot through with disappointment and a hint of sadness, but he needed to delegate the work to the gardeners and cleaners.
  
  "You're acting like an annoying person, Mr. Perdue," Sister Hurst whispered as she led Perdue into the living room, where she usually assessed his progress.
  
  "David, my dear, David or Dave," he corrected her.
  
  "Alright, stop being so rude to your staff," she instructed, trying to keep her voice level so as not to antagonize him. "It's not their fault."
  
  "Sam was still gone. You know it?" Perdue hissed as she tugged at his sleeve.
  
  "I heard," she replied. "If I may ask, what is so special about these shots? It's not like you're filming a documentary on a tight schedule or anything like that."
  
  Purdue saw Nurse Hearst as a rare ally, someone who understood his passion for science. He didn't mind trusting her. When Nina was away and Jane was a subordinate, his nurse was the only woman he felt close to these days.
  
  "According to research, it is believed that this was 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 know," Perdue said, his light blue eyes darkened with concentration. David Perdue's eyes weren't that shade. Something clouded, something went beyond his personality. But Nurse Hearst didn't know Purdue's personality as well as the others, so she couldn't see how terribly wrong things were with her patient."
  
  "And Sam has this equation?" she asked.
  
  "He does. And I need to start working on it," Purdue explained. Now his voice sounded almost sane. "I have to know what it is, what it does. I need to know why the Order of the Black Sun kept this for so long, why Dr. Ken Williams felt the need to bury it where no one could get to it. Or," he whispered, "...why did they wait."
  
  "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 one organization that I used to have run-ins with. Nothing special."
  
  "You know, this stress is not conducive to your healing, David," she advised. "How can I help you get this 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 irascible nature is deteriorating your health, and I just can't let that happen."
  
  "I know it's true, but until I have Sam's footage, I can't rest," Perdue shrugged.
  
  "Dr. Patel expects me to live up to his standards outside of the facility, you understand? If I continue to give him vital problems, he's going to fire me because I don't seem to be doing my job." She whined on purpose to make him feel sorry.
  
  Perdue did not know Lilith Hearst for long, but apart from his inherent guilt for what had happened to her husband, he had something kindred, science-oriented about her. He also felt that she could very well be his only collaborator in his quest to get his hands on Sam's footage, mostly because she had no inhibitions about it. Her ignorance was indeed his bliss. What she didn't know would allow her to help him for the sole purpose of helping him without any criticism or opinion - just the way Purdue liked it.
  
  He downplayed his frantic desire for information in order to appear obedient and reasonable. "If you could just, maybe, find Sam and ask him for a videotape, that would be a huge help."
  
  "Okay, let me see what I can do," she consoled him, "but you have to promise me that you will give me a few days. Let's agree that I should get it next week when we have our next meeting. Like this?"
  
  Perdue nodded. "That sounds reasonable."
  
  "Okay, no more talking about math and dropped frames now. You need to rest for a change. Lily told me that you hardly ever sleep and frankly your vitals scream that it's true David," she commanded in a surprisingly cordial tone that confirmed her talent for diplomacy.
  
  "What is this?" he asked as she filled the syringe with a small vial of watery solution.
  
  "Just some IV Valium to help you get a few more hours of sleep," she said, eyeballing the amount. Through the injection tube, the light played with the substance inside, giving it a sacred glow that she found attractive. If only Lillian could see this, she thought, to be sure there was still some beautiful light left in Reichtisussis. The darkness in Perdue's eyes gave way to peaceful sleep 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 agreed to get him the formula from Sam's videotape, Purdue let the velvet darkness consume him. Voices echoed in the distance before he fell completely asleep. Lillian brought a blanket and pillow, covering it with a fleece blanket. "Just cover it here," Nurse Hearst advised. "Let him sleep here on the couch for now. Poor thing. He's frazzled."
  
  "Yes," Lillian agreed, helping Nurse Hurst hide the owner of the estate, as Lillian called him. "And thanks to you, we can all get a break too."
  
  "You're welcome," Sister Hearst chuckled. Her face sank into a slight melancholy. "I know what it's like to deal with a difficult man in the house. They may think they are in charge, but when they are sick or injured, they can be a real pain in the ass."
  
  "Amen," Lillian replied.
  
  "Lillian," Charles chided softly, though he fully agreed with the housekeeper. "Thank you, Sister Hurst. Will you stay for lunch?"
  
  "Oh no, thanks, Charles," the nurse smiled as she gathered up her medical kit and tossed out the old bandages. "I have some work to do before my night shift at the clinic tonight."
  
  
  14
  Important decision
  
  
  Sam was unable to find conclusive evidence that the Dire Serpent was capable of the atrocities and destruction that George Masters tried to convince him of. Everywhere he went, he was met with distrust 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 evidence, which he could not get from his usual sources.
  
  Before he handed over the footage to Purdue, Sam decided to make one last trip to a very reliable source of inspiration and keeper of arcane wisdom - the one and only Aidan Glaston. Since Sam saw Glaston's article in a recent newspaper issue, he decided that the Irishman would be the best person to ask about the Dire Serpent and its myths.
  
  Without a pair of wheels, Sam called a cab. It was better than trying to salvage the wreckage he called his car, which would expose him. What he didn't want was a police investigation into the high speed chase and possible subsequent arrest for endangering civilians and reckless driving. While he was considered missing by the local authorities, 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 a mission. The new editor didn't know Sam personally, but she let him spend a few minutes in her office.
  
  "Janice Noble," she smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet such a respected representative of our profession. Please have a seat."
  
  "Thank you, Ms. Noble," Sam replied, relieved that there were hardly any staff in the offices today. He wasn't in the mood to see the old slugs who stomped on him when he was a rookie, not even to poke their noses at his celebrity and success. "I will do it quickly," he said. "I just need to know where I can contact Aidan. I know this is confidential information, but I need to contact him about my own investigation right now."
  
  She leaned forward on her elbows and clasped her hands gently. Rings of thick gold adorned both of her wrists, and the bracelets made a terrible sound when they hit the polished surface of the table. "Mr. Cleave, I would love to help you, but as I said earlier, Aidan is undercover on a politically sensitive assignment and we can't afford to blow his cover. You understand what it's like. You shouldn't even have asked me about it."
  
  "I'm aware," Sam retorted, "but what I'm involved in is much more important than the secret private life of some politician or the typical stab in the back that the tabloids love to write about."
  
  The editor looked instantly discouraged. She took on a tougher tone with Sam. "Please don't think that because you've amassed fame and fortune with your not-so-graceful involvement, you can sneak 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 includes 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?"
  
  "Freelancer," he quickly replied. "This is what I learned from a friend, and I have reason to believe that it has power. Only Aidan can confirm this for me. Please, Miss Noble. Please."
  
  "I must say, I'm intrigued," she admitted as she wrote down the foreign landline number. "This is a secure line, but call only once, Mr. Cleve. I'm following this line to see if you're disturbing our man when he's working."
  
  "No problem. I just need one call," Sam said zealously. "Thank you, thank you!"
  
  She licked her lips as she wrote, obviously preoccupied with what Sam had said. Pushing a piece of paper towards him, she said, "Listen, Mr. Cleve, perhaps we could collaborate on what you have?"
  
  "Let me first confirm whether this is worth doing, Ms. Noble. If there's anything to it, we can talk," he winked. She looked satisfied. Sam's charm and handsome features could have landed him in the Pearly Gates while he was on his toes.
  
  In a taxi on the way home, the radio news announced that the latest summit scheduled to be convened would be on renewable energy. The meeting will be attended by several world leaders, as well as several delegates from the Belgian scientific community.
  
  "Why Belgium, of all places?" Sam found himself asking out loud. He did not realize that the driver, a pleasant middle-aged lady, was listening.
  
  "Probably one of those hidden fiascos," she remarked.
  
  "What do you have in mind?" 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 that," she chatted.
  
  "Something like... what? Sam inquired. He had been completely oblivious to current affairs since the Perdue and Masters affair began, but the lady seemed to be well informed, so he enjoyed 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 thought 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 the swearing," she apologized, much to Sam's delight.
  
  "Pay no attention, madam," he laughed. "I have a historian friend who could make sailors blush."
  
  "Oh, good," she sighed. "Usually I never quarrel with my passengers."
  
  "So you think they mess up governments this way?" he smiled, still enjoying the humor of the woman's words.
  
  "Yes, I know. But, you see, I can't really explain. It's one of those things that I just feel, you know? For example, 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 school yard where a group of sprogs have a break party and the other kids are like, 'Hey, what does that mean?' ... You know?" she muttered incoherently.
  
  "Yes, I understand what you are getting at," he agreed. "So they didn"t come out and say what the summit was about?"
  
  She shook her head. "They are discussing it. Damn scam. I tell you, the media is a puppet of these hooligans."
  
  Sam had to smile. She spoke very much like Nina, and Nina was usually accurate in her expectations. "I hear you. Well, rest assured that some of us in the media are trying to get the truth out, no matter what the cost."
  
  Her head half turned so that she almost looked back at him, but the road forced her not to. "Oh my God! I'm sticking my damn foot in my damn mouth again!" she complained. "Are you a member of the press?"
  
  "I'm an investigative reporter," Sam winked with the same seduction he used on the wives of the dignitaries he interviewed. Sometimes he could force them to reveal the terrible truth about their husbands.
  
  "What are you researching?" she asked in her delightful layman's way. Sam could tell that she lacked proper terminology and knowledge, but her common sense and the articulation of her opinions were clear and logical.
  
  "I'm considering a possible plot to stop a rich man from doing a 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. Do not tell me ".
  
  Her dark-haired passenger was still surprised and silently stared out the window on his way back to his apartment complex. As they passed the old schoolyard, he seemed to perk up, but she didn't ask why. When she followed the direction of his gaze, she saw only debris from what looked like shattered glass from a car accident, but she found it strange that a vehicle collision had taken place at such a location.
  
  "Could you please wait for me?" Sam asked her as they drove up to his house.
  
  "Certainly!" - she exclaimed.
  
  "Thank you, I'll get through this quickly," he promised as he got out of the car.
  
  "Take your time, love," she chuckled. "The counter is working."
  
  As Sam burst into the complex, he latched on the electronic lock, making sure the gate was securely closed behind him, before running up the stairs to his front door. He called Aidan at the number the Post's editor had given him. To Sam's surprise, his old colleague answered almost immediately.
  
  Sam and Aidan didn't have much free time, so they kept the conversation short.
  
  "So where did they send your worn out ass this time, mate?" Sam smiled, took a half-finished soda from the fridge, and drank it in one gulp. It had been a while since he had eaten or drunk anything, but now he was in too much of a hurry.
  
  "I can't divulge that information, Sammo," Aidan replied gleefully, always teasing Sam for not taking him on assignments when they were still working at the newspaper.
  
  "Come on," Sam said, burping softly from his poured drink. "Listen, have you ever heard of a myth called the Dread Serpent?"
  
  I can't say what I have, son," Aidan replied quickly. "What is this? Tied 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 publication of the 1905 paper, from what I was told," Sam elaborated. "It is said that, when properly applied, it holds the key to some terrible result. Do you know anything like that?"
  
  Aidan mumbled thoughtfully and finally admitted, "No. No Sammo. I've never heard of anything like it. Either your source initiates you into something so grand that only the highest ranks know about it... Or you're being played, mate."
  
  Sam sighed. "Then, it's OK. I just wanted to discuss this with you. Look, Ade, whatever you're doing out there, just be careful, you hear?"
  
  "Oh, I didn't know you cared, Sammo," Aidan teased. "I promise I will wash behind my ears every night, okay?"
  
  "Yes, okay, you go too," smiled Sam. He heard Aidan laugh in his hoarse old voice before he ended the conversation. Because his former colleague was unaware of Masters' statement, Sam was pretty sure the big buzz was overrated. After all, it was safe to give Purdue the video of Einstein's equation. However, before he left, there was one last thing to take care of.
  
  "Lacey!" he called down the hallway leading to the apartment in the corner of his floor. "Lacey!"
  
  A teenage girl stumbled out, adjusting the ribbon in her hair.
  
  "Hey Sam," she called as she jogged back to his house. "I'm going. I'm going."
  
  "Please look after Bruich for just one night for me, okay?" he hurriedly pleaded, lifting the displeased old cat from the sofa where he was lounging.
  
  "You're lucky my mom is in love with you, Sam," Lacy preached as Sam shoved 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 things?" 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, returning inside from the cold and wet cement corridor.
  
  It took Sam less than four minutes to pack his travel bag and stuff his much-desired footage into his camera case. He was soon ready to leave to appease Purdue.
  
  God, he's going to skin me, Sam thought. "He must be mad as hell."
  
  
  15
  Rats in barley
  
  
  The resilient Aidan Glaston was a veteran journalist. He was on many assignments during the Cold War, during the reign of several dishonest politicians, and he always got his story. He opted for a more passive career after being nearly killed in Belfast. The people he was investigating at the time warned him repeatedly, but he should have known before anyone else in Scotland. Shortly thereafter, karma took its toll, and Aidan was one of many wounded by shrapnel during the IRA bombings. He took the hint and asked for a job as an administrative writer.
  
  Now he was back in the field. His sixties did not go as well as he thought, and the dour reporter soon discovered that boredom would kill him long before cigarettes or cholesterol did. After months of begging and offering better perks than other journalists, Aidan convinced the fussy Miss Noble that he was the right person 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 alone, the word "chosen one," made someone like Aidan distrustful.
  
  In the yellow light of his rented dorm room in Castlemilk, he was sucking on a cheap cigarette as he drafted a report on his computer to formulate later. Aidan was well aware of the loss of valuable recordings before, so he had reliable protection - after he finished with each draft, he emailed it to himself. So he always had backups.
  
  I wondered why only some Scottish municipal administrators were involved, and I found out about it when I tricked my way into the local assembly in Glasgow. It became clear that the leak of information to which I connected was not deliberate, because my source subsequently disappeared from the radar. At a meeting of Scottish municipal governors, I learned that the common denominator is not their profession. Isn't it interesting?
  
  What they all have in common is that they actually belong to a larger worldwide organization, or rather a conglomerate of powerful businesses and associations. McFadden, in whom I was most interested, 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, which includes politicians, financiers and the military. This meeting was not about petty laws or city council ordinances, but about something much bigger; summit in Belgium, which we all heard about in the news. And Belgium is where I will be attending the next secret summit. I need to know if this will be the last thing I do.
  
  A knock on the door interrupted his report, but he quickly added the time and date as usual before putting out his cigarette. The knock became insistent, even insistent.
  
  "Hey, don't take off your pants, I'm on my way!" he growled impatiently. He pulled on his pants and, to annoy the caller, decided to attach his draft to the email first and send it before opening the door. The knocking got louder and faster, but when he looked through the peephole, he recognized Benny Dee, his main source. Benny was a personal assistant in the Edinburgh branch of a private finance corporation.
  
  "God, Benny, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were off the face of the planet," Aidan muttered as he opened the door. Standing in front of him in the dirty hallway of the dorm was Benny Dee, looking pale and ill.
  
  "I'm so sorry I didn't call you back, Aidan," Benny apologized. "I was afraid that they would bite me, you know..."
  
  "I know Benny. I know how things are in this game, son. Come in," Aidan invited. "Just lock the locks behind you when you get in."
  
  "Good," the shaking Snitch breathed nervously.
  
  "Would you like some whiskey?" Sounds like you could use a little, " suggested the elderly journalist. Before his words had cooled off, there was a thud behind him. A moment later, Aidan felt a splash of fresh blood on his bare neck. and upper back. He turned around in shock, his eyes widening at the sight of Benny's shattered skull where he had fallen to his knees. His limp body fell, and Aidan cringed at the coppery smell of the freshly shattered skull of his main source.
  
  Behind Benny were two figures. One was latching 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," grinned the jackal-faced businessman.
  
  "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, annoyed that he had to leave the old newsboy alive until he was ordered otherwise. Aidan met his gaze with contempt. "What is this? Could you afford a bodyguard who can spell the right words? I guess you get what you can afford, hey?"
  
  McFadden's grin faded in the lamplight, the shadows deepening every line of his foxy features. "Easy, Wolf," he purred, pronouncing the bandit's name in the German manner. Aidan took note of the name and pronunciation and deduced that it could probably be the bodyguard's real name. "I can afford more than you think, you fucking hack," scoffed McFadden, slowly walking around the journalist. Aidan kept his eyes on Wolfe until Mayor Oban circled around him and stopped at his laptop. "I have some very powerful friends."
  
  "Obviously," Aidan chuckled. "What wonderful things did you have to do while you were on your knees before these friends, Reverend Lance McFadden?"
  
  Wulf intervened and hit Aidan so hard that he stumbled to the floor. He spat out a small amount of blood that had accumulated on his lip and chuckled. McFadden sat on Aidan's bed with his laptop and went through his open papers, including the one Aidan had been writing before he was interrupted. A blue LED illuminated his hideous face as his eyes darted silently from side to side. Wolf stood motionless, hands clasped in front of him with a pistol silencer protruding from his fingers, just waiting for a command.
  
  McFadden sighed, "So you figured out that the mayors meeting wasn't quite what it smelled like, right?"
  
  "Yes, your new friends are much more powerful than you will ever be," the journalist snorted. "It just proves that you are just a pawn. Fuck knows what they need you for. It is unlikely that Oban can be called an important city ... in almost any matter."
  
  "You'd be surprised buddy how valuable Oban will become when the 2017 Belgian summit is in full swing," McFadden boasted. "I'm on top to make sure our cozy little town is calm when the time comes."
  
  "For what? When is the time for what?" Aidan asked, but was only met with an annoying chuckle from the fox-faced villain. McFadden leaned closer to Aidan, who was still kneeling on the rug in front of the bed Wolf had sent him to. "You will never know, my curious little enemy. You will never know. This must be hell for you guys, hey? Because you just have to know everything, right?"
  
  "I'll find out," Aidan insisted, looking defiant but horrified. "Remember, I found out that you and your fellow administrators are in cahoots with an older sibling and that you work your way through the job by intimidating those who see right through you."
  
  Aidan didn't even see the order pass from McFadden's eyes to his dog. Wolff's boot shattered the left side of the journalist's chest with one strong blow. Aidan screamed in pain as his torso caught fire from the steel-reinforced boots his assailant wore. He doubled over on the floor, tasting even more of his warm blood in his mouth.
  
  "Now tell me, Aidan, have you ever lived on a farm?" McFadden asked.
  
  Aidan couldn't answer. His lungs burned with fire and refused to fill up enough for him to speak. Only hissing came from him. "Aidan," McFadden sang to encourage him. To avoid further punishment, the journalist nodded vigorously to give some sort of answer. Fortunately for him, for the moment it was satisfactory. Smelling the dust off the dirty floor, Aidan sucked in as much air as he could as his ribs squeezed 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 at harvest time," the mayor of Oban said slowly. "Sometimes we had to work extra fast because, you see, we had a problem with storage space. I asked my father why we had to work so fast and he explained that we had a parasite problem. I remember one summer when we had to destroy entire nests buried under 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 would lead, but the pain kept his opinion in his head. In the light of the lamp, 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 Wolfe. "Take care of all this...information, okay? Vielen Dank." He returned his attention to the journalist at his feet. "Now, I'm sure you're following my lead in this comparison, Aidan, but in case blood is already filling your ears, let me clarify."
  
  'Already? What does he mean by already?' Aidan wondered. The sound of a laptop being smashed to smithereens hit him in the ears. 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 are one of those rats," McFadden continued calmly. "You burrow into the ground until you disappear into a mess, and then," he sighed dramatically, "it gets harder and harder to find you. All this time you have been wreaking havoc and destroying from within all the work and care that has been put into the harvest."
  
  Aidan could hardly breathe. His lean physique was not suitable for physical punishment. Much of his strength came from his wit, common sense, and deductive ability. His body, however, was terribly fragile in comparison. When McFadden talked about the extermination of the rats, it became abundantly clear to the veteran journalist that Mayor Oban and his pet orangutan would not let him live.
  
  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 be, but when Wolfe squatted down beside him and wrapped the cord from his laptop around his neck, Aidan knew there would be no fast course for him. He was already finding it difficult to breathe, and the only complaint that came from that was that he would not have defiant last words for his assassins.
  
  "I must say it's been a pretty lucrative evening for Wolfe and me," McFadden filled Aidan's last moments with his high-pitched voice. "Two rats in one night and a lot of dangerous information eliminated."
  
  The old journalist felt the immeasurable strength of the German thug applied to his throat. His hands were too weak to tear the wire from his throat, so he decided to die as quickly as possible without tiring himself with a useless struggle. All he could think about as his head started to burn behind his eyes was that Sam Cleave was probably on the same one as these high-profile scammers. Then Aidan remembered another ironic twist. Not more than fifteen minutes ago, in a draft of his report, he wrote 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 the Einstein Equation
  
  
  Kasper danced with his new crush, 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 a cake.
  
  "It was definitely a wonderful day," she laughed as he playfully twirled her around and tried to dip her. Kasper couldn't get enough of Olga's high, soft giggle filled with delight.
  
  "I agree with that," he smiled.
  
  "When that cake started to topple," she admitted, "I swear I felt like my whole life was falling apart. It was my first job here and my reputation was at stake... you know how it goes."
  
  "I know," he sympathized. "Come to think of it, my day was shitty until you happened."
  
  He didn't think about what he was saying. Pure honesty escaped his lips, the extent of which he only realized a moment later when he found her dumbfounded as she stared into his eyes.
  
  "Wow," she said. "Casper, this is the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me."
  
  He just smiled as fireworks exploded inside him. "Yes, my day could have ended a thousand times worse, especially from the way it started." Suddenly Casper was struck by the clarity. It hit him right between the eyes with such force that he nearly lost consciousness. In an instant, all the warm, good events of the day flew out of his head, to be replaced by the one that had tormented his brain all night before he heard Olga's fateful sobs outside his door.
  
  Thoughts of David Perdue and the Dire Snake popped up instantly, penetrating every inch of his brain. "Oh God," he frowned.
  
  "What's wrong?" she asked.
  
  "I forgot something very important," he admitted, feeling the ground slip from under his feet. "Do you mind if we leave?"
  
  "Already?" she moaned. "But we've only been here thirty minutes."
  
  Kasper was not a temperamental person by nature, but he raised his voice to convey the urgency of the situation, to convey the gravity of the predicament. "Please, can we go? We came with your car, otherwise you could have stayed longer."
  
  "God, why should I want to stay longer?" she lashed out at him.
  
  A great start to what could have been a great relationship. This or this is true love, he thought. But her aggression was actually sweet. "
  
  He couldn't be angry about it. Kasper's emotions were overwhelmed by the beautiful woman and the impending destruction of the world in a rough confrontation. Finally, he lowered his hysteria to beg, "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 ran away from the crowd, giggling and winking. Besides, they 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 in the street.
  
  "Who is this?" she asked. "It doesn't sound like you're 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 got 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 pleasant. "So then you will understand that I don"t want to confuse someone who makes me smile with someone I hate."
  
  To his surprise, she fully understood his predicament. "Certainly. I'll go to the store after you leave. I still need some olive oil for my ciabatta."
  
  "Thank you for your understanding, Olga. I'll visit you when I've got this all sorted 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 her drive off 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 look nonchalant as he walked down the driveway, but the fact that he had to go around an oversized car parked in his lot scratched his composure like sandpaper. In Casper's porch chair, as if the place belonged to him, sat the reprehensible Clifton Taft. In his hand he held a bunch of Greek grapes, tearing them off one by one and stuffing them into his equally huge teeth.
  
  "Shouldn't you have already returned to the United States?" Casper chuckled, maintaining a tone between derision and inappropriate humor.
  
  Clifton chuckled, believing the latter. "I'm sorry to intrude on you like this, Casper, but I think you and I need to discuss business."
  
  "It's rich to come from you," Casper replied as he unlocked his door. He intended to get to his laptop before Taft saw that he was trying to find David Purdue.
  
  "Now. There's no rule book that says we can't revive our old partnership, right?" The bundle trailed behind him, just assuming he had been invited in.
  
  Casper quickly rolled up the window and closed the lid of his laptop. "Partnership?" Casper chuckled with a chuckle. "Has your partnership with Zelda Bessler not produced the results you were hoping for? I guess I was just a surrogate, a stupid inspiration for the two of you. What's the matter? Does she not know how to apply complex math, 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 will not argue with the fact that you deserve this indignation. After all, you are correct in all these assumptions. She has no idea what to do."
  
  "Continue?" Casper frowned. "On what?"
  
  "Your previous job, of course. Isn't this 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 dazed. "I just... thought... I thought you canceled that failure."
  
  Clifton Taft grinned and put his hands on his hips. He tried to gracefully swallow his pride, but it didn't mean anything, it just looked awkward. "It was not a failure, not a complete one. Um, we never told you this after you left the project, Dr. Jacobs, but," Taft hesitated, looking for the gentlest way to break the news, "we never stopped the project.
  
  "What? Are you all fucking crazy?" Casper seethed. "Are you even aware of the consequences of the experiment?"
  
  "We do!" Taft sincerely assured him.
  
  "Really?" Casper called his bluff. "Even after what happened to George Masters, do you still believe you can use biological components in an experiment? You are as insane as you are stupid."
  
  "Hey, now," Taft warned, but Casper Jacobs was too engrossed in his sermon to care what he said and who it was offensive to.
  
  "No. You listen to me, "the usually reserved and modest physicist grumbled. "Admit it. You are just money here. Cliff, you don't know the difference between a variable and a cow's udder, but we all do! So please stop assuming that you understand what you are actually funding here!"
  
  "Do you understand how much money we could make if this project was successful, Kasper?" Taft insisted. "It will make all nuclear weapons, all sources of nuclear energy obsolete. This will invalidate all existing fossil fuels and their extraction. We will save the land from further drilling and hydraulic fracturing. Do not you understand? If this project is successful, there will be no wars for oil or resources. We will be the only supplier of inexhaustible energy."
  
  "And who will buy it from us? What you mean is that you and your court of nobles will benefit from all this, and those of us who made it happen will continue to manage the generation of this energy," Kasper explained to the American billionaire. Taft couldn't really dismiss any of this as nonsense, so he just shrugged.
  
  "We need you to make it happen, regardless of the Masters. What happened there was human error," Taft urged the reluctant genius.
  
  "Yes, it was!" Casper gasped. "Your! You and your tall and powerful lap dogs in white coats. It was your mistake that nearly 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 told Casper. "I will quadruple your salary if you return to the site again to see if you can fix the Einstein equation for us. I'll appoint you chief physicist. You will have full control over the project, provided that you can integrate it into the current project by October 25th."
  
  Casper threw his head back and laughed. "You're fucking kidding me, aren't you?"
  
  "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."
  
  Kasper absorbed the forgetful tycoon's words and tried to understand how such an eloquent man could have such trouble understanding the disaster. He found it necessary to adopt a simpler, calmer tone in order 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? Another thing I need to know ahead of time is who are you planning on using as a guinea pig this time?" Casper asked. He made sure that his idea sounded convincing to find out the disgusting details of the plan that Taft hatched with the Order.
  
  "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 promote chaos."
  
  "Oh please," Taft chuckled. "Chaos. You are so dramatic."
  
  "The last time we tried to apply Einstein's equation, our test subject got fried. This proves that we cannot successfully launch this project without loss of life. Theoretically it works, Cliff," Kasper explained. "But in practice, generating energy within a dimension will cause a backflow into our dimension, frying every person on this planet. Any paradigm that includes a biological component in this experiment will lead to extinction. All the money in the world can't pay that ransom, buddy."
  
  "Again, this negativity has never been the basis of progress and breakthrough, Kasper. Jesus Christ! Do you think Einstein thought it was impossible?" Taft tried to convince Dr. Jacobs.
  
  "No, he knew it was possible," Kasper countered, "and that was the reason he tried to destroy the Dire Serpent. You fucking idiot!"
  
  "Watch your words, Jacobs! I'll put up with a lot, but this shit won't be with me for long," Taft fumed. His face turned red and saliva coated the corners of his mouth. "We can always ask someone else to complete Einstein's Dire Serpent equation for us. Don't think you can't spend, buddy."
  
  Dr. Jacobs dreaded the thought of Taft's bitch, Bessler, perverting his work. Taft did not mention Purdue, which meant that he had not yet learned that Perdue had already discovered the Dire Serpent. Once Taft and the Order of the Black Sun found out about this, Jacobs would be expendable, and he couldn't risk being fired like that forever.
  
  "Good," he sighed, watching Taft's sickening satisfaction. "I will return to the project, but this time I don't want any human objects. This is too heavy on my conscience, and I don't care what you or the Order think. I have a moral."
  
  
  17
  And the clamp is fixed
  
  
  "Oh my God, Sam, I thought you were killed in action. Where in the name of all that is holy have you been?" Perdue was furious when he saw a tall, stern journalist standing at his door. Perdue was still under the influence of his recent sedative, but he was convincing enough. He sat up in bed. "Did you bring back footage from The Lost City? I have to get to work on the equation."
  
  "God, 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 a brighter personality, he would have already rolled his eyes. Instead, he stood firm and disciplined, at the same time fascinated by the two usually jovial men. They both magically spoiled! Perdue has been a mad maniac since he got home, and Sam Cleave has turned into a pompous jerk. Charles correctly calculated that both men had experienced 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 thanks, Charles. Could you please close the door behind you?" Perdue asked politely.
  
  "Of course, sir," Charles replied.
  
  After the door clicked shut, Purdue and Sam stared at each other intently. All they heard in the privacy of Purdue's bedroom was the singing of the 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 courtesy. Sam laughed. He opened his camera case and pulled out an external hard drive from behind his Canon. He threw it into Perdue's lap and said, "Let's not fool ourselves with pleasantries. That's all you want from me, and frankly, I'm thrilled to be rid of the bloody footage once and for all."
  
  Perdue grinned, shaking his head. "Thank you, Sam," he smiled at his friend. "In all seriousness though, why are you so excited to be rid of this? I remember you saying you wanted to edit it into a documentary for the Wildlife Society or something like that."
  
  "That was the plan at first," Sam admitted, "but I'm just tired of it all. I got kidnapped by a lunatic, wrecked my car, and ended up losing a dear old colleague, all in just three days, mate. According to his latest entry - I hacked into his email," Sam explained, "according to that, he was on something big."
  
  "Big?" Purdue asked as he slowly dressed behind his antique rosewood screen.
  
  "Great end of the world," admitted Sam.
  
  Perdue peered over the ornate carvings. He looked like a sophisticated meerkat, stretched to attention. "AND? What did he say? And what is the story with the madman?"
  
  "Oh, it's a long story," Sam sighed, still reeling from the ordeal. "The cops will be looking for me since I wrote off my car in broad daylight... in a car chase through the Old City, endangering people and the like."
  
  "Oh my God, Sam, what is his problem? Have you eluded him?" Perdue asked, pulling on his clothes with a groan.
  
  "Like I said, it's a long story, but first I have to complete an assignment that my former colleague at The Post was working on," Sam said. His eyes softened, but he kept talking. "Have you ever heard of Aidan Glaston?"
  
  Perdue shook his head. He must have seen the name somewhere, but it didn't mean anything to him. Sam shrugged, "They killed him. Two days ago, he was found in a room where his editor had sent him to register for a sting operation in Castlemilk. He had some guy with him that he probably knew, shot execution style. Aidan got pulled up like a fucking pig, Perdue."
  
  "Oh my God, Sam. I'm so sorry to hear that," Perdue sympathized. "Are you taking his place on a mission?"
  
  As Sam had hoped, Purdue was so obsessed with getting started on the equation as soon as possible that he forgot to ask about the lunatic who was chasing Sam. It would have been too difficult to explain in such a short time, and there was a risk of alienating Purdue. He would not like to know that the work for which 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 intervention, so the journalist left it at that.
  
  "I spoke to his editor and she sends me to Belgium for this secret summit disguised as a speech on renewable energy. Aidan thought it was a front for something sinister and Mayor Oban is one of them," Sam explained briefly. He knew that Perdue paid little attention to it anyway. Sam stood up and closed his camera case, glancing at the disk he had left for Purdue. His stomach clenched as he looked at it, lying there, silently threatening, but his inner feeling had no integrity without the facts to back it up. All he could do was hope that George Masters was wrong and that he, Sam, had not only handed the extinction of mankind into the hands of a physics wizard.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Sam left Reichtisousis with relief. It was strange because it was like his second home. Something about the equation in the videotape he gave Purdue made him feel sick. Only a few times in his life did he experience this, and it was usually after he committed wrongdoing or when he lied to his late fiancée é Patricia. This time it looked darker, finally, but he put it down to his own guilty conscience.
  
  Perdue was kind enough to lend Sam his 4x4 until he could get a new set of wheels. His old car wasn't insured because Sam preferred to stay in the shadow of public records and low security servers for fear that the Black Sun might be interested. After all, the police would probably have locked him up if they had tracked him down. It was a discovery that his car, inherited from a deceased high school friend, was not registered in his name.
  
  It was late evening. Sam strode proudly over to the big Nissan and, with a wolfish whistle, pressed the immobilizer button. The lights flickered on and off twice before he heard the central locking click. A pretty woman stepped out from under the trees, heading for the front door of the mansion. She had a medical bag, but she was wearing normal clothes. As she passed by, she smiled at him, "Was that a whistle for me?"
  
  Sam had no idea how to react. If he had said yes, she could have slapped him and he would have been lying. If he denied it, he would be an oddball baked into a car. Sam was a quick thinker, standing there like a fool with his hand up.
  
  "Are you Sam Cleve?" she asked.
  
  Bingo!
  
  "Yeah, that must be me," he beamed. "And who are you?"
  
  The young woman walked up to Sam and wiped the smile off her face. "Did you bring him the tape he asked for, Mr. Cleave? And you? I hope so, because his health was rapidly deteriorating until you fucking took your time to deliver it to him."
  
  In his opinion, her sudden sarcasm went beyond what was permitted. He usually took sassy women as a fun challenge, but lately hardships have made him a little less docile.
  
  "Forgive me, doll, but who are you to scold me?" Sam returned the favor. "From what I see here with your little bag, it appears that you are a home caregiver, a nurse at best, and certainly not one of Perdue"s old acquaintances." He opened the door on the driver's side. "Now, why don"t you skip this and do what you"re paid to do, hey? Or do you wear a nurse suit for those special calls?"
  
  "How dare you?" she hissed, but Sam couldn't hear the continuation. The luxurious comfort of the 4x4 cabin was especially soundproofing, and it reduced her ranting to a muffled murmur. He started the car's engine and enjoyed the luxury before backing up dangerously close to a frustrated stranger with a medical bag.
  
  Laughing like a naughty child, Sam waved to the guards at the gate, leaving Reichtishusis behind him. As he was descending the winding road towards Edinburgh, his phone rang. It was Janice Noble, editor of the Edinburgh Post, informing him of a meeting 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 that he could collect as much information as possible.
  
  "Please be careful, Mr. Cleave," she said at last. "Your flight ticket has been sent to you by email."
  
  "Thank you, Miss Noble," Sam replied. "I will be there for the next day. We will 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 it from someone. "Hello Beautiful!" he greeted.
  
  "Sam, are you still drunk?" was her first reply.
  
  "Um, no," he replied with restrained enthusiasm. "Just glad to hear from you. This is all."
  
  "Oh, good," she said. "Listen, I need to talk to you. Maybe you could meet me somewhere?"
  
  "In Oban? I'm actually leaving the country," Sam explained.
  
  "No, I left Oban last night. In fact, this is exactly what I want to talk to you about. I'm at the Radisson Blu on the Royal Mile," she said, sounding a bit frazzled. By Nina Gould's standards, "frazzled" meant that something huge had happened. It was not easy to piss her off.
  
  "Okay, check it out. I'll pick you up and then we can talk at my house while I pack. How does this sound?" He suggested.
  
  "Estimated time of arrival?" she asked. Sam knew that something must have been haunting Nina if she hadn't even bothered to ask him about the smallest details. If she directly asked about his estimated time of arrival, she had already made up her mind to accept his offer.
  
  "I'll be there in about thirty minutes due to traffic," he confirmed, checking the digital clock on the dashboard.
  
  "Thanks, Sam," she said in a weakening tone that alarmed him. Then she left. All the way to his hotel, Sam felt like he was under a colossal yoke. Poor Aidan's terrible fate, along with his theories about McFadden, Purdue's mood swings, and George Masters' uneasy attitude towards Sam, only added to the concern he now felt for Nina as well. He was so preoccupied with her well-being that he hardly noticed himself crossing the busy streets of Edinburgh. A few minutes later, he arrived at Nina's hotel.
  
  He recognized her immediately. Boots and jeans made her look more like a rock star than a historian, but a skinny suede blazer and a pashmina scarf softened the look a little, enough to make her look as sophisticated as she really was. No matter how stylishly she was dressed, it did not redeem her tired face. Usually handsome even by natural standards, the historian's large dark eyes had lost their luster.
  
  She had a lot to tell Sam and had very little time to do so. She wasted no time getting into the truck and immediately got down to business. "Hi Sam. Can I sleep at your place while you are 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 pain-weariness.
  
  
  18
  Lighthouse in a scary night
  
  
  Uncharacteristically, Nina didn't say much on the way to Sam's apartment. She just sat there, staring out the car window, at nothing in particular. To create atmosphere, Sam turned on the local radio station to break the awkward silence. He painfully wanted to ask Nina why she'd run away from Oban, if only for a few days, because he knew she had a contract to lecture at the local college there for at least another six months. However, from the way she behaved, he understood that it was better not to stick his nose in other people's business - yet.
  
  When they got to Sam's apartment, Nina trudged inside and sat down on her favorite Sam's couch, which Bruich usually occupied. He was in no hurry, as such, but Sam began to collect everything he could need for such a long intelligence gathering. In the hope that Nina would explain her plight, he did not put pressure on her. He knew that she was aware that he would soon be leaving on assignment, and therefore, if she had something to say, she had to say it.
  
  "I went to shower," he said as he walked past her. "If you need to talk, just come in."
  
  As soon as he dropped his trousers to crawl under the warm water, he noticed the shadow of Nina, gliding past his mirror. She sat on the lid of the toilet, leaving him to do his laundry, not saying a single word in jest or mockery, as was her habit.
  
  "They killed old Mr. Hemming, Sam," she stated simply. He could see her hunched over on the toilet, her hands folded between her knees, her head bowed in despair. Sam suggested that Hamming's character was someone from Nina's childhood.
  
  "Your friend?" he asked in a raised voice, defying the rushing downpour.
  
  "Yes, so to speak. 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 dawned on Sam that she had mentioned that someone had killed the old man.
  
  "No, he was just an acquaintance, but we talked several times," she explained.
  
  "Wait, who killed him? And how do you know that he was killed?" Sam asked impatiently. It sounded ominous, like Aidan's fate. Coincidence?
  
  "McFadden's fucking Rottweiler killed him, Sam. He killed an infirm senior citizen right in front of my eyes," she stammered. Sam felt his chest take an invisible blow. Shock shot through him.
  
  "In front of you? Does it mean...?" he began as Nina walked into the shower with him. It was a wonderful surprise and an overall crushing 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 sexy at all. In fact, Sam's heart broke when he saw the bruises on her thighs and ribs. He then noticed scars on her chest and back, and crudely stitched knife wounds on the inside of her left collarbone and under her left arm, inflicted by a retired nurse who promised not to tell anyone.
  
  "Jesus Christ!" he screeched. His heart was pounding and all he could think of was to grab her and hug her tight. She didn't cry, and that horrified him. "Was that 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 streams of warm water running down his muscular chest. "They just walked in and attacked Mr. Hemming, but I heard a noise from the top floor where I was bringing him another blanket. By the time I got downstairs," she gasped, "they pulled him out of his chair and threw him headfirst into the fire in the fireplace. God! He didn't stand a chance!"
  
  "Then they attacked you?" - he asked.
  
  "Yes, they tried to make it look like an accident. Wulf threw me down the stairs, but when I got up, he just used my towel-drying tube while I tried to escape," she breathed. "In the end, he just stabbed me and left me to bleed."
  
  Sam didn't have the words to make things better. He had a million questions about the police, about the old man's body, how she got to Edinburgh, but all that had to wait. Now he had to reassure her and remind her that she was safe, and he intended to keep her that way.
  
  McFadden, you just hooked up 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. The time for his trip to Belgium was drawing to a close. He wiped away her tears and said, "Dry off, but don't get dressed yet. I'm going to take pictures of your injuries and then you'll come with me to Belgium. I won"t lose sight of you for a minute until I skin that treacherous bastard myself."
  
  This time, Nina didn't protest. She let Sam take control. She had no doubt that he was her avenger. In her mind, when the Canon of Sam flashed on her secrets, she could still hear Mr. Hemming warning her that she had been marked. However, she would save him again even if she knew what kind of pig she was dealing with.
  
  After he had enough evidence and they were both dressed, he made her a cup of Horlicks to keep her warm 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," he replied courteously, "of course I have painkillers."
  
  Nina couldn't help but giggle, and it was a blessing to Sam's ears to hear her mood lift.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  During the flight to Brussels, they exchanged important information collected separately during the past week. Sam had to lay out the facts that made him feel compelled to take on Aidan Glaston's assignment so that Nina would understand what needed to be done. He shared with her his own ordeal with George Masters and the doubts he had about Purdue's possession of the Dire Serpent.
  
  "My God, no wonder you look like a heated death," she finally said. "No offense. I'm sure I look like shit too. I certainly feel like shit."
  
  He tousled her thick dark locks and kissed her temple. "No offense, love. But yes, you do look like shit."
  
  She nudged him gently with her elbow, 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 just under two hours left before arriving in Belgium. Relax and take a breather, okay? Those pills I gave you are amazing, you'll see."
  
  "You would know the best way to pump up a girl," she teased, leaning her head back against the headrest of the chair.
  
  "I don't need drugs. Birds like long curls and a wiry beard too much," he boasted, slowly running his fingers over his cheek and jawline. "You're lucky I have a soft spot for you. This is the only reason I am 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 sound asleep, exhausted by the hell she had to go through. It was nice to see her rest a bit, he thought.
  
  "My best lines always go unheeded," he said, and leaned back in his chair to catch a few winks.
  
  
  19
  Pandora Opens
  
  
  Things have changed in Reichtisusis, but not necessarily for the better. Although Perdue was less surly and kinder to his employees, another scourge craned his neck. The presence of interference in a pair of planes.
  
  "Where is David?" Nurse Hearst asked sharply as Charles opened the door.
  
  Butler Perdue was the epitome of self-control, and even he had to bite his lip.
  
  "He's in the lab, madam, but he's not expecting you," he replied.
  
  "He will be thrilled to see me," she said coldly. "If he has doubts about me, let him tell me himself."
  
  Charles nevertheless followed the arrogant nurse to Purdue's computer room. The door to the room was ajar, which meant that Purdue was busy but not closed to the public. Black and chrome servers towered from wall to wall, twinkling lights flickering like little heartbeats in their polished perspex and plastic crates.
  
  "Sir, Nurse Hurst showed up unannounced. Does she insist that you want to see her?" Charles expressed his restrained hostility in a raised voice.
  
  "Thank you, Charles," his employer shouted over the loud hum of the machines. Perdue sat in the far corner of the room, wearing headphones to distract himself from the noise of the room. He was sitting at a huge desk. There were four laptops on it, linked and plugged into another large box. Perdue's white crown of thick, wavy hair rose from behind computer covers. It was Saturday and Jane wasn't there. Like Lillian and Charles, even Jane became a little annoyed by the constant presence of the nurse.
  
  The three employees believed that she was more than just Purdue's guardian, although they were unaware of her interest in science. It was much more like a wealthy husband's interest in getting her out of widowhood so she wouldn't have to clean up other people's waste all day and deal with death. Of course, being the professionals they were, they never blamed her in front of Purdue.
  
  "How are you, David?" Sister Hearst asked.
  
  "Very well, Lilith, thank you," he smiled. "Come and see."
  
  She jumped over to his side of the table and found what he had been spending his time on lately. On each screen, the nurse noticed many number sequences that she recognized.
  
  "The equation? But why does it keep changing? What is this for?" she asked, deliberately leaning close to the billionaire so that he could smell her. Perdue was obsessed with his programming, but he never neglected seducing women.
  
  "I'm not quite sure until this program tells me," he boasted.
  
  "This is a rather vague explanation. Do you even know what it includes?" she wondered, trying to make sense of the changing sequences on the screens.
  
  "It is believed that this was written by Albert Einstein sometime during the First World War, when he lived in Germany, you know," Perdue gleefully explained. "It was believed that it was destroyed, and well," he sighed, "it has since become something of a myth in scientific circles."
  
  "Oh, and you revealed it," she nodded, looking very interested. "And what is this?" She pointed to another computer, a bulkier old machine Purdue was working on. It was connected to laptops and a single server, but the only device he was actively typing on.
  
  "Here I am busy writing a program to decrypt it," he explained. "It has to be constantly rewritten according to the data coming from the input source. The algorithm of this device will eventually help me establish the nature of the equation, but so far it looks like a different theory of quantum mechanics."
  
  Frowning deeply, Lilith Hurst studied the third screen for a while. She looked at Perdue. "That calculation there seems to represent atomic energy. You noticed?"
  
  "Oh my God, you're precious," Perdue smiled, his eyes glittering with her knowledge. "You are absolutely right. It keeps giving out information that takes me back to some kind of collision that will give rise to pure atomic energy."
  
  "Sounds dangerous," she remarked. "It reminds me of the CERN supercollider and what they are trying to achieve with particle acceleration."
  
  "I think this was pretty much what Einstein discovered, but as in the 1905 paper, he considered such knowledge too destructive for fools in uniform and suits. That's why he thought it was too dangerous to publish," Perdue said.
  
  She put her hand on his shoulder. "But you're not wearing a uniform or suit right now, are you, David?" she winked.
  
  "I certainly don't know," he replied, sinking back into his chair with a satisfied groan.
  
  The telephone rang in the lobby. The mansion's landline was usually answered by Jane or Charles, but she was off duty and he was outside with the grocery delivery boy. Several telephones were installed throughout the estate , the general number of which could be answered anywhere in the house. Jane's extension was howling too, 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 coming here so often lately, I'm surprised you haven't offered me a room yet," she hinted, moving quickly through the doorway and rushing up the stairs to the first floor. Perdue couldn't hear anything over the deafening roar.
  
  "Hello?" she replied, making sure she didn't identify herself.
  
  A foreign-sounding male voice answered. He had a thick Dutch accent, but she could understand him. "Can I speak to David Purdue, please? It's pretty urgent."
  
  "He's not available right now. In fact, at the meeting. Can I send him a message so that he may call you back when he's done? she asked, grabbing a pen from her desk drawer to write on a small message pad.
  
  "This is Dr. Casper Jacobs," the man introduced himself. "Please ask Mr. Purdue to call me urgently."
  
  He gave her his number and repeated the emergency call.
  
  "Just tell him it's about the Dire Serpent. I know it doesn't make sense, but he'll understand what I'm talking about," Jacobs insisted.
  
  "Belgium? 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 to Purdue.
  
  "Who was that?" he asked.
  
  "Wrong number," she shrugged. "I had to explain three times that this is not 'Tracey's Yoga Studio' and that we are closed," she laughed, slipping the paper into her pocket.
  
  "This is the first time," Purdue chuckled. "We are not even on the list. I prefer to keep a low profile."
  
  "This is good. I always say that people who don't know my name when I answer my landline phone 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 get through to David Purdue to warn him about the equation, he had to admit that even trying had already made him feel better. Unfortunately, the slight improvement in behavior did not last long.
  
  "Who were you talking to? You know phones are banned in this area, right, Jacobs? "- the disgusting Zelda Bessler dictated from behind Casper. He turned to her with a smug retort. "For you, it's Dr. Jacobs, Bessler. This time I am in charge of this project."
  
  She couldn't deny it. Clifton Taft specifically laid out the contract for the revised design, under which Dr. Casper Jacobs would be responsible for building the ship needed for the experiment. He was the only one who understood the theories related to what the Order was trying to achieve based on Einstein's principle, so he was also entrusted with the engineering part. Within a short period of time, the ship had to be completed. Much heavier and faster, the new object would have had to be significantly larger than the previous one, injuring the scientist and causing Jacobs to distance himself from the project.
  
  "How are things going here at the plant, Dr. Jacobs?" came the creaky drawl of Clifton Taft, whom Kasper hated so much. "I hope we are on schedule."
  
  Zelda Bessler kept her hands in the pockets of her white lab coat and swayed her figure slightly from left to right and back. She looked like a stupid little schoolgirl trying to impress a heartthrob, and that made Jacobs sick. She smiled at Taft. "If he didn"t spend so much time on the phone, he probably would have done a lot more."
  
  "I have enough knowledge of the components of this experiment to make calls from time to time," Casper snapped with a straight face. "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 superior powers."
  
  Taft's large teeth popped out from under his lips, but he did not react to her conclusion. "Seriously, Dr. Jacobs," he said, taking Casper's hand lightly and pulling him away so Zelda Bessler couldn't hear, "how are we doing with bullet design?"
  
  "You know, Cliff, I hate you calling it that," Kasper admitted.
  
  "But that's the way it is. In order for us to amplify the effects of the last experiment, we need something that travels at the speed of a bullet, with an equal spread of weight and speed to complete the task," Taft reminded him as the two men moved 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 an underground tunnel system that was completed a few years ago. Few of the scientists brought in by the legitimate government and university academia have ever seen the underground, but it was there.
  
  "I'm almost done, Cliff," Casper said. "All that is left to calculate is the total weight I need from you. Remember, for the experiment to be successful, you must provide me with the exact weight of the vessel, or 'bullet' as you say. And, Cliff, it must be accurate to the gram, otherwise no ingenious equation will help me to realize this."
  
  Clifton Taft chuckled bitterly. Like a man about to break some very bad news to a good friend, he cleared his throat through an awkward smirk on his ugly face.
  
  "What? Can you give it to me or what?" Casper pressed.
  
  "I will give you these details shortly after tomorrow's summit in Brussels," Taft said.
  
  "You mean the international summit in the news?" Casper asked. "I am not interested in politics".
  
  "That's the way it should be, buddy," Taft grumbled like a dirty old man. "Of all people, you are the main participant in facilitating this experiment. Tomorrow the International Atomic Energy Agency will meet with an international veto over the NPT."
  
  "NPT?" Casper frowned. He was under the impression that his participation in the project was purely experimental, but the NPT was a political issue.
  
  "Nonproliferation treaty, mate. Lord, you don"t really bother researching where your work will go once the results are published, do you?" the American laughed, playfully slapping Casper on the back. "All active members of this project are due to represent the Order tomorrow night, but we need you here to oversee the final stages."
  
  "Do these world leaders even know about the Order?" - Hypothetically asked Kasper.
  
  "The order of the Black Sun is everywhere, my friend. It is the most powerful world power since the Roman Empire, but only the elite knows this. We have people in high command positions in each of the NPT member states. Vice presidents, members of the royal family, presidential advisers and decision makers," Taft elaborated dreamily. "Even the mayors who help us infiltrate at the municipal level. Get involved. As the organizer of our next power move, you have a right to enjoy the booty, Kasper."
  
  Kasper's head was spinning at this discovery. His heart was pounding under his lab coat, but he kept his posture and nodded in agreement. "Watch with enthusiasm!" he assured himself. "Wow, I'm flattered. Looks like I'm finally getting the recognition I deserve," he boasted in his charade, and Taft believed every word.
  
  "This is the spirit! Now get everything ready so that only the numbers we need to start can be entered into the calculation, okay?" Taft roared with delight. He left Kasper to join Bessler in the hallway, leaving Kasper shocked and confused, but of one thing he was certain. He had to contact David Purdue or he had to sabotage his own work.
  
  
  20
  Family bonds
  
  
  Casper ran into his house and locked the door behind him. After a double shift, he was completely exhausted, but there was no time for fatigue. Time was catching up with him, and he still couldn't talk to Purdue. The ingenious explorer had a reliable security system, and most of the time he was safely hidden from prying eyes. Most of his communication was handled by his personal assistant, but this was the woman Casper thought he was talking to when he spoke 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 some heaven into the bucket of shit he was in.
  
  "Olga!" he breathed, quickly opening the door and pulling her inside.
  
  "Wow, what are you on about now?" she asked, kissing him passionately. "I thought you'd come by tonight, but you didn't answer any of my calls all day."
  
  In her gentle manner and soft voice, the lovely Olga kept talking about being ignored and all the other female movie nonsense that her new boyfriend really couldn't afford to suffer or take the blame for. He grabbed her tightly and sat her in 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 to her. She was always quick to grasp what he was trying to say, so he knew he could confide this exponentially serious matter to her.
  
  "Can I trust you with very sensitive information, honey?" he whispered harshly into her ear.
  
  "Certainly. Something is driving you crazy, and I want you to tell me about it, you know? " - she said. "I don't want any secrets between us."
  
  "Fabulous!" he exclaimed. "Fantastic. Look, I'm madly in love with you, but my job is getting all-consuming." She nodded calmly as he continued. "I'll keep it simple. I was working on a top-secret experiment, building a bullet-shaped chamber for testing, right? It's almost complete, and it's only today that I found out," 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, do you understand?"
  
  "What?" she squealed.
  
  "Remember the asshole that was sitting on my front 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 kill a group of world leaders during the meeting," he hurriedly explained. "It has been taken over by the only person who can decipher the correct equation. Olga, he's working on this right now at his home in Scotland, will figure out the variables soon! Once that happens, the asshole I work for (now it was Olga and Kasper's code for Tuft) will apply this equation to the device I built them. Kasper shook his head, wondering why he had to put all this on the pretty baker at all, but he hadn't known Olga for long. She herself had several secrets.
  
  "Defect," she said bluntly.
  
  "What?" He frowned.
  
  "A betrayal of my country. They can't touch you there," she repeated. "I am from Belarus. My brother is a physicist from the Physico-Technical 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 paused for a minute or so, trying to process all the details along with the startling information about his new love's family. She paused to let him think, stroking his hands with her fingertips. It was a good idea, he thought, if he could escape before Taft knew it. How could the chief physicist of the project just slip away without anyone noticing?
  
  "How?" he expressed his doubts. "How can I desert?"
  
  "Are you going to work. You destroy all copies of your work and take with you all their design records. I know this because my uncle did it many years ago," she reported.
  
  "Is he there too?" Casper asked.
  
  "Who?"
  
  "Your uncle," he replied.
  
  She shook her head nonchalantly. "No. He is dead. They killed him when they found out he sabotaged the ghost train."
  
  "What? he exclaimed, quickly turning his attention away from the case of the dead uncle again. After all, from what she was saying, her uncle died because of what Kasper was going 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 Physical Society. They did this experiment with sending a train through the sound barrier, or the speed barrier, or whatever." Olga giggled at her ineptitude. She did not know anything about science, so it was difficult for her to correctly 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 make me feel really stupid here," she interrupted her explanation with an excuse, but Kasper understood.
  
  "You don't sound stupid, honey. I don't care how you pronounce it, the main thing is that I have an idea, "he coaxed her, smiling for the first time. She really wasn't stupid. Olga could see the tension in her lover's smile.
  
  "My uncle said that the train was too powerful, that it would disturb the energy fields here and cause an explosion or something. Then all the people on earth... ...would die?" she winced, seeking his approval. "They say his colleagues are still trying to make it work using abandoned railroad tracks." She wasn't sure how to end her relationship, but Kasper was ecstatic.
  
  Casper wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up, holding her in the air off the ground as he showered a myriad of little kisses all over her face. Olga no longer felt stupid.
  
  "My God, I have never been so glad to hear about the extinction of mankind," he joked. "Darling, you almost exactly described what I'm struggling with here. That's right, I have to get to the factory. Then I have to turn to reporters. No! I have to contact the press in Edinburgh. Yes!" he continued, turning over a thousand priorities in his mind. "See, if I get the Edinburgh papers to publish this, it will not only reveal the Order and the experiment, but David Purdue will hear about it and stop his work on the Einstein equation!"
  
  Terrified of what was yet to be done, Casper at the same time felt a sense of freedom. Finally, he could be with Olga, without covering her back from vile followers. His work would not have been misrepresented, and his name would not have been associated with world atrocities.
  
  While Olga was preparing tea for him, Kasper grabbed his laptop and searched for 'Best Investigative Reporters in Edinburgh'. Of all the links provided, and there were many, one name stood out in particular, and this person was surprisingly easy to contact.
  
  "Sam Cleave," Casper read aloud to Olga. "He's an award-winning investigative reporter, honey. He lived in Edinburgh and is a freelancer, but he used to work for several local papers...before..."
  
  "To what? You make me curious. Speak!" she called from the open plan kitchen.
  
  Casper smiled. "I feel like a pregnant woman, Olga."
  
  She rolled with laughter. "Like you know what it's like. You definitely acted like one of them. That's for sure. Why do you say that, love?"
  
  "So many emotions at the same time. I want to laugh and cry and yell," he smirked, looking much better than he had a minute ago. "Sam Cleave, the guy I want to tell this story to? Guess what? He is a renowned author and explorer who has been on several expeditions led by the one and only David fucking Perdue!"
  
  "Who is he?" she asked.
  
  "A man with a dangerous equation that I can't get through to," Kasper explained. "If I have to tell a reporter about a cunning plan, who better than someone who personally knows the person who has the Einstein equation?"
  
  "Perfect!" - she exclaimed. When Casper dialed Sam's number, something in him changed. He didn't care how dangerous desertion would be. He was ready to defend his position.
  
  
  21
  Weighing
  
  
  The time has come for a gathering of key players in global nuclear governance to meet in Brussels. The Hon. The event was hosted by Lance McFadden as he was involved in the United Kingdom chapter of the International Atomic Energy Agency shortly before his Oban mayoral campaign.
  
  "Turnout at 100 percent, 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. As soon as he's here, we'll be able to start," he paused dramatically, "the replacement procedure.
  
  McFadden was dressed in his best Sunday suit. Since contacting Taft and the Order, he has become acquainted with wealth, although this has not brought him class. He quietly turned his head and whispered, "Calibration successful? I have to relay this information to our man, Jacobs, by tomorrow. If it does not have the exact weight of all passengers, the experiment will never work."
  
  "Each seat intended for the representative has been equipped with sensors that will determine the exact weight of his body accordingly," Wolf informed him. "The sensors have been designed to weigh even the thinnest materials with deadly accuracy using new, cutting-edge scientific technology." The hideous bandit grinned. "And you will like it, sir. This technology was invented and produced by the one and only David Purdue."
  
  McFadden gasped at the name of the brilliant explorer. "My God! Really? You're too right, Wolf. I like the irony in this. I wonder how he is doing after that accident he had in New Zealand."
  
  "Apparently he has found the Dire Serpent, sir. So far, the rumor hasn't been confirmed, but knowing Purdue, he probably actually found it," Wolf suggested. For McFadden, this was both a good discovery and a terrifying one.
  
  "Jesus Christ, Wolf, we have to get this from him! If we decipher the Scary Serpent, we can apply it to an experiment without having to go through all that crap," McFadden said, looking positively struck by the fact. "He completed the equation? I thought it was a myth."
  
  "Many thought so until he called his two assistants to help him find it. From what I've been told, he's been hard at work on solving the missing parts problem, but hasn't figured it out yet," Wolf gossiped. "Apparently he was so obsessed with it that he almost never sleeps again."
  
  "Can we get it? He certainly won't give it to us, and since you did away with his little girlfriend, Dr. Gould, we've got one less girlfriend of his to blackmail over it. Sam Cleve is impenetrable. He's the last person I'd count on to betray Purdue," McFadden whispered as delegates from the government offices chatted softly in the background. Before Wolf could answer, a female EU Council security officer watching the process interrupted him.
  
  "Excuse me, sir," she said to McFadden, "it's exactly eight o'clock."
  
  "Thank you, thank you," McFadden's fake smile deceived her. "It's kind of you to let me know."
  
  He glanced back at Wolf as he stepped off the stage and onto the podium to address the summit. Each seat occupied by an active member of the International Atomic Energy Agency, as well as NPT member countries, transmitted data to the Black Sun computer in Meerdalwood.
  
  While Dr. Casper Jacobs was putting together his important work, erasing his data as best he could, the information entered the server. He complained that he had finished building the vessel for the experiment. At the very least, he could distort the equation he created, similar to Einstein's equation, but with less power consumption.
  
  Just like Einstein, he had to decide whether he would allow his genius to be used for nefarious activities or not allow his work to be mass-destroyed. He chose the latter and, keeping his eyes on the security cameras installed, pretended to be working. In fact, the brilliant physicist twisted his calculations in order to derail the experiment. Casper felt so guilty that he had already built a giant cylindrical vessel. His ability would no longer serve Taft and his unholy cult.
  
  Kasper wanted to smile when the last lines of his equation were changed just enough to be accepted but not function. He saw the figures transmitted from the Opera House, but ignored it. By the time Taft, McFadden and others come to activate the experiment, it will be long gone.
  
  But one desperate person he left out of his escape calculations was Zelda Bessler. She watched him from a secluded booth right inside the large area where the giant ship was waiting. Like a cat, she bided her time, letting him do whatever he thought he could get away with. Zelda smiled. She had a tablet in her lap, connected to a communication platform between the operatives of the Order of the Black Sun. Without a sound to betray her presence, she typed "Detain Olga and put her on the Valkyrie" and sent a message to Wolf's subordinates in Bruges.
  
  Dr. Casper Jacobs pretended to be hard at work on an experimental paradigm, having no idea that his girlfriend was about to be introduced to his world. His phone rang. Looking rather flustered at the sudden uneasiness, he quickly got up and went to the men's room. It was the call he was expecting.
  
  "Sam?" - he whispered, making sure that all the stalls in the toilet were free. He told Sam Cleve about the upcoming experiment, but even Sam couldn't get Purdue on the phone to change his mind about the equation. As Casper checked the trash cans for listening devices, he continued. "Are you here?"
  
  "Yes," whispered Sam 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 can't find anything wrong to report. The summit is just beginning, but..."
  
  "What? What's happening?" Casper asked.
  
  "Wait," Sam said sharply. "Do you know anything about a train ride to Siberia?"
  
  Casper frowned in complete confusion. "What? No, nothing like that. Why?"
  
  "The representative of the Russian security service said something about today's flight to Moscow," Sam recounted, but Kasper did not hear anything like that from either Taft or Bessler. Sam added: "I have a program that I stole from the front desk. As I understand it, this is a three-day summit. They're having a symposium here today, then tomorrow morning they're going to fly privately to Moscow to take some fancy train called the Valkyrie. Do you know anything about this?"
  
  "Well, Sam, I definitely don"t have much authority here, you know?" Casper spoke as quietly as he could. One of the technicians came in to take a piss, which made that kind of conversation impossible. "I have to go, dear. The lasagna will be great. I love you," he said and hung up. The technician just smiled shyly as he urinated, having no idea what the project manager was actually discussing. Casper came out of the closet and felt uneasy about Sam Cleve's question about taking the train to Siberia.
  
  "I love you too, honey," Sam said from his side, but the physicist had already hung up. He tried dialing Purdue's satellite number, based on the billionaire's personal account, but even there no one answered. No matter how hard he tried, Perdue seemed to disappear from the face of the earth, and that bothered Sam more than panic. However, he had no way of returning to Edinburgh now, and with Nina accompanying him, he obviously couldn't send her to check on Perdue either.
  
  For a brief moment, Sam even considered sending Masters, but since he still denied the man's sincerity by relaying the equation to Purdue, he doubted Masters would be willing to help him. Squatting in the box that Miss Noble's contact had arranged for him, Sam considered the whole mission. He almost found it more urgent to prevent Purdue from completing the Einstein Equation than to follow the impending catastrophe orchestrated by the Black Sun and his high-profile followers.
  
  Sam was torn between his duties, was too scattered and sagged under pressure. He had to protect Nina. He had to stop a possible world tragedy. He had to stop Purdue from finishing his math. The journalist did not often fall into despair, but this time he had no choice. He would have to ask Masters. The mangled man was his only hope of stopping Purdue.
  
  He wondered if Dr. Jacobs had made all his preparations to move to Belarus, but it was a question Sam could still catch up on when he met Jacobs for dinner. Right now, he needed to find out the details of the flight 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 still produce nuclear power.
  
  "So, the NPT countries and the International Atomic Energy Agency are going on a trip to evaluate the power plants?" Sam muttered into his recorder. "I still don't see where a threat can turn into a tragedy. If I get the Masters to stop Purdue, it doesn't matter where the Black Sun hides its weapons. Without Einstein's equation, it would all be in vain anyway."
  
  He quietly slipped out, walking along the row of chairs to where the lights were out. No one even saw him from the brightly lit section below, where the bustle reigned. Sam was supposed to pick up Nina, call Masters, meet Jacobs, and then make sure he was on that train. From his intelligence, Sam learned of a secret elite airfield called the Koschei Strip, located a few miles from Moscow, where the delegation was to land the next day in the afternoon. From there, they will be taken to the Valkyrie, a trans-Siberian super train for a luxury trip to Novosibirsk.
  
  Sam had a million things on his mind, but the first thing he needed to do was get back to Nina to see if she was okay. He knew not to underestimate the influence of men like Wolfe and McFadden, especially after they discovered that the woman they had left for dead was very much alive and could stir them up.
  
  After Sam slipped through the door of scene 3, through the prop pantry in the back, he was greeted by a cold night full of uncertainty and menace in the air. He pulled the sweatshirt tighter at the front, zipping it over the scarf. Hiding his identity, he quickly crossed the back parking lot, where the wardrobe and delivery trucks usually arrived. On a moonlit night, Sam looked like a shadow but felt like a ghost. He was tired, but he was not allowed to rest. There was so much to do to make sure he got on that train tomorrow afternoon that he would never have time or sanity to sleep.
  
  In his memoirs, he saw the beaten body of Nina, the scene was repeated several times. His blood boiled at the injustice of this, and he desperately hoped that Wulf would be on that train.
  
  
  22
  Jericho Falls
  
  
  Like a maniac, Perdue constantly reworked the algorithm of his program in accordance with the input data. It's been somewhat successful so far, but there were some variables it couldn't resolve, leaving him to stand guard by his old car. Practically sleeping in front of the old computer, he became more and more withdrawn. Only Lilith Hearst was allowed to 'harass' Purdue. Because she could talk about the results, he enjoyed her visits, while his staff clearly lacked the understanding of the field needed to present compelling solutions, as she did.
  
  "I'll start making dinner soon, sir," Lillian reminded him. Usually, when she fed him that phrase, her gray-haired, cheerful boss offered her a variety of dishes to choose from. Now it seemed all he wanted to consider was the next entry on his computer.
  
  "Thank you, Lily," Purdue said absently.
  
  She hesitantly asked for clarification. "And what should I prepare, sir?"
  
  Purdue 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 great, Lily. Maybe in a Lancashire hot pot, as long as it has some lamb in it. Lilith loves lamb. She told me: "He smiled, but did not take his eyes off the screen.
  
  "Do you want me to cook her favorite dish for your dinner, sir?" Lillian asked, feeling she wouldn't like the answer. She wasn't wrong. Perdue looked up at her again, glaring over his glasses.
  
  "Yes, Lily. She's joining me for dinner tonight, and I'd like you to make Lancashire hot pot. Thank you," he repeated irritably.
  
  "Of course, sir," Lillian reverently recoiled. The housekeeper was usually entitled to her opinion, but ever since the nurse had squeezed into Reichtisusis, Purdue had taken no one's advice but hers. "So, dinner at seven?"
  
  "Yes, thank you, Lily. Now please, could you let me get back to work?" he begged. Lillian didn't answer. She simply nodded and walked out of the server room, trying not to stray off the tangent. Lillian, like Nina, was a typical Scottish girl of the old girls' school. These ladies were not used to being treated like second-class citizens, and since Lillian was the matriarch of the Reichtisussi staff, she was deeply upset by Perdue's recent behavior. The doorbell on the main doors rang. Walking past Charles as he crossed the lobby to open the door, she quietly said, "That's a bitch."
  
  Surprisingly, the android-like butler casually replied, "I know."
  
  This time he refrained from chastising Lillian for speaking freely about the guests. It was a sure sign of trouble. If the strict, overly polite butler agreed with Lilith Hearst's bitchiness, there was cause for panic. He opened the door, and Lillian, after listening to the usual indulgence of the intruder, wished she could pour poison into the Lancashire gravy boat. Yet she loved her employer too much to take such a risk.
  
  While Lillian was preparing dinner in the kitchen, Lilith went down to Purdue's server room as if the place belonged to her. She gracefully descended the stairs, dressed in a provocative cocktail dress and shawl. She put on makeup and pulled her hair into a bun to highlight the gorgeous costume earrings that dangled under her earlobes as she walked.
  
  Perdue beamed when he saw the young nurse entering the room. Tonight she looked different than usual. Instead of jeans and 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 this case. I hope you don't mind that I changed a little for dinner."
  
  "In no case!" he exclaimed, brushing back his hair short to clean himself up a bit. He was wearing a well-worn cardigan and yesterday's trousers, which did not go well with moccasins for comfort. "I feel like I have to apologize for how horribly haggard I look. I'm afraid I've lost track of time, as you may understand."
  
  "I know. Have you made progress? she asked.
  
  "I have. Significantly," he boasted. "By tomorrow, or maybe even late tonight, I have to solve this equation."
  
  "And then?" she asked, seating herself meaningfully across from him. Perdue was momentarily blinded by her youth and beauty. For him, there was no one better than the miniature Nina, with her wild splendor and hell in her eyes. However, the nurse had the flawless complexion and lean body that can only be maintained at a tender age, and judging by her body language tonight, she was going to take advantage of that.
  
  Her excuse about her dress was, of course, a lie, but she couldn't justify it with the truth. Lilith could hardly tell Purdue that she accidentally went out to seduce him without admitting that she was looking for a rich lover. Even less she could not admit that she wanted to influence him long enough to steal his masterpiece, count her own merit, and fight 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, not even looking in the direction of the nurse rubbing her lips.
  
  "Thanks, Lily," he replied, sounding a little like the old Perdue. His selective return to his old, pleasant manners only in the presence of Lilith Hurst disgusted the housekeeper.
  
  It was obvious to Lilith that the object of her intentions did not have the clarity inherent in his people in terms of evaluating her goals. His indifference to her intrusive presence was startling even to her. Lilith successfully proved that genius and the use of common sense are two completely different kinds of intelligence. However, that was the least of her worries right now. Perdue ate out of her hands and went out of his way to achieve what she was going to use to achieve success in her career.
  
  While Perdue was intoxicated by Lilith's beauty, guile, and sexual advances, he didn't realize that another kind of intoxication had been introduced to make sure he complied. Beneath the ground floor of Reichtisusis, Einstein's Equation was completely completed, which was once again the terrible result of the mastermind's mistake. In this case, both Einstein and Purdue were being manipulated by women who were far below their level of intelligence, giving the impression that even the most intelligent men were reduced to idiotic proportions by trusting the wrong women. At least that was true in light of the dangerous documents collected by the women, whom they considered harmless.
  
  Lillian was dismissed for the evening, leaving only Charles to clean up after Perdue and his guest had finished dinner. The disciplined butler acted as if nothing had happened, even when Purdue and the nurse entered into a violent fit of passion halfway to the master bedroom. Charles took a deep breath. He ignored the terrible alliance he knew would soon destroy his boss, but he still didn't dare to intervene.
  
  It was quite an embarrassment for the loyal butler who had worked for Purdue for so many years. Purdue didn't want to hear anything about Lilith Hearst's objections, and the house staff had to watch as she slowly blinded him more and more every day. Now the relationship has gone to the next level, leaving Charles, Lillian, Jane, and everyone else in Purdue's employ scared for their future. Sam Cleave and Nina Gould didn't wake up again. They were the light and revitalization of Purdue's more private social life, and the billionaire's people adored them.
  
  While Charles's mind was clouded by doubts and fears, while Perdue was enslaved through pleasure, the Dire Serpent came to life downstairs in the server room. Quietly, so that no one could see or hear, it announced its end.
  
  On this dead dark morning, the lights in the mansion dimmed, those that were left on. The whole huge house was silent, except for the howling of the wind outside the ancient walls. There was a faint knock on the main staircase. Lilith's slender legs left nothing but a sigh on the thick carpeting as she flickered down 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 lights, but rather used her cell phone screen to light her way to the table where Purdue's car was parked. Lilith felt like a child on Christmas morning, impatient to know if her wish had already come true, and she was not disappointed. Clutching the flash drive between her fingers, she inserted it into the USB port of the old computer, but soon realized that David Perdue was no fool.
  
  An alarm sounded, and on the screen the first line of the equation began to erase itself.
  
  "Oh Jesus, no!" she whimpered in the darkness. She had to think quickly. Lilith memorized the second line as she clicked on her phone's camera and took a screenshot of the first section before it could be deleted further. She then hacked into the auxiliary server Purdue was using as a backup and extracted the full equation before transferring it to her own device. For all her technological prowess, Lilith didn't know where to turn off the alarm and watched as the equation slowly erased itself.
  
  "I'm sorry, David," she sighed.
  
  Knowing that he would not wake up until the next morning, she simulated a short circuit in the wiring between the Omega Server and the Kappa Server. This caused a small electrical fire, enough to melt the wires and disable the machines involved, before she put out the flames with a cushion from Purdue's chair. Lilith realized that the security at the gate would soon receive a signal from the house's internal alarm through their head office. At the far end of the first floor, she could hear the guards trying to wake Charles up by banging on the door.
  
  Unfortunately, Charles slept 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 from the USB port sensor. Lilith closed the door behind her and walked down the back corridor that led to a large storage room. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the First Division security people wake up Charles and head to Purdue's room. The second device headed straight for the source of the alarm.
  
  "We found the reason!" she heard their cries 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 rushing back to Purdue's bedroom. Once again in bed with the unconscious genius, Lilith entered her telephone transmitter and quickly punched in the connection code. "Quickly," she whispered hastily as the phone opened the screen. "Faster than that, for heaven's sake."
  
  Charles' voice was clear as he approached Purdue's bedroom with several men. Lilith bit her lip as she waited for the Einstein Equation transmission to finish uploading on the Meerdaalwoud site.
  
  "Sir!" Charles suddenly roared, banging on the door. "Are you awake?"
  
  Perdue was unconscious and did not respond, prompting many speculative offers in the hallway. Lilith could see the shadows of their feet under the door, but the download was not yet complete. Again the butler pounded on the door. Lilith slipped the phone under the bedside table to continue the transmission while she wrapped the satin sheet around her body.
  
  Making her way to the door, she shouted: "Hold on, hold on, damn it!"
  
  She opened the door, looking furious. "What in the name of all that is holy is your problem?" she hissed. "Be quiet! David is sleeping."
  
  "How can he sleep through all this?" Charles asked sternly. Since Perdue was unconscious, he should not have shown any respect for the pushy woman. "What did you do to him?" he barked at her, pushing her aside to ascertain the condition of his employer.
  
  "I'm sorry?" she shrieked, deliberately neglecting part of the sheet to distract the guards with a flash of 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, it's more like that."
  
  "We drank a lot," she defended herself fiercely. "Can't he have some fun, Charles?"
  
  "You, madam, are not here to entertain Mr. Perdue," Charles retorted. "You have completed your task here, so do us all a favor and return to the rectum that expelled you."
  
  Under the bedside table, the loading bar showed 100% complete. The Order of the Black Sun has acquired the Dire Serpent in all its glory.
  
  
  23
  tripartite
  
  
  When Sam called Masters, there was no answer. Nina slept in the double bed in their hotel room, passed out thanks to a strong sedative. She had some painkillers with her for the pain of her bruises and stitches, courtesy of the anonymous retired nurse who helped her get stitches at Oban. Sam was exhausted, but his adrenaline levels were refusing to drop. In the weak light of the lamp from Nina's side, he sat stooped, clutching the phone between his knees, and thought. He pressed the redial button, hoping Masters would pick up.
  
  "God, it looks like everyone is on a fucking rocket and going to the moon," he fumed as quietly as he could. Unspeakably frustrated at not getting through to Purdue or Masters, Sam decided to call Dr. Jacobs in the hope that he might have found Purdue already. To allay some of the anxiety, Sam turned up the TV volume a little. Nina left it on to sleep in the background, but it switched from movie channel to channel 8 for the international bulletin.
  
  The news was full of little messages about things of no use to Sam's plight as he paced the room, dialing one number after another. He arranged with Miss Noble in the Post to buy tickets for him and Nina to get to Moscow in the morning, listing Nina as his history adviser for the assignment. Miss Noble was well acquainted with Dr. Nina Gould's stellar reputation, as well as her name's reputation in academia. She would have been an authority on Sam Cleve's report.
  
  Sam's phone rang, making him tense for a second. So many thoughts came and went in that moment about who it could be and what the state of affairs is. The name of Dr. Jacobs flashed on the screen of his phone.
  
  "Doctor Jacobs? Can we move dinner to a hotel here instead of at your place?" Sam said right away.
  
  "Are you psychic, Mr. Cleve?" Casper Jacobs asked.
  
  "W-why? What?" Sam frowned.
  
  "I was going to advise you and Dr. Gould not to come to my house tonight because I think I've been kicked out. Meeting me at this place would be harmful, so I am heading to your hotel immediately," the physicist informed Sam, speaking the words so quickly that Sam could barely keep up with the facts.
  
  "Yes, Dr. Gould is a little crazy, but you only need me to summarize the details for my article," Sam assured him. What bothered Sam the most was Casper's tone of voice. He seemed shocked. His words were trembling, halting in ragged breathing.
  
  "I'm going right now, and Sam, please make sure no one is following you. They may 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 boots. On the TV screen, he saw something familiar.
  
  "Delegates from China, France, Russia, the United Kingdom and the United States are leaving La Monnaie Opera House in Brussels to adjourn the meeting until tomorrow," the statement said. "The Atomic Energy Summit will continue aboard the luxury train that will host the rest of the symposium, en route to the main nuclear reactor in Novosibirsk, Russia."
  
  "Cute," Sam muttered. "As little information as possible about the location of the platform you are all landing from, hey McFadden? But I'll find you and we'll be on that train. And I'll find Wolf to have a little heart to heart talk."
  
  When Sam finished, he grabbed his phone and headed for the exit. He checked Nina one last time before closing the door behind him. From left to right, the corridor was empty. Sam checked that no one had left any of the rooms as he made his way to the elevator. He was going to wait in the lobby for Dr. Jacobs, ready to write down all the sordid details of his reasons for fleeing to Belarus in a hurry.
  
  Smoking a cigarette right outside the main entrance to the hotel, 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 seventies thriller.
  
  Of all the moments to be unprepared, Sam thought as he met the ferocious man's gaze. Note to self. Get a new firearm.
  
  A man's hand appeared from his coat pocket. Sam flipped the cigarette aside and prepared to dodge the bullet. But in his hand, the man was clutching what looked like an external hard drive. He came close and grabbed the journalist by the collar. His eyes were wide and wet.
  
  "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 look like to get to know you tonight. My God, they took my Olga and I have no idea where she is! They're going to kill her if I don't go back to the complex where I built the ship!"
  
  "Wait," Sam immediately stopped Casper's tantrum, "and listen to me. You have to calm down, you understand? It does not help." Sam looked around, assessing his surroundings. "Especially when you might draw unwanted attention."
  
  Up and down wet streets gleaming under pale streetlights, he watched every move to see who was watching. Few paid attention to the ranting man next to Sam, but a few walkers, mostly couples strolling, cast quick glances in their direction before continuing their conversations.
  
  "Come on, Dr. Jacobs, let's go inside and have some whiskey," Sam suggested, gently letting the shivering man through the glass sliding doors. "Or, in your case, several."
  
  They sat down at the bar of the hotel restaurant. Small spotlights mounted on the ceiling create an atmosphere in the establishment, and soft piano music fills the restaurant. The low murmurs were accompanied by the clinking of cutlery as Sam recorded his session with Dr. Jacobs. Kasper told him all about the Sinister Serpent and the exact physics behind these terrible possibilities, which Einstein thought it best to dispel. Finally, after he had given away all the secrets of Clifton Taft's establishment, where the nefarious creatures of the Order were kept, he began to sob. The distraught Casper Jacobs could no longer control himself.
  
  "And so, when I returned home, Olga was no longer there," he sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to be invisible. The stern journalist sympathetically stopped the recording on his laptop and patted the weeping man twice on the back. Sam imagined what it was like to be Nina's partner, as he had done so many times before, and imagined returning home to find that the Black Sun had taken her.
  
  "Jesus, Casper, I'm sorry, mate," he whispered, gesturing for the bartender to refill 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 with power. They took her to take revenge on you, to make you suffer. This is what they do."
  
  "I don't even know where she might be," Casper wailed, burying himself in his arms. "I'm sure they've already killed her."
  
  "Don't talk like that, do you hear?" Sam stopped him firmly. "I just told you. We both know what Order is like. They're a bunch of resentful losers, Kasper, and their ways are immature by nature. They are hooligans, and you, like no one else, should know this."
  
  Casper shook his head hopelessly, his movements slowed by sadness as Sam shoved the glass into his hand and said, "Drink. You must calm your nerves. Listen, how soon can you get to Russia?"
  
  "Wh-what?" Casper asked. "I have to find my girlfriend. To hell with the train and the delegates. I don't care, they can all die as long as I can find Olga."
  
  Sam sighed. If Casper were in the privacy of his home, Sam would slap him like a stubborn brat. "Look at me, Dr. Jacobs," he chuckled, too tired to coddle the physicist anymore. Casper looked at Sam with bloodshot eyes. "Where do you think they took her? Where do you think they want to lure you? Think! Think, for God's sake!"
  
  "You know the answer, don't you?" Casper figured it out. "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 it was like. He had been in such an 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 delegates, Kasper."
  
  "Why would they do this? They need to focus on the experiment," Kasper retorted.
  
  "Do not you understand?" Sam explained. "Everyone on this train is a threat. These elite passengers make decisions in the field of research and distribution of atomic energy. Countries that only have veto power, have you noticed? Representatives of the Atomic Energy Agency are also an obstacle for Black Sun because they regulate the management of nuclear energy suppliers."
  
  "That's too much political talk, Sam," Casper groaned as he emptied 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 will die along with all the delegates on this fucking train! From what I know about the Order, they already have people in place to replace deceased officials, handing over 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 was breathing heavily, like a dog in the desert. No matter how many drinks he drank, he remained empty and thirsty. Inadvertently, he became a key player in a game he never intended to be a part of.
  
  "I can get on 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 might be a bit optimistic, but at least with your readings and the data on that hard drive, he'll be able to see for himself what's really going on. I hope he realizes that he is a puppet of his enemies.
  
  "What if he gets intercepted?" Casper thought. "When I tried to reach him, my call was answered by some woman who apparently never gave him a message."
  
  "Jane?" Sam asked. "Was it during business hours?"
  
  "No, after hours," Kasper admitted. "Why?"
  
  "Fuck me," Sam breathed, remembering the bitchy nurse and her attitude problem, especially after Sam gave Pardew the equation. "Perhaps you are right, Casper. My God, you could be quite sure of that if you think about it."
  
  Right there, Sam decided to send Miss Noble's information to the Edinburgh Post as well, in case Purdue's mail server had been hacked.
  
  "I'm not going home, Sam," Casper remarked.
  
  "Yes, you can't go back. Perhaps they are watching or waiting," Sam agreed. "Sign up here and tomorrow all three of us will go on a mission to rescue Olga. Who knows, at the same time we might just as well blame Taft and McFadden in front of the whole world and erase them from the board just for bullying us."
  
  
  24
  Reichtishow are tears
  
  
  Perdue awoke partly reliving the agony of the operation. His throat was like sandpaper and his head weighed a ton. A beam of daylight filtered through the curtains and hit him between the eyes. Jumping naked out of bed, he suddenly vaguely remembered a passionate night with Lilith Hurst, but pushed it aside to focus on the miserable daylight from which he needed to spare his poor eyes.
  
  As he covered the light with curtains, he turned to find the young beauty still sleeping on the other side of his bed. Before he could see her there, Charles knocked softly. Perdue opened the door.
  
  "Good afternoon, sir," he said.
  
  "Good morning, Charles," Purdue snorted, holding his head. He felt a draft, and only then realized that he was afraid of help. But now it was too late to make any sense of it, so he pretended that there was no awkwardness between him and Charles. His butler, as always a professional, also ignored this fact.
  
  "May I have a word with you, sir?" Charles asked. "Of course, as soon as you're ready."
  
  Perdue nodded, but was surprised to see Lillian in the background, who also looked quite worried. Perdue's hands quickly darted to her crotch. Charles seemed to look into the room at the sleeping Lilith and whispered to his master, "Sir, please don't tell Miss Hearst that we have something to discuss with you."
  
  "Why? What's happening?" Purdue whispered. This morning, he felt that something was wrong in his house, and the secret of this was asking for it to be revealed.
  
  "David," a sensuous moan came from the soft darkness of his bedroom. "Go back to bed."
  
  "Sir, I beg you," Charles tried to repeat quickly, but Perdue closed the door in his face. Grim and slightly angry, Charles glared at Lillian, who shared his emotions. She didn't say anything, but he knew she felt the same way. Without a word, the butler and housekeeper descended the stairs to the kitchen, where they were to discuss the next step in their work under David Purdue.
  
  The involvement of the guards was obvious confirmation of their claim, but until Perdue was able to unstuck from the malevolent seductress, they could not state their point of view. The night the alarm went off, Charles was assigned as the household's liaison until Perdue regained his senses. The security company was just waiting for word from him, and they had to call to show Purdue the video footage of the sabotage attempt. Whether it was just bad wiring was highly unlikely given Purdue's tough maintenance of his technology, and Charles set out to clear it up.
  
  Upstairs, Perdue once again lay 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 moaned as she sat down at the small, unassuming kitchen table. "What will we do if he marries her?"
  
  Charles nearly dropped his china cups at the thought. His lips trembled silently. Lillian had never seen him like this before. The epitome of composure and self-control suddenly became unsettling. Charles stared out the window, his eyes finding solace in the thick greenery of Reichtisousis' magnificent gardens.
  
  "We can't let that happen," he replied sincerely.
  
  "Maybe we should invite Dr. Gould to come and remind him what he's really up to," Lillian suggested. "Besides, Nina will kick Lilith..."
  
  "So you wanted to see me?" Perdue's words suddenly froze Lillian's blood. She turned abruptly 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 painkillers?"
  
  "No," he replied, "but I would really appreciate a slice of dry toast and sweet black coffee. This is the worst hangover I have ever had."
  
  "You don't have a hangover, sir," Charles said. "As far as I know, a small amount of alcohol that you have drunk is not capable of making you unconscious in such a way that you cannot regain consciousness even during a nightly alarm raid."
  
  "I'm sorry?" Perdue frowned at the butler.
  
  "Where is she?" Charles directly asked. His tone was stern, almost defiant, and to Purdue it was a sure sign that there was trouble.
  
  "In the shower. Why?" Purdue answered. "I told her I was going to throw up in the bottom toilet because I felt nauseous."
  
  "Good excuse, sir," Lillian congratulated her boss as she turned on the toasts.
  
  Perdue stared at her like she was crazy. "I really vomited because I really feel nauseous, Lily. What did you think? Did you think I would lie to her just to support this conspiracy of yours against her?"
  
  Charles snorted loudly in shock at Purdue's constant oblivion. Lillian was just as upset by this, but she needed to remain calm before Purdue decided to fire his employees in a fit of distrust. "Of course not," she told Purdue. "I was just joking".
  
  "Don't think I don't keep track of what's going on in my own home," Perdue warned. "You have all made it clear several times that you do not approve of Lilith being here, but you are forgetting one thing. I am the owner of this house and I know everything that happens between these walls."
  
  "Except when you pass out from Rohypnol, while your security and maintenance staff must contain the threat of a fire in your home," Charles said. For this statement, Lillian patted him on the arm, but it was too late. The locks of the loyal butler's equanimity had been breached. Perdue's face turned ashen, even more so than his already pale complexion. "I'm sorry for being so direct, sir, but I won't stand idly by while some second-class chick sneaks into my workplace and home to undermine my employer's job." Charles was just as struck by his outburst as the housekeeper and Perdue. The butler looked at Lillian's astonished expression and shrugged. "Penny, pound, Lily."
  
  "I can't," she complained. "I need this job."
  
  Perdue was so overwhelmed by Charles' insults that he was literally speechless. The butler gave Purdue an indifferent look and added, "I'm sorry to have to say this, sir, but I can't let that woman put your life in danger any longer."
  
  Perdue stood up, feeling as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer, but he had something to say. "How dare you? You are in no position to make such accusations!" he thundered at the butler.
  
  "He only cares about your well-being, sir," Lillian tried, wringing her hands respectfully.
  
  "Shut up, Lillian," both men barked at her at the same time, driving her into a frenzy. The sweet-mannered housekeeper ran out the back door without even bothering to fulfill her employer's breakfast order.
  
  "Look what you got Charles," Perdue chuckled.
  
  "It wasn't my doing, sir. The cause of all this disagreement is right behind you," he told Purdue. Perdue looked back. Lilith stood there looking like a puppy that had been kicked. Her subconscious manipulation of Perdue's feelings knew no bounds. She looked deeply offended and terribly weak, shaking her head.
  
  "I'm so sorry, David. I tried to please them, but they just don't seem to want to see you happy. I'll be leaving in thirty minutes. Just let me pack my things," she said, turning to leave.
  
  "Don't move, Lilith!" Purdue ordered. He looked at Charles, his blue eyes piercing the butler with disappointment and resentment. Charles has reached his limit. "She... or we... sir."
  
  
  25
  I ask for a favor
  
  
  Nina felt like a brand new woman after sleeping seventeen hours in Sam's hotel room. Sam, on the other hand, was exhausted, as he barely closed his eyes. After discovering the secrets of Dr. Jacobs, he believed that the world was headed for disaster, no matter how good people tried to prevent the atrocities of self-centered jerks like Taft and McFadden. He hoped he was right about Olga. It took him hours to convince Casper Jacobs that 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 have to apologize for not being downstairs last night."
  
  "No, please don't worry, Dr. Gould," he smiled. "Sam took care of me with centuries of Scottish hospitality when I should have given you two a Belgian welcome. It was easy to fall asleep after so much whiskey, even though the sea of sleep was full of monsters."
  
  "I can understand," Sam muttered.
  
  "Don't worry, Sam, I'll help you to the end," she comforted him, running her hand through his tousled dark hair. "You didn't shave this morning."
  
  "I thought a rougher look would suit Siberia," he shrugged as they entered the elevator. "Also, it will make my face warmer... and less recognizable."
  
  "Good idea," Casper agreed nonchalantly.
  
  "What happens when we get to Moscow, Sam?" Nina asked in the tense silence of the elevator.
  
  "I'll tell you on the plane. Russia is only three hours away," he replied. His dark eyes darted to the security camera in the elevator. "Can't risk lip reading."
  
  She followed his gaze and nodded. "Yes".
  
  Kasper admired the natural rhythm of his two Scottish colleagues, but it only reminded him of Olga and what a terrible fate she may have already faced. He couldn't wait to set foot on Russian soil, even if it had been taken to the wrong place, as Sam Cleave had supposed. As long as he could get even with Taft, who was an integral part of the summit across Siberia.
  
  "Which airfield do they use?" Nina asked. "I can't imagine that they would use Domodedovo for such VIPs."
  
  "This is wrong. They use a private airstrip in the northwest called Koschey," Sam explained. "I heard it at the opera house when I slipped in, remember? It is privately owned by one of the Russian members of the International Atomic Energy Agency."
  
  "That smells suspicious," Nina chuckled.
  
  "That's right," Casper confirmed. "Many members of the agency, as in the case of the United Nations and the European Union, delegates of the Bilderberg Club ... they are all loyal to the Order of the Black Sun. People refer to the New World Order, but no one realizes that a much more sinister organization is at work. Like a demon, it takes over these more familiar global organizations and uses them as scapegoats before landing their ships after the fait accompli."
  
  "Interesting analogy," Nina remarked.
  
  "Actually, that's for sure," Sam agreed. "There is something inherently dark about Black Sun, something beyond global dominance and elitist rule. It is almost esoteric in nature, using science to develop."
  
  "It makes one wonder," Kasper added as the elevator doors opened, "that such a deeply rooted and profitable organization is nearly impossible to destroy."
  
  "Yes, but we will continue to grow on their genitals like a viable virus as long as we have the ability to itch and burn them," Sam smiled and winked, leaving the other two in stitches.
  
  "Thanks for that, Sam," Nina giggled, trying to compose herself. "By the way, about interesting analogies!"
  
  They took a taxi to the airport and hoped they could get to the private airfield in time to catch the train. One last time, Sam tried to call Purdue, but when the woman answered, he knew that Dr. Jacobs was right. He looked at Casper Jacobs with an expression of dismay.
  
  "What's wrong?" Casper asked.
  
  Sam's eyes narrowed. "It 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 doesn't matter. I call Masters again. Someone should go and see what is happening in Reichtisousis." As they waited in the airline's lounge, Sam dialed George Masters' number 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 the call in a sleepy voice.
  
  "Masters?" Sam exclaimed. "Damn it! This is Sam Cleve. Where have you been?"
  
  "Looking for you," Masters snapped back, suddenly a little more persuasive. "You gave Purdue a fucking equation after I told you in no uncertain terms not to do it."
  
  Nina listened attentively with wide eyes. With just her lips, she said, "Looks like he"s mad as hell!"
  
  "Look, I know," Sam began his excuse, "but the research I did on the subject didn't mention anything as threatening as what you told me."
  
  "Your research is useless, mate," snapped George. "Did you really think that this level of destruction was easily accessible to anyone? What, you thought you'd find it on Wikipedia? A? Only those of us who know, we know what it can do. Now you've gone and ruined everything, smart boy!"
  
  "Look, Masters, I have a way to prevent its use," Sam suggested. "You can go to Purdue's house as my emissary and explain it to him. Better yet, if you could get him out of there."
  
  "Why do I need it?" Masters played hard.
  
  "Because you want to stop it, right?" Sam tried to persuade the crippled man. "Hey, you crashed my car and took me hostage. I would say you owe me."
  
  "Do your own dirty work, Sam. I tried to warn you, and you rejected my knowledge. Do 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 that," Sam explained. "Please masters. Just check how he is."
  
  "Where are you?" Masters asked, apparently ignoring Sam's pleas.
  
  "Belgium, why?" Sam answered.
  
  "I just want to know where you are so I can find you," he told Sam in a menacing tone. At these words, Nina's eyes widened even more. Her dark brown eyes twinkled under a frown. She looked at Kasper, who was standing by the car, a worried expression on his face.
  
  "Masters, you can beat the breath out of me as soon as this is over," Sam tried to negotiate with the enraged scientist. "I'll even throw a few punches to make it look two-way, but for God's sake, please go to Reichtisusis and tell the guard at the gate to give your daughter a lift to Inverness. "
  
  "I'm sorry?" Masters roared, laughing heartily. Sam smiled softly as Nina showed her confusion in her most stupid, comical expression.
  
  "Just tell them that," Sam repeated. "They'll take you in and tell Purdue you're my friend."
  
  "What then?" - mocked the unbearable grumbler.
  
  "All you have to do is transfer the dangerous Dire Serpent element to him," Sam shrugged. "And be aware. He has a woman with him who thinks she controls him. Her name is Lilith Hurst, a nurse with a God complex."
  
  Masters was dead silent.
  
  "Hey, can you hear me? Don't let her influence your conversation with Purdue..." Sam continued. He was interrupted by Masters' unexpectedly soft reply. "Lilith Hurst? Did you say Lilith Hurst?"
  
  "Yes, she was Purdue's nurse, but apparently he finds a kindred spirit in her because they share a love of science," Sam informed him. Nina recognized the sound the craftsmen were making on the other side of the line. It was the sound of a distraught man remembering a hard breakup. It was the sound of emotional turmoil, still caustic.
  
  "Masters, this is Nina, Sam's colleague," she suddenly said, grabbing Sam's arm to tighten her grip on the phone. "Do you know her?"
  
  Sam looked confused, but only because he didn't have Nina's feminine intuition on the matter. Masters took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I know her. She participated in an experiment that made me look like fucking Freddy Krueger, Dr. Gould."
  
  Sam felt terror pierce his chest. He had no idea that Lilith Hearst was actually a scientist behind the walls of a hospital laboratory. He knew immediately that she was a far greater threat than he had ever realized.
  
  "All right then, son," Sam interrupted, striking while the iron was hot, "the more reason you have to pay a visit and show Purdue what his new girlfriend is capable of."
  
  
  26
  All aboard!
  
  
  
  Koschey airfield, Moscow - 7 hours later
  
  
  When the summit delegation arrived at the Koschei airstrip near Moscow, the evening wasn't all that unpleasant by most standards, but it got dark early. Everyone has been to Russia before, but never before have relentless reports and proposals been presented on a moving luxury train where only the best food and lodging could be bought for money. Stepping out of the private jets, the guests stepped onto a smooth cement platform that led to a simple but luxurious building, the Koschey railway station.
  
  "Ladies and gentlemen," smiled Clifton Taft, taking his seat in front of the entrance, "I would like to welcome you to Russia on behalf of my partner and owner of the Trans-Siberian Valkyrie, Mr. Wolf Kretchoff!"
  
  The deafening applause of the exquisite group showed their appreciation for the original idea. Many representatives had previously expressed their wish that these symposiums be held in a more interesting setting, and finally this could be done. Wolf went out to a small area at 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, completely new tracks will be launched."
  
  Fascinated by the enthusiasm and eloquence of the physically imposing businessman, the delegates burst into applause again. Hidden in the far corner niche of the building, three figures crouched in the darkness, listening. Nina cringed at the sound of Wulf's voice, still remembering his hateful blows. Neither she nor Sam could believe that an ordinary thug was a wealthy citizen. To them, he was just McFadden's attack dog.
  
  "The Koshchei Strip has been my private airstrip for several years since I bought the land, and today I have the pleasure of introducing our very own elite train station," he continued. "Please follow me." With that, he passed through the doors, accompanied by Taft and McFadden, followed by the delegates, bustling about with reverent remarks in their respective languages. They walked around the small but luxurious station, admiring the strict architecture in the spirit of the Krutitsy Metochion. The three arches leading to the exit to the platform were built in the Baroque style with a strong flavor of medieval architecture adapted to harsh climatic conditions.
  
  "Simply phenomenal," McFadden collapsed, desperate to be heard. Wolf simply smiled as he led the group to the outer doors on the platform, but before leaving, he turned again to make a speech.
  
  "And now, finally, ladies and gentlemen of the Atomic Renewable Energy Summit," he roared, "I want to present you with one last treat. Behind me is another force majeure in our endless pursuit of perfection. Please come and join me on her first voyage."
  
  A large Russian led them to the platform.
  
  "I know he doesn"t speak English," the representative of the United Kingdom told a colleague, "but I wonder if he meant to call this train "force majeure" or perhaps he misunderstood the phrase as something powerful?"
  
  "I suppose he meant the latter," another politely suggested. "I'm just grateful that he speaks English at all. Doesn't it piss you off when 'conjoined twins' hang around to translate for them?"
  
  "Too true," agreed the first delegate.
  
  The train was waiting under a thick tarpaulin. No one knew what it would look like, but judging by its size, there was no doubt that it took an ingenious engineer to develop it.
  
  "Now we wanted to keep some nostalgia, so we designed this wonderful machine in the same way as the old TE model, while using thorium-based nuclear energy to power the engine instead of steam," he smiled proudly. "What better way to fuel the locomotive of the future while hosting a symposium on new affordable energy alternatives?"
  
  Sam, Nina and Casper crouched just behind the last line of representatives. At the mention of the nature of the fuel for the train, some scientists looked somewhat embarrassed, but did not dare to protest. Casper still gasped.
  
  "What?" Nina asked in an undertone. "What's wrong?"
  
  "Nuclear power based on thorium," Casper replied, looking absolutely terrified. "This is next level shit, my friends. As far as the world's energy resources are concerned, an alternative to thorium is still under consideration. As far as I know, such a fuel has not yet been developed for such use," he explained gently.
  
  "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 power source, I"m a little concerned about the acceleration we"re seeing here," he explained.
  
  "Why?" Sam whispered, his face hidden by a hood. "Trains are supposed to run fast, right?"
  
  Kasper tried to explain to them, but he knew that only physicists and the like would really understand what was bothering him. "Look, if it's 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 this fucking 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 bigger dick."
  
  "Yeah, 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 give me a choice?"
  
  Kasper chuckled, smiling for the first time since losing his Olga, but Nina was dead serious. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as she always did when she checked the facts in her head.
  
  "Did you say the engine is a TE-model steam engine?" she asked Casper. He nodded affirmatively. "Do you know what TE really is?" she asked the men. They exchanged glances for a moment and shook their heads. Nina was going to give them a brief history lesson that explained a lot. "They were designated TE after they became Russian property after World War II," she said. "During World War II they were produced as Kriegslokomotiven, 'military locomotives'. They made a bunch of them by 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. "I thought we had problems before. Now we have to find Olga while worrying about the nuclear power under our asses. Damn it."
  
  "Like the good old days, hey Sam?" Nina smiled. "When you were a reckless investigative reporter."
  
  "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 Serpent, Sam."
  
  "He'll do it or he won't," Sam shrugged. "We did everything we could on our part. Now we have to get on this train and find Olga. It should be all we care about until she is safe."
  
  On the platform, the impressed delegates cheered for the presentation of the all-new, vintage-looking locomotive. It was certainly a magnificent car, although the new brass and steel gave it a grotesque, steampunk feel that took its spirit from it.
  
  "How did you get us into this area so easily, Sam?" Casper asked. "Belonging to a well-known security unit of the world"s most dastardly organization of villains, you would think getting in was harder."
  
  Sam smiled. Nina knew that look. "Oh God, what have you done?"
  
  "The bros got us hooked," Sam replied, amused.
  
  "What?" Casper whispered curiously.
  
  Nina looked at Casper. "Fucking Russian mafia, Dr. Jacobs." She spoke like an angry mother, once again discovering that her son had repeated the crime. Many times before, Sam had played with the bad guys on the block to gain access to illegal things, and Nina had never stopped chastising him for it. Her dark eyes pierced him with silent condemnation, but he smiled boyishly.
  
  "Hey, against those Nazi morons, you need an ally like that," he reminded her. "Sons of the sons of the security forces of the Gulag and gangs. In the world we live in, I thought you would have appreciated by now that by folding the blackest ace, you always win the game. There is no fair game when it comes to evil empires. There is only evil and worse evil. Having a trump card up your sleeve is beneficial."
  
  "Okay, okay," she said. "You don't have to force the whole Martin Luther King on me. I just think being indebted 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 to want the answer too. Both he and Nina leaned over the table and waited for Sam's response. Hesitating at the immorality of his answer, Sam knew he had to deal with his comrades. "I promised them what they want. 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 will do my best to get my way," Sam admitted. Nina felt warm at his devotion, but something about his choice of words startled her.
  
  "Wait a minute," she whispered. "You mean they want his real head?"
  
  Sam chuckled while Casper grimaced on the other side of Nina. "Yes, they want him to be destroyed and made to look like it was done by one of his own accomplices. I know I'm just a humble journalist," he smiled through his gibberish, "but I've spent enough time among these people to know how to frame someone."
  
  "Oh my God, Sam," Nina sighed. "You become more like them than you think."
  
  "I agree with him, Nina," Kasper said. "In this field of activity, we cannot afford to play by the rules. We can't even afford to uphold our values at this stage. People like this who are going to harm innocent people for their own gain don't deserve the blessing of common sense, Such people are a virus to the world and they deserve the same treatment as a mold spot on a wall."
  
  "Yes! That's exactly what I mean," Sam said.
  
  "I don"t disagree at all," Nina objected. "All I'm saying is that we have to make sure we don't become affiliated with people like the Bratva just because we have a common enemy."
  
  "That's right, but we'll never do it," he assured her. "You know that we always know where we are in the scheme of things. Personally, I like the concept of 'you're not bullying me, I'm not bullying you'. And I will stick with it for as long as I can."
  
  "Hey!" Casper warned them. "Looks like they're sitting down. What should we do?"
  
  "Wait," Sam stopped the impatient physicist. "One of the platform's conductors is Bratva. He will give us a signal."
  
  It took some time for the dignitaries to board the luxury train with its old world charm. From the engine, just like from an ordinary steam locomotive, white puffs of steam ejected from a cast-iron pipe appeared. Nina took a moment to enjoy the beauty of it before tuning in to the signal. Once everyone was on board, Taft and Wolfe exchanged a short whisper that ended in laughter. Then they checked their watches and went through the last door of the second carriage.
  
  A stocky man in uniform crouched down to tie his shoelaces.
  
  "That's all!" Sam convinced his comrades. "This is our signal. We must enter the door where he is tying his shoelaces. Let's!"
  
  Under the dark dome of the night, the three set off to rescue Olga and thwart everything the Black Sun has planned for the global representatives they just voluntarily captured.
  
  
  27
  Curse of Lilith
  
  
  George Masters was amazed by the remarkable structure looming over the driveway when he stopped his car and parked where the Reichtishowis security told him to. The night was mild as the full moon peeked through the passing clouds. Around the perimeter of the main entrance to the estate, tall trees rustled in the wind, as if calling the world to silence. Masters felt a strange sense of peace mingle with his growing apprehension.
  
  Knowing that Lilith Hurst was inside only fueled his desire to invade. By this time Purdue had been notified by security that the Masters were on their way upstairs. Running up the rough marble steps of the main façade, Masters focused on the task at hand. He's never been a good negotiator, but that would be a real test of his diplomacy. No doubt Lilith would have reacted with hysteria, he thought, since she had the impression that he was dead.
  
  Opening the door, Masters was amazed to see the tallest, slenderest billionaire. His white crown was well known, but in his current state, there was little resemblance to tabloid photos and official charity parties. Purdue had a stony face, while he was known for his jovial, suave manner with people. If Masters didn't know what Perdue looked like, he might well have thought that the man in front of him was a doppelgänger from the dark side. Masters found it strange that the owner of the estate would open his own door, and Purdue was always perceptive enough to read his expression.
  
  "I'm in between the butlers," Perdue said impatiently.
  
  "Mr. Perdue, my name is George Masters," Masters introduced himself. "Sam Cleve sent me to give you a message."
  
  "What is this? The message, what is it? Perdue asked sharply. "At the moment I am very busy with the reconstruction of the theory, and I have little time to finish it, if you don"t mind."
  
  "Actually, that's what I'm here to talk about," Masters readily replied. "I must give you some idea of the... well, the... Terrible Serpent."
  
  Suddenly Perdue woke up from his daze, and his eyes fell directly on a visitor in a wide-brimmed hat and long coat. "How do you know about the Scary Serpent?"
  
  "Let me explain," Masters pleaded. "Inside".
  
  Reluctantly, Perdue looked around the lobby to make sure they were alone. He was in a hurry to salvage what was left of the half-removed equation, but he also needed to know as much as possible about it. He stepped aside. "Come in, Mr. Masters." Perdue pointed to the left, where he could see the tall doorframe of the sumptuous dining room. Inside there was a warm glow of fire in the hearth. Its crackling was the only sound in the house that gave 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 to do so. He poured a drink and motioned for Masters to sit down. As if Masters could feel indecent, he decided to apologize for his outfit.
  
  "I would just like to ask you to excuse my manners, Mr. Purdue, but I have to wear this hat all the time," 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 that'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. Perdue," Masters said. "Your discovery of the Dire Serpent is no secret among the scientific community, and I regret to inform you that the news has reached the most nefarious sides of the underground elite."
  
  Perdue frowned. "How? Only Sam and I have the material."
  
  "I'm afraid not, Mr. Perdue," Masters lamented. As Sam asked, the burned man reined in his temperament and general impatience to keep his balance with David Purdue. "Since you returned from the Lost City, someone has leaked the news to several secret websites and high-profile businessmen."
  
  "That's ridiculous," Perdue chuckled. "I didn"t talk in my sleep after the 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.
  
  "Medical personnel only," Purdue replied. "Dr. Patel has no idea what the Einstein equation means. The man is exclusively involved in reconstructive surgery and human biology."
  
  "What about nurses?" Masters deliberately asked, playing dumb and sipping his brandy. He could see Purdue's eyes go cold as he considered this. Perdue shook his head slowly from side to side as his employees' problems with his new lover surfaced inside him.
  
  "No, it couldn't be," he thought. 'Lilith is on my side'. But another voice in his reasoning came to the fore. It heartily reminded him of the alarm he couldn't hear the night before, that security headquarters had assumed their footage had seen a woman in the dark, and the fact that he was drugged. There was no one else in the mansion except Charles and Lillian, and they didn't learn anything from the given equation.
  
  As he sat thinking, another puzzle also bothered him, mostly because of the clarity of it, now that his beloved Lilith was suspect. His heart begged him to ignore the evidence, but his logic overruled his emotions just enough to keep an open mind.
  
  "Perhaps a nurse," he muttered.
  
  Her voice cut through the silence of the room. "You don't seriously believe in this nonsense, David," Lilith breathed, again playing the victim.
  
  "I didn't say I believed it, dear," he corrected her.
  
  "But you thought about it," she said, sounding offended. Her gaze darted to the stranger on the couch, hiding his identity under a hat and coat. "And who is it?"
  
  "Please, Lilith, I'm trying to talk to my guest in private," Perdue told her a little more firmly.
  
  "Well, if you want to let strangers into your house who may very well be spies of the organization you're hiding from, that's your problem," she snapped immaturely.
  
  "Well, that's what I do," Perdue replied quickly. "After all, isn"t that what brought you to my house?"
  
  Masters wished he could smile. After what the Hearsts and their colleagues did to him at the chemical plant in Taft, she deserved to be buried alive, not to mention getting a beating from her husband's idol.
  
  "I can't believe you just said that, David," she hissed. "I won't take it from some hooded crook who comes in here and corrupts you. Did you tell him that you have work to do?"
  
  Perdue looked at Lilith incredulously. "He is Sam's friend, my dear, and I am still the master of this house, if I may remind you?"
  
  "The owner of this house? It's funny because your own employees couldn't put up with your unpredictable behavior anymore!" she quipped. Lilith leaned over to look through Perdue at the man in the hat, whom she hated for his meddling. "I don't know who you are, sir, but you'd better leave. You are upsetting David's work."
  
  "Why are you complaining about me finishing my work, my dear?" - Calmly asked her Perdue. A faint smile threatened to appear on his face. "When you know full well that the equation was completed three nights ago."
  
  "I don't know anything about it," she protested. Lilith was furious at the allegations, mainly because they were true, and she feared she was about to lose control of David Purdue's affections. "Where are you getting all these lies from?"
  
  "The 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 fiercely. Her bitchiness gave way to tears, hoping to play the pity card, but to no avail. "Your security staff is with your household staff! Don't you see it? Of course they will hint that it was me."
  
  Perdue stood up and poured more brandy for himself and his guest. "Would you like that too, my dear?" he asked Lilith. She squealed in annoyance.
  
  Purdue added: "How would so many other dangerous scientists and businessmen know that I discovered Einstein's equation in The Lost City? Why were you so adamant that I do it? You have passed incomplete data to your colleagues, which is why you are pushing me to re-fill it. Without a solution, it is practically useless. You need to send those last few snippets for this to work."
  
  "That's right," Masters spoke for the first time.
  
  "You! Shut the fuck up!" she squealed.
  
  Purdue usually wouldn't let anyone yell at his guests, but he knew her hostility was a sign that she was accepted. Masters rose from his chair. He carefully took off his hat by the electric lamplight, while the glow of the fireplace gave color to his grotesque features. Purdue's eyes were frozen in horror at the sight of the mutilated man. His speech already betrayed that he was deformed, but he looked much worse than expected.
  
  Lilith Hurst recoiled, but the man's features were so distorted that she didn't recognize him. Perdue allowed the man to seize the moment because he was immensely curious.
  
  "Remember, Lilith, the chemical plant at Taft in Washington, DC," Masters slurred.
  
  She shook her head in fear, hoping that denying it would make it untrue. Memories of her and Philip setting up the vessel came back like blades thrusting into 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 my God, no, this can"t be!" Lilith sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "George Masters! George Masters is dead!"
  
  "Why did you assume that if you didn't plan on me being fried? You and Clifton Taft, Philip and other sick bastards used that Belgian physicist's theory in the hope that you could take the glory for yourself, you bitch!" Masters drawled as he approached the hysterical Lilith.
  
  "We did not know! It shouldn't have burned like this!" she tried to protest, but he shook his head.
  
  "No, even an elementary school science teacher knows that such an acceleration will cause the vessel to ignite at such a high rate," Masters screeched at her. "Then you tried what you're about to try now, only this time you're doing it on a devilish scale, aren't you?"
  
  "Wait," Perdue stopped the revelation. "What is the scale? What did they do?"
  
  Masters looked at Perdue, his deep-set eyes glinting from under his cast forehead. A hoarse chuckle escaped from the gap left by his mouth.
  
  "Lilith and Philip Hurst were funded by Clifton Taft to apply an equation roughly based on the infamous Dire Serpent to an experiment. I worked with a genius like you, a man named Casper Jacobs," he said slowly. "They found out that Dr. Jacobs solved Einstein's equation, not the famous one, but an ominous possibility in physics."
  
  "Terrible snake," Perdue muttered.
  
  "This," he hesitated about calling her whatever he wanted, "the woman and her colleagues robbed Jacobs of his authority. They used me as a test subject, knowing that the experiment would kill me. The speed while passing through the barrier destroyed the energy field at the facility, causing a massive explosion, leaving me with 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 at point-blank range in the head before aiming straight for Purdue.
  
  
  28
  terror train
  
  
  The delegates felt at home on the Trans-Siberian high-speed train. The two-day trip promised luxury equal to any luxury hotel in the world, except for pool privileges, which no one would appreciate in a Russian autumn anyway. Each large compartment was equipped with a queen size bed, minibar, private bathroom and heater.
  
  It was announced that due to the design of the train to the city of Tyumen, there would be no cellular or Internet connections.
  
  "I have to say, Taft really put a lot of effort into the interiors," McFadden chuckled jealously. He clutched his champagne glass and studied the interior of the train, Wolf at his side. Taft soon joined them. He looked focused but relaxed.
  
  "Have you heard from Zelda Bessler yet?" he asked Wolf.
  
  "No," Wolf answered, shaking his head. "But she says that Jacobs fled Brussels after we took Olga away. Damn coward probably thought he was next...had to get out. The best part is that he thinks his departure with his job leaves us devastated."
  
  "Yes, I know," the disgusting American grinned. "Maybe he's trying to be a hero and comes to save her." As they held back their laughter to match their image as members of the international council, McFadden asked Woolf, "By the way, where is she?"
  
  "Where do you think?" Wolf chuckled. "He's not stupid. He will know where to look."
  
  Taft didn't like odds. Dr. Jacobs was a very perceptive man, despite being exceptionally naive. He had no doubt that a scientist of his conviction would at least try to stalk his girlfriend.
  
  "As soon as we land in Tyumen, the project will be in full swing," Taft told the other two men. "We should have Casper Jacobs on this train by then so he can die with the rest of the delegates. The dimensions he created for the ship are 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 that she was missing from the big top-level 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 on hold. We leave during a stop in Tyumen while the delegates inspect the city's power reactor and listen to their pointless debriefing lecture." Wolf watched the guests on the train as Taft laid out a plan for the perpetually ignorant McFadden. "By the time the train continues to the next city, they should have noticed that we have left ... and that would be too late."
  
  "And you want Jacobs on the train with the symposium participants," McFadden said.
  
  "That's right," Taft confirmed. "He knows everything and he was about to defect. God knows what would happen to our hard work if he made public what we are working on."
  
  "Quite right," McFadden agreed. He slightly turned his back on Wolfe to talk to Taft in an undertone. Wolff excused himself to check the security of the delegates' dining car. McFadden took Taft aside.
  
  "I know now might not be the right time, but when I get mine..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, "grant for phase two?" I've eliminated the opposition in Oban for you, so I can support the proposal to install one there. from your reactors."
  
  "Do you need more money already?" Taft frowned. "I have 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 what?" Taft asked impatiently.
  
  "It's an uncertain political climate. I just need some insurance. Safety net," McFadden groveled.
  
  "McFadden, you will receive the money 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 nominate their successors," Taft explained. "All current vice presidents and ministerial candidates are members of Black Sun. As soon as they are sworn in, we will have a monopoly, and only then will you receive your second installment as a secret representative of the Order."
  
  "So, you are going to derail this train?" McFadden asked. He meant so little to Taft and his overall picture that it was not worth talking about him. However, the more McFadden knew, the more he had to lose, and this strengthened Taft's grip on his balls. Taft put his arms around the insignificant judge and the mayor.
  
  "Outside of Novosibirsk, on the other side of it, at the end of this railroad track, is a massive mountain structure built by Wolf's partners," Taft explained in the most patronizing way, since the mayor of Oban was a complete layman. "It is made of stone and ice, but inside it is a huge capsule that will harness and contain the immeasurable atomic energy created by a breach in the barrier. This capacitor will hold the generated energy."
  
  "Like a reactor," McFadden suggested.
  
  Taft sighed. "Yes, that's it. We have created similar modules in several countries around the world. All we need is an extremely heavy object rushing at amazing speed to destroy this barrier. Once we see what kind of atomic energy this train derailment is causing, we will know where and how to adjust the next fleet of ships appropriately for optimal efficiency."
  
  "Will they have passengers too?" McFadden asked curiously.
  
  Wolf came up behind him and grinned: "No, just that."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  In the back of the second car, three stowaways waited until dinner was over to start looking for Olga. It was already very late, but the pampered guests were spending extra time drinking after dinner.
  
  "I'm freezing," Nina complained in a trembling whisper. "Do you think we can drink something warm?"
  
  Casper peeked out the door every few minutes. He was so focused on finding Olga that he didn't feel cold or hungry, but he could tell that the handsome historian was feeling cold. Sam rubbed his hands. "I have to find Dima, our guy from the Bratva. I'm sure he can give us something."
  
  "I'll go get him," Kasper suggested.
  
  "No!" Sam exclaimed, holding out his hand. "They know you by sight, Casper. Are you crazy? I will go".
  
  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 the beef stroganoff behind the cook. All staff were unaware of what was planned for the train. They assumed that Sam was a very overdressed guest.
  
  "Hey dude, can we have a flask of coffee?" Sam asked Dima.
  
  The infantryman of the Bratva chuckled. "It's Russia. Vodka is warmer than coffee."
  
  A burst of laughter from the cooks and waiters made Sam smile. "Yeah, but coffee helps you sleep."
  
  "That's what a woman exists for," Dima winked. Again, the staff howled with laughter and agreement. Out of nowhere, Wolf Kretchoff appeared at the opposite door, silencing everyone as they returned to their household chores. It was too fast for Sam to escape from the other side and he noticed that Wulf had spotted him. In all his years of investigative journalism, he had learned not to panic before the first bullet flew. Sam watched as a monstrous cutthroat with a hedgehog and ice-cold eyes approached him.
  
  "Who are you?" he asked Sam.
  
  "Press," Sam replied quickly.
  
  "Where is your pass?" Wolf wanted to know.
  
  "In our delegate's room," Sam replied, pretending that Wolfe must have known the protocol.
  
  "In which country?"
  
  "United Kingdom," Sam said confidently as his eyes pierced through and through the brute he couldn't wait to meet alone somewhere on the train. His heart jumped as he and Wolfe stared at each other, but Sam felt no fear, only hatred. "Why is your galley not equipped for quick coffee, Mr. Krechoff? It is supposed to be a luxury train."
  
  "Do you work in the media or in a women's magazine, rating service?" The wolf was making fun of Sam, while around the two men only the clink of knives and pots could be heard.
  
  "If I did, you wouldn't get a good response," Sam snapped bluntly.
  
  Dima stood at the stove, arms crossed over his chest, watching the development of events. He was ordered to safely escort Sam and his friends through the Siberian landscape, but not to interfere or blow his cover. However, he despised Wolf Kretchoff, as did all of them at his head. Finally, Wolf just turned and walked to the door where Dima was standing. As soon as he left, and everyone relaxed, Dima looked at Sam, exhaling with great relief. "Now you want some vodka?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  After everyone had dispersed, the train was illuminated only by the lights of a narrow corridor. Casper was getting ready to jump, and Sam was strapping on one of his new favorites, a rubber collar with a built-in camera that he used for diving, but Perdue had perfected it for him. It would stream all recorded footage to an independent server that Purdue had set up specifically for that purpose. At the same time, he saved the recorded material on a tiny memory card. This avoided Sam being caught filming where he shouldn't have been.
  
  Nina was assigned to guard the nest and communicated with Sam via a tablet connected to his watch. Casper oversaw all the timing and linking, fitting and setting up as the train hummed softly. He shook his head. "Damn, you two are like MI6 characters."
  
  Sam and Nina chuckled and looked at each other with mischievous amusement. Nina whispered, "That remark is more creepy than you think, Casper."
  
  "All right, I'll search the engine room and the forward section while you take care of the carriages and galleys, Casper," Sam instructed. Casper didn't care which side of the train he started looking for, as long as they found Olga. While Nina guarded their makeshift base, Sam and Casper moved forward until they reached the first car, where they split up.
  
  Sam crept past the compartment in the hum of the sliding train. He didn't like the idea that the tracks didn't rattle in that hypnotic rhythm of old, when the steel wheels still engaged the joints in the tracks. When he got to the dining room, he noticed a faint light coming through the double doors two sections up.
  
  'Engine room. Could she have been there?" he wondered as he continued. The prospect of finding Olga dead gave Sam goosebumps.
  
  With great care, Sam opened and passed the first door, entering the personnel-only section directly in front of the engine. He puffed like an old steamer, and Sam found it strangely soothing. He heard voices in the engine room that awakened his natural instinct to explore.
  
  "Please Zelda, you can't be so negative," Taft told a woman in the control room. Sam set his camera to a different capture setting to optimize visibility and sound.
  
  "It takes too long," Bessler complained. "Hirst is supposed to be one of our best and here we are on board and she still has to send the last few numbers."
  
  "Remember, she told us that Purdue was finishing it as we talked," Taft said. "We are almost in Tyumen. Then we can go out and watch from a distance. As long as you set the acceleration to hypersonic after the group is back in action, we can manage the rest."
  
  "No, we can't, Clifton!" she hissed. "In fact of the matter. Until Hurst sends me a solution with the last variable, I can't program the speed. What happens if we can't set the boost before they all turn back on in the bad section? Maybe we can just give them a nice train ride to Novosibirsk? Don't be a fucking idiot."
  
  Sam caught his breath in the darkness. 'Acceleration to hypersonic speed? Jesus Christ, this will kill everyone, not to mention the nature of the impact, when we run out of traces!" his inner voice warned. Masters was right after all, Sam thought. He hurried back to the end of the train, speaking into the communicator. " Nina, Kasper," he whispered. "We have to find Olga now! If we're still on this train after Tyumen, we're dead."
  
  
  29
  Decay
  
  
  Glasses and bottles exploded over Purdue's head as Lilith opened fire. He had to dive behind the bar near the fireplace for a long time, because he was too far from Lilith to subdue her before she pulled the trigger. Now he was cornered. He grabbed a bottle of tequila and swung the open bottle around so that the contents spilled all over the counter. He took out a lighter from his pocket, which he used to kindle a fire in the fireplace, and set fire to alcohol to distract Lilith.
  
  At the moment when flames flared along the bar, he jumped up and attacked her. Perdue hasn't been as fast as ever, due to the deterioration caused by his fairly new operating cuts. Luckily for him, she was a poor shot when the skulls were only inches away from her, and he heard her shoot three more. Smoke billowed from the counter as Perdue lunged at Lilith, trying to wrest the gun from her.
  
  "And I was trying to help you get some interest back in science!" he growled under the pressure of the struggle. "Now you just proved that you are a cold-blooded killer just like the man said!"
  
  She hit Purdue with her elbow. Blood flowed down 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 the trust of a stranger! You're as bad as Philip said when he died! He knew you were just a selfish bastard who places more value on relics and extorting treasures from other countries than caring for the people who admire you."
  
  Perdue decided not to feel guilty about it anymore.
  
  "Look where caring for people has gotten me, Lilith!" he protested, 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 slam her gun hand to the floor. "It's just blood, isn't it? Take your damn medicine!"
  
  Lilith played dishonestly. With all her strength, she pressed down on Purdue's fresh scars, causing him to cry out in agony. At the door, she heard security trying to open it, yelling Purdue's name, as the fire alarm went off. Lilith abandoned the idea of killing Purdue, choosing to run away. But not before she rushed down the stairs to the server room to retrieve the last bit of data that was static on the old machine again. She wrote them down in Purdue's pen and rushed upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve her bag and communication devices.
  
  Downstairs, the guards banged on the door, but Purdue wanted to catch her while she was around. If he had opened the door for them, Lilith would have had time to escape. His whole body ached and burning from her onslaught, he hurried up the stairs to intercept her.
  
  Perdue ran into her at the entrance to a dark corridor. Looking like she had a fight with a lawn mower, Lilith pointed her Glock straight at him. "Too late, David. I have just relayed the last part of Einstein's equation to my colleagues in Russia."
  
  Her finger began to tighten, this time leaving no way for him to escape. He counted her ammo, and she still had half a clip left. Purdue didn't want to waste his last moments chastising himself for his terrible weaknesses. He had nowhere to run, since both walls of the corridor surrounded him on both sides, and the security people were still storming the doors. A window shattered downstairs and they heard the device finally break into the house.
  
  "Looks like it's time for me to leave," she smiled through broken teeth.
  
  A tall figure appeared from behind her in the shadows, his blow striking the base of her skull. Lilith collapsed instantly, revealing her attacker to Perdue. "Yes, madam, I dare say you are fucking long overdue," said the stern butler.
  
  Perdue squealed with delight and relief. His knees buckled, but Charles caught him just in time. "Charles, you're a feast for the eyes," Purdue muttered as his butler turned on the light to help him get to bed. "What are you doing here?"
  
  He sat Perdue down and looked at him like he was crazy. "Well, sir, I live here."
  
  Perdue was exhausted and in pain, his house smelled of fire, and the dining room floor was adorned with a dead man, and yet he laughed with joy.
  
  "We heard shots," Charles explained. "I came to collect my things from my apartment. Since the guards couldn't get in, I entered through the kitchen as usual. I still have my key, see?"
  
  Perdue was overjoyed, but he needed to pick up Lilith's transmitter before it went offline. "Charles, can you take her bag and bring it here?" I don"t want the police to give it back to her as soon as they get there."
  
  "Of course, sir," the butler replied, as if he had never left.
  
  
  thirty
  Chaos Part I
  
  
  The Siberian morning cold was a special kind of hell. Where Nina, Sam and Casper hid, there was no heating. It was more like a small pantry for tools and extra linens, although Valkyrie was approaching disaster and hardly needed to store comfort items. Nina was trembling 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 relayed scared Nina to death. After all the dangers she faced on Purdue's expeditions, she didn't want to think about meeting her end in an atomic explosion in Russia. He was on his way back, searching the dining car and galleys. Casper was checking the empty compartments, but he had a strong suspicion that Olga was being held back 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 that he saw Taft with Bessler in the engine room, which seemed to Kasper the perfect moment to inspect Taft's vacant premises. Putting his ear to the door, he listened. There was no sound other than the creaking of the train and the heaters. Of course the compartment was locked when he tried to open the door. Casper examined the panels next to the door to find the entrance to the room. He pushed a sheet of steel covering away from the edge of the doorway, but it was too strong.
  
  Something caught his attention under the wedged leaf, something that sent chills down his spine. Casper gasped as he recognized the titanium bottom plate and its design. Something knocked inside the room, forcing him to find a way to enter.
  
  Think with your head. You're an engineer, he told himself.
  
  If that was what he thought, then he knew how to open the door. He quickly crept back to the back room where Nina was, hoping to find what he needed among the tools.
  
  "Oh, Casper, you will give me a heart attack!" Nina whispered as he emerged from behind the door. "Where is Sam?"
  
  "I don't know," he replied hastily, looking completely concerned. "Nina, please find me something like a magnet. Faster Please ".
  
  She knew from his insistence that there was no time for questioning, so she began rummaging through the paneled boxes and shelves 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 rails. There must be loose bits 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 tap," he remarked. "Look for something more boring. Do you know what a magnet looks like? That kind of stuff, but just bigger."
  
  "Like this?" she asked, provoking his impatience, but she was only trying to help. Sighing, Casper nodded to her and looked at what she had. She held a gray disk in her hands.
  
  "Nina!" he exclaimed. "Yes! It's perfect!"
  
  A kiss on the cheek rewarded Nina for finding her way into Taft's room, and before she knew it, Casper was out the door. It crashed right into Sam in the dark, both men screaming at the unexpected start.
  
  "What are you doing?" Sam asked in an urgent tone.
  
  "I'm going to use this to get into Taft's room, Sam. I'm pretty sure he had Olga there," Kasper rushed, trying to push past Sam, but Sam blocked his path.
  
  "You can't go there now. He just got back to his compartment, Casper. This is what made me come back here. Get Nina back inside," he commanded, checking the corridor behind them. Another figure was approaching, a large and imposing figure.
  
  "Sam, I need to pick her up," Casper groaned.
  
  "Yes, and you will, but think with your head, dude," Sam replied, unceremoniously pushing Casper into the pantry. "You can't get there while he's there."
  
  "I can. I'll just kill him and take her," whimpered the distraught physicist, seizing on reckless possibilities.
  
  "Just sit down and relax. She won't go anywhere until tomorrow. At least we have an idea where she is, but for now we need to shut the hell up. The wolf is coming," Sam said sternly. Again, the mention of his name made Nina nauseous. The three of them cowered and sat motionless in the darkness, listening to Wolf march past, checking the corridor. Scuffing his feet, he stopped 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 being discovered, but instead he locked the door tightly and left.
  
  "How are we going to get out?" Nina wheezed. "This is not a branch that can be opened from the inside! He has no blockage!"
  
  "Don't worry," Casper said. "We can open this door like I was going to open the Taft door."
  
  "With a magnet," Nina replied.
  
  Sam was confused. "Tell".
  
  "I think you're right that we should get off this train as soon as possible, Sam," Casper said. "You see, it's not really a train. I acknowledge its design because... I built it. This is the ship I worked on for the Order! This is an experimental vessel that they planned to use to overcome the barrier with speed, weight and acceleration. When I tried to break into Taft's room, I found the underlying panels, magnetic sheets, which I had placed on the ship at the construction site in Meerdalwood. This is the big brother of the experiment that went horribly wrong a few years ago, the reason I dropped the project and hired Taft."
  
  "Oh my God!" Nina gasped. "Is this an experiment?"
  
  "Yes," Sam agreed. Now everything made sense. "Masters explained that they would use the Einstein equation found by Purdue in The Lost City to propel this train - this ship - to hypersonic speeds to allow for 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 site of impact 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 thugs are landing in Tyumen, where the delegation will inspect the Tyumen power plant. The catch is that they don't go back to delegation. After Tyumen, this train heads straight for the mountains past Novosibirsk, accelerating every second."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The next day, after a cold night, when there was almost no sleep, three stowaways heard the Valkyrie enter the station in Tyumen. Over the intercom, Bessler announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our first inspection, the city of Tyumen."
  
  Sam hugged Nina tightly, trying to keep her warm. He encouraged himself with short breaths and looked at his comrades. "Moment of truth, folks. As soon as they all get off the train, each of us will take his compartment and look for Olga."
  
  "I broke the magnet into three pieces so we could get where we need to go," Kasper said.
  
  "Just act calm if you run into waiters or other staff. They don't know we're not in a band," Sam advised. "Go. We have a maximum of an hour."
  
  The three 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 succeeded in convincing Purdue not to complete the equation. As he rummaged through cupboards, under bunks and tables, he heard a noise in the galley as they were about to leave. Their shift ended on this train.
  
  Casper proceeded with his plan to sneak into Taft's room, and his second plan was to prevent the delegation from boarding the train again. Using magnetic manipulation, he gained access to the room. When Casper entered the room, he let out a scream of panic, which was heard by both Sam and Nina. On the bed he saw Olga, chained and cruel. Even worse, he saw Wolf sitting on the bed with her.
  
  "Hello Jacobs," Wolf smirked in his mischievous way. "I've only been waiting for you."
  
  Casper had no idea what to do. He thought Wolf was escorting the others, and seeing him sitting next to Olga was a living nightmare. With a vicious chuckle, Wolf rushed forward and grabbed Casper. Olga's screams were muffled, but she fought so hard against her restraints that her skin was torn in places. Kasper's punches were useless against the bandit's steel torso. Sam and Nina burst in from the corridor to help him.
  
  When Wolf saw Nina, his eyes were fixed 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. With full force, Sam kicked Wolfe's knee, crushing it at the kneecap. Roaring in pain and rage, Wolf sank down, leaving his face wide open for Sam to bring his fists down on him. The bandit was used to fighting and shot Sam several times.
  
  "Release her and get off that damn train! Now!" Nina yelled at Casper.
  
  "I have to help Sam," he protested, but the defiant historian grabbed his arm and pushed him towards Olga.
  
  "If you two don't get off this train, it will all be for nothing, Dr. Jacobs!" Nina yelped. Casper knew she was right. There was no time to argue or think about alternatives. He untied his girlfriend while Wolfe planted a hard knee on Sam's stomach. Nina tried to find something to knock him out, but luckily she was joined by Dima, the Bratva's contact. Knowing a lot about close combat, Dima quickly laid down Wulf, saving Sam from another blow to the face.
  
  Kasper carried the badly injured Olga out and looked back at Nina before getting off the Valkyrie. The historian blew them a kiss and motioned for them to leave before she disappeared back into the room. He was supposed to take Olga to the hospital, asking passers-by where the nearest medical facility was. They immediately rendered assistance to the injured couple, but a delegation was returning at a distance.
  
  Zelda Bessler received a transmission sent by Lilith Hurst before she was overwhelmed by the butler at Reichtisusis and the timer on the engine 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 on board and headed to the back of the train to leave the ship. Hearing a noise in Taft's room, she tried to pass by, but Dima stopped her.
  
  "You will stay!" he shouted. "Go back to the control room and switch off!"
  
  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, tearing his abdomen into strips of crimson flesh. Nina was silent so as not to attract attention. Sam was unconscious on the floor, as was Wolf, but Bessler had to catch the elevator and thought they were dead.
  
  Nina tried to bring Sam to his senses. She was strong, but there was no way she could carry it out. To her horror, she felt the train move, and a recorded announcement blared from the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the Valkyrie. Our next inspection will take place in the city of Novosibirsk."
  
  
  31
  Corrective measures
  
  
  After the police left the Reichtisusis compound with George Masters in a body bag and Lilith Hearst in shackles, Perdue trudged through the gloomy setting of his lobby and adjoining living room and dining room. He assessed the damage to the site from the bullet holes in its rosewood wall paneling and furniture. He stared at the bloodstains on his expensive Persian tapestries and carpets. Repairing the burnt bar and damage to the ceiling must have taken some time.
  
  "Tea, sir?" Charles asked, but Perdue looked like hell on his feet. Perdue wandered silently into his server room. "I'd like some tea, thanks, Charles." Perdue's eye was caught by the figure of Lillian standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling at him. "Hi Lily."
  
  "Hi, Mr. Perdue," she beamed, happy to know he was all right.
  
  Purdue entered the dark retreat of a warm, buzzing chamber filled with electronics where he felt at home. He studied the clear signs of deliberate sabotage of his wiring and shook his head. "And they wonder why I stay single."
  
  He decided to look through the messages through his private servers and was amazed to find some dark and ominous news from Sam even though it was a little late. Perdue's eyes flickered over George Masters' words, Dr. Casper Jacobs's information, and the full interview Sam had with him about the secret plan to assassinate the delegates. Perdue recalled that Sam was on his way to Belgium, but has not been heard from since.
  
  Charles brought his tea. Earl Gray in a hot computer fan fragrance was Purdue's paradise. "I can't apologize enough, Charles," he told the butler who saved his life. "I am ashamed of how easily I am influenced and how I acted, all because of a damn woman."
  
  "And for the sexual weakness for the long division," Charles joked in his dry manner. Perdue had to laugh while his body ached. "It's all right, sir. Until all ends well."
  
  "So be it," Perdue smiled, shaking Charles's gloved hand. "Do you know when this came, or did Mr. Cleve call?"
  
  "Unfortunately not, sir," the butler replied.
  
  "Doctor Gould?" he asked.
  
  "No, sir," Charles replied. "Not a word. Jane will be back tomorrow if that helps."
  
  Purdue went through his satellite device, email, and personal cell phone and found that they were all full of missed calls from Sam Cleve. 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 start cleaning the house, so to speak.
  
  On his desk was the contents of Lilith's purse. He handed over her already searched bag to the police. Among the technology she wore, he found her transmitter. When he saw that the completed equation had been sent to Russia, Purdue's heart stopped.
  
  "God damn it!" he breathed.
  
  Perdue immediately jumped up. He took a quick sip of his tea and rushed to another server that could support satellite transmission. His hands shook as he hurried. Once the connection was established, Purdue started coding like crazy, triangulating the visible channel to keep track of the position of the receiver. At the same time, he traced the remote device controlling the object to which the equation was sent.
  
  "Do you want to play war games?" he asked. "Let me remind you who you're dealing with."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  While Clifton Taft and his lackeys eagerly sipped martinis and anxiously awaited the results of their lucrative failure, their limousine headed northeast towards Tomsk. Zelda had a transmitter that controlled the Valkyrie's locks and collision data.
  
  "How are things going?" Taft asked.
  
  "Currently, the acceleration is in line with the plan. They should be approaching Mach 1 in about twenty minutes," Zelda said smugly. "Looks like Hurst did her job after all. Wolf took his own convoy?"
  
  "No idea," McFadden said. "I tried to call him, but his mobile phone is switched off. To be honest, 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 part. He probably went home to fuck his spotter," Taft growled with a twisted laugh. "By the way, I saw Jacobs last night on the train fiddling with my room door."
  
  "Good, then he was taken care of too," Bessler grinned, happy to take his place as project leader.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Meanwhile, aboard the Valkyrie, Nina desperately tried to wake Sam up. She could feel the train speeding up from time to time. Her body didn't lie, feeling the overdrive effects of the speeding train. Outside, in the corridor, she could hear the embarrassed mutterings of the international delegation. They, too, felt the jolt of the train and, having no caboose or bar at hand, began to be suspicious of the American tycoon and his accomplices.
  
  "They are not here. I checked," she heard the United States representative say to the others.
  
  "Perhaps they will be left behind?" the Chinese delegate suggested.
  
  "Why did they forget to get on their own train?" someone else suggested. Somewhere in the next carriage, someone began to vomit. Nina didn't want to panic by clearing things up, but that would be better than letting them all guess and go crazy.
  
  Looking out the door, Nina gestured for the head of the Atomic Energy Agency to come up to her. She closed it behind her so that the man would not see the unconscious body of Wolf Kretchoff.
  
  "Sir, my name is Dr. Gould from Scotland. I can tell you what's going on, but I need you to stay calm, you understand? she began.
  
  "What is it about?" he asked sharply.
  
  "Listen carefully. I am not your enemy, but I know what is going on and I need you to reach out to the delegation with an explanation while I am trying to resolve the issue," she said. Slowly and calmly, she relayed the information to the man. She could see him getting more and more frightened, but she kept her tone as calm and controlled as possible. His face turned grey, but he kept his composure. Nodding to Nina, he left to talk to the others.
  
  She rushed back into the room and tried to wake Sam up.
  
  "Sam! Wake up, for Christ's sake! I need you!" she whimpered, slapping Sam on the cheek, trying not to get so desperate she might hit him. "Sam! We are going to die. I want company!"
  
  "I will keep you company," Wolf said sarcastically. He woke up from the crushing blow that Dima had dealt him, and was delighted to see a dead mob soldier at the foot of the bunk where Nina bent over Sam.
  
  "God, Sam, if there's ever a good time to wake up, it's now," she muttered as she slapped him. Wolf's laughter caused Nina real horror, forcing her to remember his cruelty towards her. He crawled over the bed, his face bloodied and obscene.
  
  "Want more?" he chuckled, his teeth bleeding. "I'm making you scream harder this time, right?" He laughed wildly.
  
  It was obvious that Sam was not reacting to her. Nina imperceptibly reached for Dima's ten-inch khanjali, a magnificent and deadly dagger holstered under her arm. Once in her power, she felt more confident, and Nina was not 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 on her. His huge body leaned against the edge of the bed to crush her, but Nina reacted quickly. Rolling away, she dodged his attack and waited for the moment when he fell to the floor. Nina drew a knife, holding it straight to his throat, impaling a Russian bandit in an expensive suit. The blade entered his throat and went right through. She felt the tip of the steel shift the vertebrae in his neck, severing his spinal cord.
  
  In hysterics, Nina couldn't take it anymore. The Valkyrie accelerated a little more, pushing the bile out of her and up her throat. "Sam!" she screamed until her voice broke. It didn't matter, since the delegates in the dining car were just as upset. Sam woke up, his eyes dancing in their sockets. "Wake up motherfucker!" she screamed.
  
  "I wake up!" he winced, groaning.
  
  "Sam, we need to get to the engine room immediately!" she sniffled, crying in shock at her new ordeal with Wulf. Sam sat down to hug her and saw that the monster's neck was bleeding.
  
  "I got him, Sam," she screamed.
  
  He smiled, "I couldn't have done a better job."
  
  Sniffing, Nina stood up and straightened her clothes. "Engine room!" Sam said. "This is the only place where there is a reception, I'm sure." They quickly washed and dried their hands in the basin and rushed to the front of the Valkyrie. As Nina passed the delegates, she tried to calm them down, even though she was convinced that they were all going to Hell.
  
  Once in the engine room, they took a closer look at the flickering lights and controls.
  
  "All this has nothing to do with driving this train," Sam squealed in frustration. He took his phone out of his pocket. "God, I can't believe this is still working," he remarked as he searched for the signal. The train picked up another step, and screams filled the carriages.
  
  "You can't scream, Sam," she frowned. "You know it".
  
  "I'm not calling," he coughed at the force of the speed. "Soon we won't be able to move. Then our bones will start to crackle."
  
  She looked askance at him. "I don't need to hear it."
  
  He entered the code into the phone, the code Purdue had given him, to connect to the satellite tracking system, which needed no maintenance to work. "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 was discharged from the intensive care unit, she was recovering in a separate room, paid for by Casper Jacobs, who remained at her bedside. From time to time she regained consciousness and talked a little, only to fall asleep again.
  
  He was enraged by the fact that Sam and Nina had to pay for what his service to the Black Sun had led to. This not only upset him, but also infuriated him that the American slug Taft managed to survive the impending tragedy and celebrate it with Zelda Bessler and that Scottish loser McFadden. But what drove him to the extreme was the knowledge that Wolf Kretchoff could get away with what he did to Olga and Nina.
  
  Thinking insanely, the worried scientist tried to find a way to do something. On the positive side, he decided that all was not lost. He called Purdue, just as he had the first time he'd tried to reach him, only this time it was Perdue who answered.
  
  "My God! I can't believe I got through to you," Casper breathed.
  
  "I'm afraid I'm a little distracted," Purdue replied. "Is this Dr. Jacobs?"
  
  "How do you know?" Casper asked.
  
  "I see your number on my satellite tracker. Are you with Sam? Perdue asked.
  
  "No, but I'm calling because of him," Casper replied. He explained everything to Purdue, down to where he and Olga had to get off the train, and had no idea where Taft and his henchmen were going. "However, I believe Zelda Bessler has a remote control for the Valkyrie's control panels," Casper Perdue said.
  
  The billionaire smiled at the flickering of his computer screen. "So, this is what it is?"
  
  "Do you have a position?" Casper exclaimed excitedly. "Mr Perdue, can I have this tracking code please?"
  
  Purdue learned from reading Dr. Jacobs's theories that the man himself was a genius. "Do you have a pen?" Perdue grinned, feeling like his old frivolous man again. He manipulated 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 going to do?" he asked Casper.
  
  "I'm going to use a failed experiment to ensure a successful eradication," Kasper replied coolly. "Before I leave. Please hurry if there is anything you can do to weaken Valkyrie's magnetism, Mr Perdue. Your friends will soon enter a dangerous stage from which they will not return."
  
  "Good luck, old man," Perdue said goodbye to his new acquaintance. It immediately connected to the signal of the moving ship, simultaneously hacking into the rail system it was passing through. He was heading to an intersection in the city of Polskaya, where, according to calculations, he was supposed to accelerate to Mach 3."
  
  "Hello?" he heard from a speaker connected to his communications system.
  
  "Sam!" Perdue exclaimed.
  
  "Perdue! Help us!" he shouted through the speaker. "Nina lost consciousness. Most people on the train have. I'm losing my sight fast and it looks like a damn oven in here!"
  
  "Listen, Sam!" Perdue shouted over him. "I'm refocusing the mechanics of the track as we speak. Wait three more minutes. Once the Valkyrie switches trajectory, it will lose its magnetic generation and slow down!"
  
  "Jesus Christ! Three minutes? By then we will be roasting!" Sam screamed.
  
  "Three minutes, Sam! Hold on!" Perdue screamed. At the server room door, Charles and Lillian came over to look, causing a roar. They knew it was best not to ask or interfere, but they listened to the drama from a distance, looking terribly worried. "Of course, changing tracks involves the risk of a head-on collision, but right now I don't see any other trains," he told two of his employees. Lillian prayed. Charles swallowed hard.
  
  On the train, Sam gasped for air, finding no comfort in the icy landscape that melted as the Valkyrie passed. He lifted Nina up to revive her, but his body was the weight of a 16-wheeler and he couldn't move on. "Mach 3 in a few seconds. We are all dead."
  
  The sign for Polskaya appeared in front of the train and in the blink of an eye passed them. Sam held his breath, feeling the weight of his own body rapidly increase. He couldn't see anything else when he suddenly heard the clatter of a railroad switch. The Valkyrie seemed to be derailing due to the sudden rupture of the magnetic field onto the normal rail, 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. She was simply moving too fast to stay on the tracks, but by this point she had slowed down enough to accelerate to below normal speed. He braced himself and pulled Nina's unconscious body close to him, covering her head with his hands. There was a magnificent crash, followed by the devil-possessed ship capsizing at a still impressive speed. A deafening crack folded the machine in half, throwing off 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 here before the fuel burned out. It was atomic fuel, after all, he thought. Sam wasn't an expert on which minerals were the most volatile, but he didn't want to risk thorium. However, he found that his body had completely failed him and he couldn't move an inch. Sitting there, in the ice of Siberia, he realized how much he felt out of his element. His body still weighed a ton, and a minute ago he had been roasted alive, and now he was cold.
  
  Some of the surviving members of the delegation gradually crawled out onto the freezing snow. Sam watched Nina recover slowly and dared to smile. Her dark eyes fluttered as she looked up at him. "Sam?"
  
  "Yes, love," he coughed and smiled. "After all, there is a God."
  
  She smiled and looked up at the gray sky above, exhaling in relief and pain. Grateful, she said, "Thank you, Purdue."
  
  
  33
  Redemption
  
  
  
  Edinburgh - three weeks later
  
  
  Nina was treated at a proper medical facility after she and the other survivors were brought by helicopter with all of her injuries. It took her and Sam three weeks to return to Edinburgh, where their first stop was Reichtisusis. Purdue, in order to reconnect with his friends, arranged for a large catering company to organize a dinner so that he could douse his guests.
  
  Notorious for his eccentricity, Perdue set a precedent when he invited his housekeeper and butler to a private dinner. Sam and Nina were still black and blue, but they were safe.
  
  "I suppose a toast is appropriate," he said, raising his crystal champagne glass. "To my industrious and always faithful servants, Lily and Charles."
  
  Lily giggled while Charles kept a straight face. She punched him in the ribs. "Smile".
  
  "Once a butler, always a butler, my dear Lillian," he replied ironically, drawing laughter from the others.
  
  "And my friend David," Sam put in. "Let him receive treatment only in the hospital and give up home care forever!"
  
  "Amen," Perdue agreed, eyes wide.
  
  "By the way, did we miss anything while recovering in Novosibirsk?" - Asked Nina with a mouthful of caviar and salty biscuit.
  
  "I don't care," Sam shrugged and gulped down his champagne to top up his whiskey.
  
  "Perhaps you will find it interesting," Purdue assured them with a gleam in his eye. "It was in the news after reports of deaths and injuries in the train tragedy. I wrote it down the day after you were admitted to the hospital there. Come see it."
  
  They turned to the laptop screen that Purdue had on the still-charred bar. Nina gasped and nudged Sam at the sight of the same reporter who was doing the ghost train report she had recorded for Sam. It had a subtitle.
  
  "After allegations that a ghost train killed two teenagers on deserted train tracks a few weeks ago, this reporter is once again bringing you the unthinkable."
  
  Behind the woman, in the background, was a Russian city called Tomsk.
  
  The mutilated bodies of American tycoon Clifton Taft, Belgian scientist Dr. Zelda Bessler and Scottish mayoral candidate Hon. Lance McFadden was found on the railroad track yesterday. Local residents reported seeing a locomotive appear seemingly out of nowhere, while three patrons were reportedly walking on the tracks after their limousine broke down.
  
  "EM pulses do it," Perdue grinned from his seat behind the counter.
  
  Tomsk Mayor Vladimir Nelidov condemned the tragedy but explained that the appearance of the so-called ghost train was simply the result of the train driving through yesterday's heavy snowfall. He insisted that there was nothing strange about this terrible incident and that it was just an unfortunate accident due to poor visibility.
  
  Perdue turned it off and shook his head, smiling.
  
  "Looks like Dr. Jacobs enlisted the help of the late Uncle Olga's colleagues from the Russian Secret Physical Society," Perdue laughed, remembering that Kasper had mentioned a 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 are a saint, a saint who receives gifts from the Russian lads for killing their main opponent with a fucking dagger." His statement drew more laughter than she thought.
  
  "But overall, I'm glad that Dr. Jacobs is now in Belarus, away from the vultures of the Nazi elite," Perdue sighed. He looked at Sam and Nina. "God knows he redeemed himself a thousand times for his actions when he called me, otherwise I would never have known that you were in danger."
  
  Don't rule yourself out, Perdue, Nina reminded him. "It's one thing that he warned you, but you still made the all-important decision to atone for your guilt."
  
  She winked, "You answered."
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Preston W. Child
  Babylonian mask
  
  
  Where is the meaning in feelings when there is no face?
  
  Where does the Blind wander when all around is darkness and holes, emptiness?
  
  Where does the Heart speak without releasing the lips with its tongue to say goodbye?
  
  Where is the sweet fragrance of roses and the breath of a lover caught when there is no scent of lies?
  
  How will I say?
  
  How will I say?
  
  What are they hiding behind their masks?
  
  When their faces are hidden and their voices are forced?
  
  Do they hold Heaven?
  
  Or do they own Hell?
  
   - Masque de Babel (circa 1682 - Versailles)
  
  
   Chapter 1 - Burning Man
  
  
  Nina blinked widely.
  
  Her eyes listened to her synapses as her sleep drifted into REM sleep, throwing her into the cruel clutches of her subconscious. In the private ward of the Heidelberg University Hospital, a light burned late at night, where Dr. Nina Gould was hospitalized to eliminate, if possible, the terrible consequences of radiation sickness. Until now, it has been difficult to determine how critical her case really was, as the man who accompanied her did not accurately convey the level of her exposure. The best he could say was that he found her wandering through the underground tunnels of Chernobyl for several hours longer than any living creature could recover.
  
  "He didn"t tell us everything," Sister Barken confirmed to her small group of subordinates, "but I had a distinct suspicion that it wasn"t half of what Dr. Gould had to go through down there before he claimed to have found her." . She shrugged and sighed. "Unfortunately, with the exception of arresting him for a crime for which we have no evidence, we had to let him go and deal with what little information we had."
  
  The obligatory sympathy played on the faces of the interns, but they only masked the boredom of the night under professional disguises. Their young blood sang for the freedom of the pub where the group usually met after their shift together, or for the hugs of their lovers at this time of the night. Sister Barken hated their ambiguity and missed the company of her peers, where she could barter factual, convincing verdicts with those who were equally skilled and passionate about medicine.
  
  Her bulging eyeballs combed through them one by one as she spoke of Dr. Gould's condition. The slanting corners of her thin lips turned down, expressing the displeasure she often reflected in her harsh, low tone when she spoke. In addition to being a stern veteran of the German medical practice followed 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 doctor or even a permanent consultant.
  
  "What is the nature of her circumstances, Sister Barken?" the young nurse asked, shocking her sister with a display of genuine interest. The healthy fifty-year-old boss took a minute to answer, looking almost happy to have been asked the question, instead of staring into the comatose eyes of titled shorties all night.
  
  "Well, that's all we could find out from the German gentleman who brought her here, Nurse Marks. We could not find any confirmation as to 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 rescued in time to receive treatment. Although she has all the signs of acute poisoning, her body seems to be able to deal with it satisfactorily... for now."
  
  Sister Marks nodded, ignoring the mocking reactions of her colleagues. This intrigued her. After all, she had heard a lot about this Nina Gould from her mother. At first, judging by the way she chatted about her, she thought her mother really knew the miniature Scottish storyteller. However, it didn't take long for medical student Marlene Marks to learn that her mother was simply an avid reader of magazines and two books published by Gould. Thus, Nina Gould was something of a celebrity in her home.
  
  Was this another one of the secret excursions undertaken by the historian, similar to those she touched lightly on in her books? Marlene often wondered why Dr. Gould did not write more about her adventures with renowned Edinburgh explorer and inventor David Perdue, but rather hinted at numerous travels. Then there was the well-known connection with the world-famous investigative journalist Sam Cleave, about whom Dr. Gould wrote. Marlene's mother not only spoke of Nina as a family friend, but talked about her life as if the absurd story was a walking soap opera.
  
  It was only a matter of time before Marlene's mother started reading books about Sam Cleve or those published by himself, if only to learn more about the other rooms in the large Gould mansion. It was because of all this mania 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 like that. This made Marlene smile to herself, but at the risk of arousing Sister Barken's carefully avoided wrath, 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. Under their feet, a team of orderlies and nurses from the night staff surrounded a screaming young man who refused to be strapped into a gurney.
  
  "Please sir, you have to stop screaming!" - the senior nurse on duty begged the man, blocking his furious path of destruction with her rather large body. Her eyes darted to one of the orderlies, armed with an injection of succinylcholine, secretly approaching the burn victim. The horrifying sight of the man crying made the two new employees choke, barely holding back as they waited for the head nurse to call out her next order. However, for most of them, this was a typical panic scenario, although every circumstance was different. They had never before, for example, had a burn victim run into the emergency room, let alone still smoke out of him as he skidded, losing chunks of flesh from his chest and stomach along the way.
  
  Thirty-five seconds seemed like two hours to the bewildered German medical workers. Shortly after the large woman cornered the victim with a blackened head and chest, the screams stopped abruptly, replaced by wheezing asphyxiation.
  
  "Swelling of the respiratory tract!" she roared in a powerful voice that could be heard throughout the emergency room. "Intubation, immediately!"
  
  The crouching male nurse lunged forward, plunging the needle into the cracked skin of the man who was choking, pressing the plunger without hesitation. He winced as the syringe crunched into the poor patient's epidermis, but it had to be done.
  
  "God! This smell is disgusting! one of the nurses snorted under her breath 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 hit their senses. It wasn't very professional, but they were only human after all.
  
  "Get him to OR B!" - the strong lady thundered to her staff. Schnell! He's in cardiac arrest, people! Move!" They placed an oxygen mask on the convulsing patient as his coherence weakened. No one noticed a tall old man in a black coat following his trail. His long, stretching shadow darkened the untouched glass of the door where he stood, watching the smoking carcass being carried away. From under the brim of his fedora, his green eyes gleamed, and his dry lips grinned in defeat.
  
  With all the chaos in the emergency room, he knew he wouldn't be seen, and slipped through the doors to visit the locker room on the first floor, a few feet from the waiting room. Once in the locker room, he avoided detection by avoiding the bright glow of small ceiling lights above the benches. Since it was the middle of the night shift, there was probably no medical staff in the locker room, so he got a couple of bathrobes and headed to the shower. In one of the darkened booths, the old man threw off his clothes.
  
  Beneath the tiny round bulbs above him, his bony, powdery form showed up in a reflection in the Plexiglas. Grotesque and haggard, his elongated limbs shed their costume and donned a cotton uniform. His panting breaths came out wheezing as he moved, mimicking a robot clad in android skin, pumping hydraulic fluid through his joints during each shift. As he removed his fedora to replace it with a cap, his deformed skull mocked him in a plexiglass mirror image. The angle of the light accentuated every dent and protrusion of his skull, but he kept his head tilted as far as he could as he tried on the cap. He didn't want to face his biggest flaw, his most powerful ugliness, his facelessness.
  
  His human face showed only eyes, perfectly shaped but lonely in their normality. The old man could not stand the humiliation of his own reflection's mockery, when his cheekbones framed an expressionless face. Between his almost missing lips and above his meager mouth, there was almost no opening, and only two tiny cracks served as nostrils. The final element of his clever disguise was to be a surgical mask, elegantly completing his ruse.
  
  Stuffing his suit into the furthest cabinet against the east wall and simply closing the narrow door, he corrected his posture.
  
  "Go away," he muttered.
  
  He shook his head. No, his dialect was wrong. He cleared his throat and took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Abend." no. Again. "Ah, bent," he said more clearly and listened to his hoarse voice. The emphasis was almost there; There was one or two more attempts left.
  
  "Go away," he said clearly and loudly as the door to the locker room swung open. Too late. He held his breath to speak the word.
  
  "Abend, Herr Doktor," smiled the orderly as he entered the next room to use the urinals. "Wie geht's?"
  
  "Offal, offal," the old man hastily replied, delighted at the oblivion of the nurse. He cleared his throat and headed for the door. It was getting late and he still had unfinished business with the hot newcomer.
  
  Feeling almost ashamed of the animalistic method he used to track down the young man he followed to the emergency room, he threw his head back and sniffed the air. That familiar scent made him follow her like a shark relentlessly following blood through miles of water. He did not pay much attention to the polite greetings of the staff, cleaners and night doctors. His cloaked feet stepped soundlessly step by step as he obeyed the pungent smell of burning flesh and disinfectant that penetrated his nostrils the most.
  
  "Zimmer 4," he muttered as his nose took him to the left toward a T-junction of corridors. He would smile if he could. His thin body crept along the corridor of the burns department to where the young man was being treated. From deep in the room, he could hear the voices of the doctor and nurses announcing the patient's chances of survival.
  
  "He'll live though," the male doctor sighed sympathetically, "I don't think he'll be able to retain his facial features-features, yes, but his sense of smell and taste will be permanently seriously impaired."
  
  "Does he still have a face under it all, doctor?" the nurse asked softly.
  
  "Yes, but not likely, as damage to the skin will cause his features to...well...fade into his face even more. His nose won't stand out, and his lips," he hesitated, feeling genuine pity for the attractive young man on the barely-preserved driver's license in his charred wallet, "gone. Poor child. He was barely twenty-seven, and it happens to him."
  
  The Doctor almost imperceptibly shook his head. "Please, Sabina, give some intravenous analgesics and begin emergency fluid replacement."
  
  "Yes, doctor." She sighed and helped her colleague collect the bandage. "He will have to wear a mask for the rest of his life," she said to no one in particular. She pulled the cart closer, carrying sterile bandages and saline. They did not notice the alien presence of the intruder peeking in from the hallway and detecting his target through a slowly closing gap in the door. Only one word escaped him silently.
  
  "Mask".
  
  
  Chapter 2 - Kidnapping Purdue
  
  
  Feeling a little preoccupied, Sam strolled casually through the extensive gardens of a private institution near Dundee under the roaring Scottish sky. After all, was there any other kind? However, inside he felt good. Empty. So much has happened to him and his friends lately that it was amazing not to think about anything, for a change. Sam returned from Kazakhstan a week ago and hasn't seen Nina or Perdue since he got back to Edinburgh.
  
  He was told that Nina had suffered serious injuries from exposure and had been admitted to a hospital in Germany. After he sent a new acquaintance, Detlef Holzer, to find her, he remained in Kazakhstan for several days and was unable to receive any news of Nina's condition. Apparently, Dave Perdue was also discovered in the same location as Nina, only to be subdued by Detlef for his oddly aggressive behavior. But so far, that too has been speculation at best.
  
  Perdue himself contacted Sam the day before to notify him of his own confinement at the Sinclair Medical Research Center. The Sinclair Medical Research Center, funded and run by the Renegade Brigade, was Purdue's secret ally in the last battle against the Order of the Black Sun. It so happened that the association consisted of former members of the "Black Sun"; apostates, so to speak, from the faith of which Sam had also become a member a few years earlier. His operations for them were few and far between, as their need for intelligence only surfaced from time to time. As a shrewd and effective investigative journalist, Sam Cleave has been invaluable to the Brigade in this regard.
  
  Other than the latter, he was free to act as he pleased and do his own freelance work whenever he felt like it. Tired of doing anything as stressful as his last mission anytime soon, Sam decided to take the time to visit Purdue in the lunatic asylum that the eccentric explorer had dropped by 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 the site, he noticed that there were bars on the windows all over the third floor of the four floors the building boasted.
  
  "I bet you are in one of these rooms, hey Perdue?" Sam chuckled to himself as he made his way to the main entrance to the creepy building with its overly white walls. A chill ran through Sam's body as he entered the lobby. "God, is the Hotel California impersonating Stanley Mach?"
  
  "Good morning," a petite blonde receptionist greeted Sam. Her smile was sincere. His stern, dark appearance instantly intrigued her, even if he was old enough to be her much older brother or nearly too old uncle.
  
  "Yes, it is, young lady," Sam agreed fervently. "I'm here to see David Perdue."
  
  She frowned. "Then who is this bouquet for, sir?"
  
  Sam just winked and reached down with his right hand to tuck the flower arrangement under the counter. "Shh, don't tell him. He hates carnations."
  
  "Um," she stammered in extreme uncertainty, "he's in Ward 3, two floors up, Room 309."
  
  "Ta," Sam smirked and whistled as he made his way to the stairs marked in white and green - "Ward 2, Room 3, Room 4", lazily waving his bouquet as he climbed up. In the mirror, he was greatly amused by the shifty glance of a bewildered young woman who was still trying to figure out what the flowers were for.
  
  "Yeah, just as I thought," Sam muttered as he found a hallway to the right of the landing, where an equally uniform green and white sign read "Ward 3." "Crazy floor with bars and Perdue is the mayor."
  
  In fact, this place in no way resembled a hospital. It was more like a conglomeration of medical offices and practices in a large mall, but Sam had to admit that he found the absence of the expected insanity 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 only identify by their white coats, looked surprisingly serene and casual.
  
  They nodded and greeted him cordially as he passed them without asking a single question about the flowers he held in his hand. The confession made Sam lose his sense of humor, and he tossed the bouquet into the nearest trash can just before reaching the allotted room. The door was closed, of course, because it was on a barred floor, but Sam was taken aback when he found it wasn't locked. Even more surprising was the interior of the room.
  
  Except for one well-curtained window and two luxurious armchairs, there was nothing else but carpet. His dark eyes scanned the strange room carefully. It lacked a bed and the privacy of an ensuite bathroom. Perdue sat with his back to Sam, staring out the window.
  
  "So glad you came, old chap," he said in the same cheerful, richer-than-God tone he used to address guests at his mansion.
  
  "With pleasure," Sam replied, still trying to solve the furniture puzzle. Perdue turned to face him, looking healthy and relaxed.
  
  "Sit down," he invited the puzzled journalist, who, judging by his expression, was examining the room for bugs or hidden explosives. Sam sat down. "So," Perdue began, "where are my flowers?"
  
  Sam's eyes widened at Perdue. "I thought I had the ability to control the mind?"
  
  Perdue looked unfazed by Sam's statement, which they both knew but neither of them supported. "No, I saw you walking down the alley with it in your hand, no doubt purchased only to embarrass me in one way or another."
  
  "God, you know me too well," Sam sighed. "But how can you see anything behind the maximum security bars here? I noticed that the cells of the prisoners were left unlocked. What's the point of locking you up if they keep your doors open?"
  
  Perdue smiled amusedly and shook his head. "Oh, it's not to stop us from escaping, Sam. This is to keep us from jumping." For the first time, Perdue's voice sounded bitter and snide. Sam caught his friend's anxiety coming to the fore in the ebb and flow of his self-control. It turned out that Perdue's seeming calmness was just a mask behind this uncharacteristic discontent.
  
  "Are you prone to such things?" Sam asked.
  
  Perdue shrugged. "I don't know, Master Cleve. One moment it's all good, and the next I'm back in that damn fish tank dreaming of drowning faster than that inky fish can swallow my brain."
  
  Perdue's expression instantly changed from cheerful stupidity to an alarmingly pale depression filled with guilt and anxiety. Sam dared to put his hand on Purdue's shoulder, having no idea how the billionaire would react. But Perdue did nothing as Sam's hand calmed his confusion.
  
  "Is that what you are doing here? Trying to reverse the brainwashing that fucking Nazi put you through?" Sam asked him brazenly. "But that's good, Perdue. How is the treatment progressing? In many ways, you seem to be yourself."
  
  "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 have found that knowledge breeds a different demon than forgetfulness of one's actions."
  
  "What do you mean?" Sam frowned. "I understand that some real memories returned; something you couldn't remember before?"
  
  Purdue's pale blue eyes stared straight ahead through the clear lenses of his glasses as he considered Sam's opinion before explaining. He looked almost manic in the darkening cloudy light that streamed in through the window. His long, slender fingers fingered the carvings on the wooden arm of the chair while he was in a daze. Sam thought it best to change the subject for now.
  
  "So why the hell is there no bed here?" he exclaimed, looking around at the nearly empty room.
  
  "I never sleep".
  
  That was it.
  
  That was all Perdue had to say on the matter. His lack of elaboration unnerved Sam, because it was the exact opposite of a man's trademark behavior. He usually threw aside all decorum or taboos and spewed out a grand story filled with what, why, and who. Now he was content with just the fact, so Sam was asking not only to get Perdue to explain, but because he genuinely wanted to know. "You know it's biologically impossible, unless you want to die in a fit of psychosis."
  
  The look Perdue gave him gave Sam goosebumps. It was somewhere between madness and perfect happiness; the look of a wild animal being fed if Sam had to guess. His graying blond hair, as always, was painfully neat, long slicked-back strands separating it from his gray sideburns. Sam imagined Perdue with tousled hair in communal showers, those pale blue piercing looks from the guards when they found him chewing on someone's ear. What worried him the most was how unremarkable such a scenario suddenly seemed for the state his friend was in. Perdue's words snapped Sam out of his disgusting thoughts.
  
  "And what do you think is sitting right here in front of you, old rooster?" Perdue chuckled, looking rather ashamed of his condition under the drooping smile he tried to keep the mood going. "This is what psychosis looks like, not that Hollywood bullshit that people overact, where people tear their hair out and write their names in crap on the walls. It's a silent thing, a silent creeping cancer that makes you no longer care about what you have to do to stay alive. You are left alone with your thoughts and deeds, not thinking about food..." He looked back at the bare area of the carpet where the bed should have been, "...sleeping. At first my body sagged under the pressure of calm. Sam, you should have seen me. Distraught and exhausted, I passed out on the floor." He moved closer to Sam. The journalist was alarmed to smell medicinal perfume and old cigarettes on Purdue's breath.
  
  "Purdue..."
  
  "No, no, you asked. Now you r-listen, al-ok?" Perdue insisted in a whisper. "I haven't slept for over four days in a row, and you know what? I feel great! I mean look at me. Don"t I look like a model of health?"
  
  "That's what's bothering me, mate," Sam winced, scratching the back of his head. Perdue laughed. It was by no means a crazy giggle, but a civilized, soft laugh. Perdue swallowed his amusement to whisper, "You know what I think?"
  
  "That I'm not really here?" Sam figured it out. "God knows, this insipid and boring place would make me seriously doubt reality."
  
  "No. No. I think when Black Sun brainwashed me, they somehow got rid of my need for sleep. They must have reprogrammed my brain... unlocked... that primitive power they used on super soldiers in World War II to turn people into animals. They didn't fall when they were shot, Sam. They kept walking, on and on and on..."
  
  "Damn it. I'm getting you out of here, Sam decided.
  
  "I haven't expired yet, Sam. Let me stay and let them erase all these monstrous behaviorisms," Perdue insisted, trying to appear sane and mentally healthy, even though all he wanted to do was break out of the institution and run back to his home in Reichtisousis.
  
  "That's what you say," Sam waved it off in an intelligent tone, "but that's not what you mean."
  
  He pulled Perdue out of his chair. The billionaire smiled at his savior, looking visibly elated. "You definitely still have the ability to control your mind."
  
  
  Chapter 3 - A figure with bad words
  
  
  Nina woke up feeling unwell, but clearly perceiving her surroundings. It was the first time she'd woken up without being woken up by the sound of a nurse's voice or a doctor tempted to dose at the unholy hour of the morning. She always admired how the nurses always woke up patients to give them 'something to sleep' at ridiculous times, often between two and five in the morning. The logic of such practices completely eluded her, and she did not hide her annoyance at such idiocy, regardless of the explanations offered to him. Her body ached under the sadistic pressure of radiation poisoning, but she tried to endure it for as long as she could.
  
  To her relief, she learned from the doctor on duty that the accidental burns to her skin would heal over time, and that the exposure she had received below the epicenter at Chernobyl was surprisingly minor for such a hazardous area. Nausea bothered her daily, at least until the antibiotics ran out, but her hematopoietic condition continued to be of great concern to him.
  
  Nina understood his concern about the damage to her autoimmune system, but there were scars worse for her, both emotional and physical. She hadn't been able to concentrate well since she was released from the tunnels. It was not clear if this was due to prolonged blindness due to hours spent in near-total darkness, or if it was also the result of exposure to high concentrations of old nuclear waves. Despite this, her emotional trauma showed up worse than the physical pain and blisters on her skin.
  
  She was tormented by nightmares about how Perdue hunted her in the dark. Resurrecting little fragments of memories, her dreams reminded her of the moans he let out after he laughed wickedly somewhere in the infernal darkness of the Ukrainian underworld in which they were trapped together. Through another IV, sedatives kept her mind locked in dreams, preventing her from fully waking up to escape them. It was a subconscious torment that she couldn't tell the scientific minds, who were only concerned with relieving her physical ailments. They didn't have time to waste on her impending madness.
  
  Outside, the pale menace of dawn shimmered, though the world around her was still asleep. She could dimly hear the low tones and whispers exchanged between the medical staff, punctuated by the strange clinking 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 mother's father whispered the same way as they packed their camping gear for the trip to the Hebrides. They tried not to wake little Nina while they were packing the cars, and only at the very end did 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 put her in the back seat.
  
  It was a pleasant memory, to which she now returned briefly in much the same way. Two nurses entered her room to check the drip and change the linen on the empty bed across from her. Even though they spoke in a hushed voice, Nina was able to use her knowledge of German to eavesdrop, just like 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'd taken off an empty mattress.
  
  "Her vital signs are fine," the older sister quietly replied.
  
  "What I meant to say was that they should have smeared his skin with a lot of flamazine before putting the mask on him. I think I'm right in suggesting this. Dr. Hilt had no reason to bite my head off," the nurse complained about the incident, which Nina believes they discussed even before they came to visit her.
  
  "You know that I agree with you in this regard, but you must remember that you cannot question the treatment or dosage prescribed - or administered - by highly qualified doctors, Marlene. Just keep your diagnosis to yourself until you get a stronger position in the food chain here, okay? " advised the chubby sister to her subordinate.
  
  "Will he be occupying this bed when he gets out of the intensive care unit, Nurse Barken?" she asked curiously. "Here? With Dr. Gould?"
  
  "Yes. Why not? This is not the Middle Ages or an elementary school camp, my dear. You know, we have wards for men with special conditions. Nurse Barken smiled faintly as she reprimanded the star-struck nurse she knew adored Dr. Nina Gould. Who? Nina considered. Who the hell are they planning to put in the same room with me that deserves all the fucking attention?
  
  "Look, Dr. Gould is frowning," Sister Barken remarked, having no idea that it was due to Nina's displeasure that she soon got a very unwanted roommate. Silent, awakening thoughts controlled her expression. "It must be the stinging headaches associated with the radiation. Poor thing." Yes! Nina thought. Headaches are killing me, by the way. Your painkillers are a great party favor, but they don't help a damn thing with frontal throbbing, you know?
  
  Her strong, cold hand suddenly gripped Nina's wrist, causing shock in the historian's fever-stricken body, which was already sensitive to temperature. Involuntarily, Nina's big dark eyes fluttered open.
  
  "Jesus Christ, woman! Do you want to rip my skin off my muscles with this ice claw?" she screamed. Flashes of pain shot through Nina's nervous system, her deafening response throwing both nurses into a stupor.
  
  "Doctor Gould!" Sister Barken exclaimed in perfect English in surprise. "I am so sorry! You are supposed to be under the influence of a sedative." Across the hall, a young nurse smiled from ear to ear.
  
  Realizing that she had just betrayed her farce in the most rude way, Nina decided to play the victim to hide her embarrassment. She immediately grabbed her head, moaning slightly. "Sedative? The pain cuts right through all the painkillers. I apologize for scaring you, but...it is my skin on fire," Nina sang. another nurse eagerly walked over to her bed, still smiling like a fan who had received a backstage pass.
  
  "Sister Marks, would you be so kind as to get Dr. Gould something for a headache?" Sister Barken asked. "Beatte," she said a little louder to distract the young Marlene Marks from her stupid fixation.
  
  "Um, yes, of course sister," she replied, reluctantly accepting her task before practically skipping out of the room.
  
  "Nice girl," Nina said.
  
  "Excuse her. She is actually her mother - they are your big fans. They know all about your travels, and some of the things you wrote about completely captivated Nurse Marks. So please ignore her gaze," Sister Barken explained amiably.
  
  Nina got straight to the point, until they were disturbed by a drooling puppy in medical uniform, who was due to return soon. "Who will sleep there then? Anyone I know?"
  
  Sister Barken shook her head. "I don't think he should even know who he really is," she whispered. "Professionally, I am not at liberty to share, but since you will 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 that his accent wasn't genuinely German.
  
  "Excuse me, Dr. Gould," said Sister Barken, coming over to speak to the tall figure. Nina listened carefully. It was still relatively quiet in the room at this sleepy hour, which made listening in easier, especially when Nina closed her eyes.
  
  The doctor asked Nurse Barken about the young man who was brought in last night and why the patient was no longer in what Nina called 'Ward 4'. Her stomach twisted into a knot when her sister asked for the doctor's papers, and he responded with a threat.
  
  "Sister, if you don't give me the necessary information, someone will die before you can call the guards. Of this I can assure you."
  
  Nina held her breath. What was he going to do? Even with her eyes wide open, it was difficult for her to see properly, so trying to memorize his features was almost useless. The best thing was to just pretend that she didn't understand German and that she was too sleepy to hear anyway.
  
  "No. Do you think this is the first time a charlatan has tried to intimidate me in my twenty-seven years as a health worker? Get out or I'll beat you myself," Sister Barken threatened. After that, the sister did not say anything, but Nina distinguished a frantic fuss, after which there was an alarming silence. She dared to turn her head. In the doorway, the wall of the woman stood firm, but the stranger disappeared.
  
  "It was too easy," Nina said under her breath, but pretended to be a fool for the sake of everyone. "Is this my doctor?"
  
  "No, my dear," answered Sister Barken. "And please, if you see him again, notify me or any other staff immediately." She looked very annoyed but showed no fear as she joined Nina again at her bedside. "They have to deliver a new patient within the next day. They have stabilized his condition for now. But don't worry, he's heavily sedated. He won't bother you."
  
  "How long will I be imprisoned here?" Nina asked. "And don't talk until I'm better. "
  
  Sister Barken chuckled. "You tell me that, Dr. Gould. You have amazed everyone with your ability to fight infection and have demonstrated healing abilities bordering on the supernatural. Are you some kind of vampire?"
  
  The nurse's humor was most welcome. Nina was pleased to know that there are still people who experience some surprise. But what she couldn't tell even the most open-minded people about was that her uncanny ability to heal came from a blood transfusion she had had years ago. At the gates of death, Nina was saved by the blood of a particularly evil enemy, the actual remnant of Himmler's experiments to create a superman, a miracle weapon. Her name was Lita and she was a monster with really powerful blood.
  
  "Perhaps the damage was not as extensive as the doctors originally thought," Nina replied. "Besides, if I heal so well, why am I blind?"
  
  Sister Barken carefully placed her hand on Nina's forehead. "Maybe it's just a symptom of your electrolyte imbalance or insulin levels, my dear. I'm sure your vision will clear up soon. Don't worry. If you continue as you are now, you will soon get out of here."
  
  Nina hoped the lady's guess was correct, because she needed to find Sam and ask about Purdue. She also needed a new phone. Until then, she had just checked the news for anything about Purdue, as he might have been famous enough to make the news in Germany. Despite the fact that he tried to kill her, she hoped that he was all right - wherever he was.
  
  "The person who brought me here... did he even say he would be back?" Nina asked about Detlef Holzer, an acquaintance she had harmed before he saved her from Perdue and the devil's veins under the infamous Reactor 4 at Chernobyl.
  
  "No, we haven't heard from him since," Sister Barken admitted. "He wasn't my boyfriend in any capacity, was he?"
  
  Nina smiled, remembering the sweet, slow-witted bodyguard who helped her, Sam, and Purdue find the famous Amber Room before everything fell apart in Ukraine. "Not a guy," she smiled at the hazy image of her breastfeeding sister. "Widower".
  
  
  Chapter 4 - Charm
  
  
  "How is Nina?" Perdue asked Sam as they left the bedless room with Purdue's coat and a small valise as luggage.
  
  "Detlef Holzer admitted her to a hospital in Heidelberg. I plan to visit her in a week or so," Sam whispered as he checked the corridor. "It"s good that Detlef knows how to forgive, otherwise your ass would already be wandering around Pripyat."
  
  Looking left and right first, Sam gestured for his friend to follow him to the right, where he was heading for the stairs. They heard voices in discussion coming up the landing. After a moment's hesitation, Sam stopped and pretended to be engrossed in a phone conversation.
  
  "They are not agents of Satan, Sam. Come on," Perdue chuckled, pulling Sam by the sleeve past two cleaners who were chatting about trifles. "They don't even know I'm a patient. As far as they know, you are my patient."
  
  "Mr Perdue!" a woman called from behind, strategically interrupting Purdue's statement.
  
  "Keep walking," Purdue muttered.
  
  "Why?" Sam teased loudly. "They think I'm your patient, remember?"
  
  "Sam! For God's sake, keep walking," Perdue insisted, only mildly amused by Sam's childish exclamation.
  
  "Mr Perdue, please stop right here. I need to exchange a few words with you, "the woman repeated. He stopped with a sigh of defeat and turned to face the attractive lady. Sam cleared his throat. "Please tell me this is your doctor, Purdue. Because... well, she could brainwash me any day."
  
  "Looks like she already did it," Purdue muttered, throwing a sharp look at his partner.
  
  "I didn't have the fun," she smiled as she met Sam's eyes.
  
  "Would you like to?" Sam asked, receiving a powerful elbow from Purdue.
  
  "Sorry?" she asked, joining them.
  
  "He's a little shy," Perdue lied. "I'm afraid he must learn to speak louder. He must seem so rude, Melissa. I'm sorry."
  
  "Melissa Argyle". She smiled as she introduced herself to Sam.
  
  "Sam Cleve," he said simply, monitoring Purdue's secret signals on his peripheral. "Are you Mr. Perdue's brainwasher..."?
  
  "... treating psychologist?" Sam asked, safely locking his thoughts away.
  
  She smiled shyly and amusedly. "No! Oh no. I wish I had that kind of power. I've only been the chief of staff 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 freelance position at the University of Edinburgh as Assistant or Advisor to the Dean of the Department of Psychology."
  
  "Do you hear that, Perdue?" Sam admired too much. "She is in Fort Edinburgh! This is a small world. I also visit this place, but mostly for information when I study my assignments."
  
  "Oh yeah," Perdue smiled. "I know where she is - she is on duty."
  
  "Who do you think gave me this position?" she fainted and looked at Perdue with immense adoration. Sam could not miss the opportunity for mischief.
  
  "Oh, he did? You old scoundrel, Dave! Helping talented, up-and-coming scientists get positions, even if you don't get publicity for it and all that. Isn't he the best, Melissa?" Sam praised his friend without deceiving Purdue in the least, but Melissa was convinced of his sincerity.
  
  "I owe so much to Mr. Perdue," she chirped. "I just hope he knows how much I appreciate it. In fact, he gave me this pen." She ran the back of her pen from left to right across her dark pink lipstick as she subconsciously flirted, her yellow curls barely covering her hard nipples that showed through her beige cardigan.
  
  "I'm sure Pen appreciates your efforts too," Sam said bluntly.
  
  Perdue turned grey, mentally yelling at Sam to shut up. The blonde immediately stopped sucking on her pen when she realized what she was doing. "What do you mean, Mr. Cleve?" she asked sternly. Sam was unperturbed.
  
  "I mean, Pen would appreciate you getting Mr. Purdue out in a few minutes," Sam smiled confidently. Purdue couldn't believe it. Sam was busy using his strange talent on Melissa to get her to do what he wanted, he knew right away. Trying not to smile at the audacity of the journalist, he kept a pleasant expression on his face.
  
  "Absolutely," she beamed. "Just let me get the 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 descended the stairs.
  
  Slowly, his head turned to see Purdue's strange expression.
  
  "You're 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 to Hogmanay and beyond!"
  
  "The Rocktober Festival was last week, didn't you know?" Sam said matter-of-factly as the two of them went downstairs to the reception area on the first floor.
  
  "Yes".
  
  Behind the front desk, the flustered girl Sam had confused glared at him again. Purdue didn't have to ask. He could only guess what mind games Sam must have been playing with the poor girl. "You know that when you use your powers for evil, the gods will take them from you, right?" he asked Sam.
  
  "But I don't use them for evil. I'm getting my old buddy out of here," Sam defended himself.
  
  "Not me, Sam. Women," Perdue corrected what Sam already knew he meant. "Look at their faces. You did something."
  
  "Nothing that they will regret, unfortunately. Maybe I should just allow myself some female attention with the help of the gods, huh?" Sam tried to evoke sympathy from Perdue, but got nothing but a nervous grin.
  
  "Let's get out of here unpunished first, old chap," he reminded Sam.
  
  "Ha, good choice of words, sir. Oh look, there's Melissa now," he gave Purdue a mischievous smile. "How did she earn this Caran d'Ache? With those pink lips?"
  
  "She belongs to one of my beneficiary programs, Sam, as do several other young women... and men, you know," Perdue defended hopelessly, knowing full well that Sam was playing a prank on him.
  
  "Hey, your preferences have nothing to do with me," Sam teased.
  
  After Melissa signed Perdue's discharge paperwork, he wasted no time getting to Sam's car from the other side of the huge botanical garden that surrounded the building. Like two boys skipping classes, they jogged away from the establishment.
  
  "You have balls, Sam Cleave. I give you credit," Perdue chuckled as they passed security with signed release papers.
  
  "I believe. Let's prove it anyway," Sam joked as they got into the car. Perdue's mocking expression led him to give away the secret venue he had in mind. "West of North Berwick we go...to a beer tent city... And we'll be in kilts!"
  
  
  Chapter 5 - Lurking Marduk
  
  
  Windowless and damp, the basement lay silently waiting for the creeping shadow that made its way along the wall as it slithered down the stairs. Just like a real shadow, the man who cast it moved silently, stalking towards the only deserted place he could find to hide long enough before the shift change. The emaciated giant carefully considered his next move in his mind, but he in no way forgot 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 list on the second floor, where the receptionist pinned the week's work schedule to a bulletin board in the staff room. In a colorful Excel document, he noticed the pushy nurse's name and shift details. He didn't want to run into her again, and she had two more days to watch, leaving him no choice but to squat in the lonely concrete of a dimly lit boiler room, where he was entertained only by running water.
  
  What a failure, he thought. But, in the end, getting to the pilot Olaf Lanhagen, who until recently served in the Luftwaffe unit at B & # 252; people airbase, was worth the wait. The lurking old man could not let the badly wounded pilot stay alive at any cost. What the young man could have done had he not been stopped was simply too risky. A long wait has begun for the mutilated hunter, the epitome of patience, who is now hiding in the bowels of the Heidelberg medical facility.
  
  In his hands he held the surgical mask he had just taken off, wondering what it was like to walk among people without any kind of face covering. But after such reflection came an undeniable contempt for desire. He had to admit to himself that it would be very unpleasant for him to walk in daylight without a mask, if only because of the discomfort that it would give him.
  
  Nude.
  
  He would feel naked, barren, no matter how expressionless his face was now, if he had to reveal his flaw to the world. And he thought about what it was like to look normal by definition as he sat in the quiet darkness of the east corner of the basement. Even if he didn't suffer from a malformation and wore an acceptable face, he would feel insecure and terribly conspicuous. In fact, the only desire he could save from this notion was the privilege of correct speech. No, he changed his mind. The ability to speak would not be the only thing that would give him pleasure; the joy of a smile in itself would be like an imprinted elusive dream.
  
  He ended up curled up under a rough coverlet of stolen linens courtesy of the laundry. He rolled up the bloody, canvas-like sheets he'd found in one of the canvas baskets to serve as insulation between his defatted body and the hard floor. After all, his protruding bones would bruise his skin even on the softest mattress, but his thyroid gland would not allow him to get any of that soft, lipid tissue that could provide him with comfortable cushioning.
  
  His childhood illness only exacerbated his birth defect, turning him into a monster in pain. But it was his curse to equalize the blessing of being who he was, he assured himself. This was difficult for Peter Marduk to accept at first, but once he found his place in the world, his purpose became clear. Mutilation, physical or spiritual, had to give way to his role given by the cruel Creator who created him.
  
  Another day passed, and he remained unnoticed, which was his main skill in all endeavors. Peter Marduk, at the age of seventy-eight, laid his head on a stinking sheet to get some sleep while he waited for another day to fly by. The smell didn't bother him. His feelings were selective to the limit; one of those blessings he was cursed with when he didn't get a nose. When he wanted to trace a scent, his sense of smell was like that of a shark. On the other hand, he had the ability to use the opposite. That was what he did now.
  
  Shutting off his sense of smell, he pricked up 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 cart wheels creak under the weight of dinner in Ward B just before visiting hours. The loss of consciousness left him blind and sedated, hoping for a dreamless sleep until his task prompted him to perk up and perform again.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "I'm so tired," Nina told Nurse Marks. The young nurse was on night duty. Since she had made the acquaintance of Dr. Nina Gould in the past two days, she had given up a little on her love-girl airs and had shown a more professional cordiality towards the sick historian.
  
  "Fatigue is part of the disease, Dr. Gould," she said sympathetically to Nina, adjusting her pillows.
  
  "I know, but I haven't felt this tired since I was accepted. Did they give me a sedative?"
  
  "Let me see," Sister Marx suggested. She pulled Nina's medical file from the slot at the foot of the bed and slowly flipped through the pages. Her blue eyes skimmed over the medications administered over the past twelve hours, and then she slowly shook her head. "No, Dr. Gould. I don't see anything here but a local medicine in your drip. Of course, no sedatives. Do you want to sleep?"
  
  Marlene Marks gently took Nina's hand and checked her vital signs. "Your pulse is rather weak. Let me take a look at your pressure."
  
  "My God, I feel like I can't lift my arms, Sister Marx," Nina sighed heavily. "It feels like..." She didn't have a proper way to ask, but in light of the symptoms, she felt she had to. "Have you ever been Roofie 'd?"
  
  Looking a little worried 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 this does to the central nervous system. Is that how you feel?"
  
  Nina nodded, barely able to open her eyes now. Nurse Marks was dismayed to see that Nina's blood pressure was extremely low, plummeting in a way that completely contradicted her previous prognosis. "My body is like an anvil, Marlene," Nina muttered softly.
  
  "Wait, Dr. Gould," the nurse said urgently, trying to speak sharply and loudly to wake Nina's mind as she ran to call her colleagues. Among them was Dr. Eduard Fritz, a doctor who treated a young man who arrived two nights later with second-degree burns.
  
  "Doctor Fritz!" Nurse Marks called in a tone that would not alarm other patients, but would convey a level of urgency to the medical staff." Dr. Gould's blood pressure is dropping fast and I'm trying my best to keep her awake!"
  
  The team hurried over to Nina and drew the curtains. The onlookers were stunned by the reaction of the staff to the little woman who occupied the double room alone. During visiting hours, there was no such action for a long time, and many visitors and patients waited to make sure that the patient was all right.
  
  "It looks like something out of Grey's Anatomy," Sister Marx heard a visitor say to her husband as she ran past with the medicine Dr. Fritz asked for. But all Marx cared about was getting Dr. Gould back before she finally broke down. Twenty minutes later they parted the curtains again, talking in smiling whispers. From the expressions on their faces, passers-by knew that the patient's condition had stabilized and he had returned to the busy atmosphere usually associated with this time of night in the hospital.
  
  "Thank God we managed to save her," Sister Marks breathed, leaning against the front desk to take a sip of coffee. Little by little, the visitors began to leave the ward, saying goodbye to their imprisoned loved ones until tomorrow. Gradually, the hallways became 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. This man rarely smiled, even at the best of times. As a result, she knew that his words would need to be savored.
  
  "Thank you doctor," she replied modestly.
  
  "Indeed, if you had not acted immediately, we might have lost Dr. Gould tonight. I'm afraid her condition is more serious than her biology indicates. I must confess that I was confused by this. Are you saying that her eyesight was impaired?"
  
  "Yes, doctor. She complained that her vision was blurry until last night when she directly used the words 'go blind'. But I was in no position to give her any advice, as I have no idea what could be causing this, other than an obvious immunodeficiency," Sister Marks suggested.
  
  "That's what I like about you, Marlene," he said. He didn't smile, but his statement was respectful nonetheless. "You know your place. You do not pretend to be a doctor and do not allow yourself to tell patients about what you think is bothering them. You leave it to the professionals and that's good. With that attitude, you will go far under my watch."
  
  Hoping that Dr. Hilt was not conveying her previous behavior, Marlene only smiled, but her heart pounded wildly with pride at Dr. Fritz's approval. He was one of the leading experts in the field of diagnostics of a wide range of activities, covering various medical areas, but at the same time he remained a modest doctor and consultant. Considering his career achievements, Dr. Fritz was relatively young. In his early 40s, he was already the author of several award-winning articles and lectured around the world during his sabbaticals. His opinion was held in high esteem by most medical scientists, especially by lay nurses like the newly completed internship, Marlene Marks.
  
  It was true. Marlene knew her place next to him. As chauvinistic or sexist as Dr. Fritz's statement sounded, she knew what he meant. However, among the other female employees there were many who would not understand its meaning so well. To them, his power was selfish, whether he deserved the throne or not. They saw him as a misogynist both in the workplace and in society, often talking about his sexuality. But he paid no attention to them. He was just stating the obvious. He knew better, and they weren't qualified to make a diagnosis right away. Consequently, they had no right to speak their mind, least of all when he was required to do so properly.
  
  "Look more alive, Marx," said one of the orderlies, passing by.
  
  "Why? What's happening?" she asked, eyes wide. She usually prayed for some activity during the night shift, but Marlene had endured enough stress for one night.
  
  "We'll move Freddy Krueger to the Chernobyl lady," he replied, gesturing for her to start preparing the bed for the move.
  
  "Hey, show some respect for the poor guy, you jerk," she said to the orderly, who only laughed at her reprimand. "He's somebody's son, you know!"
  
  She opened the bed for the new occupant in the faint, lonely light above the bed. Pulling back the blankets and top sheet so they formed a neat triangle, if only for a moment, Marlene contemplated 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 into the dark part of the room a few feet away, pretending to have had a good rest for a change.
  
  They brought in the new patient with minimal disturbance and transferred him to a new bed, thankful that he did not wake up due to what would no doubt have been unbearable pain during their handling of him. They quietly left as soon as he settled down, while the basement was just as sound asleep, posing an imminent threat.
  
  
  Chapter 6 - Dilemma in the Luftwaffe
  
  
  "Oh my God, Schmidt! I am the commander, inspector of the command of the Luftwaffe!" Harold Mayer screamed in a rare moment of loss of control. "These journalists will want to know why the missing pilot used one of our combat fighters without the permission of my office or the Joint Operational Command of the Bundeswehr! And I'm only now learning that the fuselage was discovered by our own people - and hidden?"
  
  Gerhard Schmidt, second in command, shrugged and looked at his superior's reddened face. Lieutenant General Harold Mayer was not one to lose control of his emotions. The scene that played out in front of Schmidt was highly unusual, but he fully understood why Meyer reacted in this way. This was a very serious matter, and it would not be long before some sly journalist found out the truth about the fugitive pilot, the man who single-handedly escaped in one of their million-euro planes.
  
  "Aviator Lö wenhagen has already been found?" he asked Schmidt, an officer unfortunate enough to be appointed, to tell him the shocking news.
  
  "No. No body was found at the scene, leading us to believe he is still alive," Schmidt replied thoughtfully. "But you also have to take into account that he could very well have died in the crash. The explosion could have destroyed his body, Harold."
  
  "All this 'could' and 'may have to' talk of you is what worries me the most. What worries me is the uncertainty of what followed this whole affair, not to mention that some of our squadrons have people on short leave. For the first time in my career, I feel uneasy," Maier admitted, finally sitting down for a moment to think a little. He suddenly raised his head, staring into Schmidt's eyes with his own steely gaze, but he looked further than the face of his subordinate A moment passed before Meyer made his final decision. "Schmidt..."
  
  "Yes, sir?" Schmidt responded quickly, wanting to know how the commander would save them all from shame.
  
  "Take three men you trust. I need smart people, with brains and brawn, my friend. Men like you. They need to understand what trouble we are in. This is a PR nightmare that is just waiting in the wings. I - and probably you too - will most likely be fired if what this little asshole managed to do under our noses comes out," Meyer said, digressing again.
  
  "And you need us to track him down?" Schmidt asked.
  
  "Yes. And you know what to do if you find it. Act at your own discretion. If you want, interrogate him to find out what madness drove him to this stupid courage - you know what his intentions were, "Mayer suggested. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands. "But Schmidt, if he even breathes wrong, put him out. After all, we are soldiers, not nannies or psychologists. The collective welfare of the Luftwaffe is much more important than one maniacal jerk who needs to prove something, you know?"
  
  "Totally," agreed Schmidt. He did not just please his boss, but sincerely held the same opinion. The two of them hadn't gone through years of testing and training in the German Air Corps to be destroyed by some snotty airman. As a result, Schmidt was secretly excited about the mission assigned to him. He clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "Ready. Give me three days to get my trio together and after that we will report back to you on a daily basis."
  
  Meyer nodded, suddenly feeling somewhat relieved at the cooperation of a like-minded person. 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 will be the last," Meyer replied.
  
  "We'll keep in touch," Schmidt promised as he left the office, leaving Meyer feeling considerably lighter.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Once Schmidt selected three of his men, he briefed them under the guise of a covert operation. They must hide information about this mission from everyone else, including their families and colleagues. In a very tactful manner, the officer made sure his men understood that extreme bias was the way of the mission. He chose three meek, intelligent men of various ranks from different combat units. It was all he needed. He didn't bother with details.
  
  "So, gentlemen, do you accept or reject?" he finally asked from his makeshift podium perched on a cement dais in the base's maintenance bay. The stern expression on his face and the subsequent silence conveyed the weighty nature of the task. "Come on guys, this is not a marriage proposal! Yes or no! It's a simple mission to find and destroy the mouse in our wheat silo guys."
  
  "I'm in".
  
  "Ah, Danke Himmelfarb! I knew I chose the right man when I chose you," Schmidt said, using reverse psychology to nudge the other two. Due to the predominance of peer pressure, he was eventually successful. Shortly thereafter, a red-haired Imp named Kohl clicked his heels in his typical ostentatious manner. Naturally, the last man, Werner, had to yield. He resisted, but only because he planned to play a little in Dillenburg for the next three days, and Schmidt's little excursion ruined his plans.
  
  "Let's go get that little bastard," he said indifferently. "I beat him twice in blackjack last month and he still owes me 137 euros."
  
  Two of his colleagues chuckled. Schmidt was pleased.
  
  "Thanks for volunteering to share your experience and time guys. Let me get the information tonight and I'll have your first orders ready on Tuesday. Fired."
  
  
  Chapter 7 - Encounter with the Killer
  
  
  The cold, black gaze of motionless beady eyes met Nina as she gradually emerged from her blissful sleep. This time she was not tormented by nightmares, but, nevertheless, she woke up from this terrible sight. She gasped as the dark pupils in her bloodshot eyes became the reality she thought she'd lost in her sleep.
  
  Oh God, she said with her lips at the sight of him.
  
  He responded with what might have been a smile if there was any left of his facial muscles, but all she could see were the lines around his eyes narrowing in friendly acknowledgment. He nodded politely.
  
  "Hi," Nina forced herself to say, even though she wasn't in the mood to talk. She hated herself for silently hoping the patient was speechless just to be left alone. After all, she only greeted him with a show of decorum. To her dismay, he answered in a hoarse whisper. "Hello. I'm sorry I scared you. I just thought I would never wake up again."
  
  This time Nina smiled without moral compulsion. "I'm Nina."
  
  "Nice to meet you, Nina. I'm sorry...it's hard to say," he apologized.
  
  "Don't worry. Don't speak if it hurts."
  
  "I wish it hurt. But my face just went numb. Such a feeling..."
  
  He took a deep breath, and Nina saw great sadness in his dark eyes. Suddenly her heart ached with pity for the man with melted skin, but she didn't dare to 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. It's just that numbness, like when you touch someone else's face, you know? It's like a mask."
  
  When he spoke, Nina imagined his suffering, and this made her give up her former viciousness when she wished that he would be silenced for her own comfort. She presented everything he had told her and put herself in his place. How awful it must be! But regardless of the reality of his suffering and inevitable disadvantage, she wanted to maintain a positive tone.
  
  "I'm sure it will get better, especially with the medicine they give us," she sighed. "I'm surprised I can feel my ass on the toilet seat."
  
  His eyes narrowed and wrinkled again, and a rhythmic wheeze escaped from his esophagus, which she now knew was laughter, although there was no sign of it on the rest of his face. "Like when you fall asleep on your 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 trays of breakfast. Nina wondered where Nurse Barken was, but didn't say anything when Dr. Fritz entered the room, followed by two strangers in professional clothes and Nurse Marks at their heels. The strangers turned out to be hospital administrators, one man and one woman.
  
  "Good morning, Dr. Gould," smiled Dr. Fritz, but he led his team to another patient. Sister 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, probably for her sake.
  
  Nina frowned in annoyance at their incessant questioning. The poor fellow could hardly pronounce his words correctly! However, she was able to hear enough to know that the patient could not remember his own name and that the only thing he remembered before he caught 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 failing eyes to sharpen her hearing. She heard the doctor say, "My nurse took your wallet when you were being sedated. From what we can decipher from the charred remains, you are twenty-seven years old and from Dillenburg. Unfortunately, your name on the card has been destroyed, so we can't identify 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 trifles! Typically!
  
  "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 stepped out. As they passed, Nina was shocked to hear one say to the other, "We can't put the identikit on the news either. He doesn't have a bloody face to recognize."
  
  She couldn't help but protect him. "Hey!"
  
  Like good sycophants, they stopped and smiled sweetly at the famous scientist, but what she said wiped the fake smiles off their faces. "At least this person has one face, not two. Savvy?"
  
  Without a word, the two embarrassed pen salesmen left while Nina glared at them with a raised eyebrow. She pouted proudly, quietly adding: "And in perfect German, bitches."
  
  "I must admit it was impressive in German, especially for a Scot." Dr. Fritz smiled as he entered the young man's file. Both the burn patient and Nurse Marks acknowledged the defiant historian's chivalry with a thumbs-up that made Nina feel like the old again.
  
  Nina called Sister Marks closer, making sure the young woman knew that she wanted to share something inconspicuous. Dr. Fritz glanced at the two women, suspecting that there was some matter that he should be informed about.
  
  "Ladies, I won't be long. Let me just make our patient comfortable." Turning to the burn patient, he said, "My friend, in the meantime we'll have to give you a name, 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 it"s appropriate at all, but," she sighed sincerely, "I think I"m losing my sight!"
  
  "I'm sure it's just a by-product of radia..." Marlene tried, but Nina grabbed her arm tightly in protest.
  
  "Listen! If another employee at this hospital uses radiation as an excuse instead of doing something to my eyes, I will start a riot. You understand?" She smiled impatiently. "Please. PLEASE. Do something with my eyes. Inspection. Anything. I'm telling you, I'm going blind, while Sister Barken assured me that I'm getting better!"
  
  Dr. Fritz listened to Nina's complaint. He slipped the pen into his pocket and, with a reassuring wink at the patient he now called Sam, left him.
  
  "Dr. Gould, do 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 used to be blurry, but now it becomes impossible to see anything further than at arm's length," 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 out anything."
  
  "Sister Barken told you the truth," he said, pulling out a light pen and parting Nina's eyelids with his gloved left hand. "You heal very quickly, almost unnaturally." He lowered his nearly barren face next to hers to check her pupil reaction as she gasped.
  
  "I see you!" - she exclaimed. "I see you as clear as day. Every flaw. Even the stubble on your face that peeks out from your pores."
  
  Puzzled, he looked at the nurse on the other side of Nina's bed. Her face was full of concern. "We will run some blood tests later today. Sister Marks, prepare the results for me tomorrow."
  
  "Where is Sister Barken?" Nina asked.
  
  "She's off duty until Friday, but I'm sure a promising nurse like Ms. Marks can take care of that, right?" The young nurse nodded vigorously.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Once the evening visiting hours were over, most of the staff were busy getting patients ready for bed, but Dr. Fritz had previously given Dr. Nina Gould a sedative to make sure she got a good night's sleep. She had been quite upset all day, acting out of her usual ways due to her deteriorating eyesight. 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 muffled conversations between the night staff nurses had stopped, and they were all struggling with various bouts of boredom and the lulling power of the silence. Nurse Marks worked an extra shift, spending her free time on social media. Too bad she was professionally banned from publishing the confession of her character, Dr. Gould. She was sure it would make the historians and World War II fanatics among her online friends jealous, but alas, she had to keep the startling news to herself.
  
  The slight popping sound of hopping footsteps echoed down the hallway before Marlene looked up to see one of the first-floor nurses rushing toward the nurses' station. The wretched janitor ran after him. Both men had shocked faces as they frantically urged the nurses to shut up before they got to them.
  
  Out of breath, the two men stopped at the door of an office where Marlene and another nurse were waiting for an explanation for their strange behavior.
  
  "There-with-there," the janitor began first, "the intruder is on the first floor, and he is climbing the fire escape while we are talking."
  
  "So call security," Marlene whispered, surprised at their inability to handle the security threat. "If you suspect that someone is a threat to staff and patients, know that you..."
  
  "Listen, honey!" The orderly leaned directly towards the young woman, whispering derisively in her ear as quietly as he could. "Both security officers are dead!"
  
  The janitor nodded wildly. "This is true! Call the police. Now! Before he gets here!"
  
  "What about the staff on the second floor?" she asked, frantically trying to find a line from the receptionist. The two men shrugged. Marlene was dismayed to find the switch beeping continuously. This meant that there were either too many calls to process or a faulty system.
  
  "I can't catch the main lines!" she whispered urgently. "My God! Nobody knows there are problems. We must warn them!" Marlene used her cell phone to call Dr. Hilt on his personal cell phone. "Doctor Handle?" she said, wide-eyed as the anxious men constantly checked the figure they saw coming up the fire escape.
  
  "He'll be pissed that you called him on his cell phone," the orderly warned.
  
  "Who cares? Until she gets to him, Victor! grunted another nurse. She followed suit, using her cell phone to call the local police while Marlene dialed Dr. Hilt's number again.
  
  "He doesn't answer," she breathed. "He calls, but there is no voicemail either."
  
  "Fabulous! And our phones are in our fucking lockers!" the orderly, Victor, was seething hopelessly, running frustrated fingers through his hair. In the background, they heard another nurse talking to the police. She poked the phone into the nurse's chest.
  
  "Here!" she insisted. "Tell them the details. They send out two cars."
  
  Victor explained the situation to the emergency operator, who dispatched patrol cars. He then remained on the line while she continued to receive more information from him and radioed it to the patrol cars as they rushed to the Heidelberg hospital.
  
  
  Chapter 8 - It's all fun and games until...
  
  
  "Do zigzags! I need a challenge! roared the noisy, overweight woman as Sam began to run away from the table. Perdue was too drunk to be alarmed as he watched Sam try to win a bet that a hard-hitting girl with a knife couldn't hit him. The nearby drinkers around them formed a small crowd of cheering and betting hooligans, all familiar with the Great Morag's talent with blades. They all lamented and wanted to capitalize on the misguided boldness of that idiot from Edinburgh.
  
  The tents were lit by festive lanterns, casting the shadows of swaying drunkards singing heartily to the tunes of a folk band. It was not quite dark yet, but the heavy, overcast sky reflected the lights of the wide field below. Along the meandering river that flowed along the stalls, a few people paddled in rowboats, enjoying the quiet ripples of the shimmering water around them. Children played under the trees next to the parking lot.
  
  Sam heard the first dagger whistle past his shoulder.
  
  "Ai!" he suddenly shouted. "Almost spilled my ale in there!"
  
  He heard screaming women and men urging him on over the noise of Morag fans chanting her name. Somewhere in this frenzy, Sam heard a small group of people chanting "Kill the bastard! Kill the wampot!"
  
  There was no encouragement from Perdue, even as Sam turned around for a moment to see where Mora had shifted her aim. Dressed in his family's tartan over a kilt, Purdue staggered through the frantic parking lot in the direction of the on-site clubhouse.
  
  "Traitor," Sam slurred. He took another sip of his ale just as Mora raised her flabby hand to level the last of the three daggers. "Oh shit!" - Exclaimed Sam and, throwing aside the mug, ran to the hill by the river.
  
  Just as he feared, his drunkenness served two purposes - inflicting humiliation and then the subsequent ability not to turn a rat's ass up. His disorientation on the turn caused him to lose his balance, and after just one jump forward, his foot hit the back of his other ankle, knocking him down onto the wet, loose grass and mud with a thud. Sam's skull hit a stone hidden in long tufts of greenery, and a bright flash pierced his brain painfully. 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 terrible confirmation of the upturned clothing. If that wasn't enough to confirm the nightmare that followed, the fresh air on his buttocks did the trick.
  
  "Oh my God! Not again," he moaned through the smell of dirt and manure as the crowd's roaring laughter punished him. "On the other hand," he said to himself as he sat down, "I won't remember it in the morning. Right! It won't matter."
  
  But he was a terrible journalist who forgot to remember that the flashing lights that occasionally blinded him from a short distance meant that even when he forgot about the test, the photographs would prevail. For a moment, Sam just sat there, wishing he had been so morbidly conventional; regretting that I didn"t wear panties or at least a thong! Morag's toothless mouth was wide open with laughter as she staggered closer to retrieve it.
  
  "Don't worry, honey!" she chuckled. "These are not the ones we saw for the first time!"
  
  In one quick movement, the strong girl hauled him to his feet. Sam was too drunk and nauseous to fight her off when she dusted off his kilt and felt it while she played comedy at his expense.
  
  "Hey! Eh, lady..." he stammered in his words. His arms flailed like a drugged flamingo as he tried to regain his composure. "Watch your hands there!"
  
  "Sam! Sam!" - he heard from somewhere inside the bubble cruel mockery and whistling coming from a large gray tent.
  
  "Perdue?" he called, looking for his mug on the thick, dirty lawn.
  
  "Sam! Let's go, we have to go! Sam! Stop fooling around with the fat girl!" Perdue staggered forward, muttering as he approached.
  
  "What do you see?" Morag screamed at the insult. Frowning, she moved away from Sam to give Purdue her full attention.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "A little ice on that, mate?" the bartender asked Purdue.
  
  Sam and Perdue entered the clubhouse on unsteady legs after most of the people had already vacated their seats, deciding to go outside and watch the Flame Eaters during the drum show.
  
  "Yes! Ice for both of us," Sam shouted, holding his head where the stone met. Perdue strutted along beside him, hand raised to order two meads while they healed their wounds.
  
  "Oh my God, this woman hits like Mike Tyson," Perdue remarked, pressing an ice pack to his right eyebrow, the spot where Morag's first shot indicated her disapproval of his remark. The second hit came just below his left cheekbone, and Purdue couldn't help but be a little impressed with her combination.
  
  "Well, she throws knives like an amateur," Sam interjected, clutching a glass in his hand.
  
  "You know she didn"t really mean to hit you, right?" the bartender reminded Sam. He thought for a moment and objected: "But then she is stupid to make such a bet. I got my money back double."
  
  "Yeah, but she bet four times as much on herself, boy!" the bartender chuckled heartily. "She didn"t earn such a reputation for being stupid, huh?"
  
  "Ha!" Perdue exclaimed, his eyes glued to the TV screen behind the bar. It was the very reason he had come looking for Sam in the first place. What he saw on the news earlier struck him as cause for concern, and he wanted to sit there until the episode was repeated so he could show Sam.
  
  Within the next hour, exactly what he had been waiting for appeared on the screen. He leaned forward, knocking over several glasses on the counter. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Look, Sam! Isn"t our dear Nina in this hospital right now?"
  
  Sam watched a reporter talk about a drama that took place at a famous hospital just a few hours ago. This instantly alarmed him. The two men exchanged worried looks.
  
  "We have to go and get her, Sam," Purdue insisted.
  
  "If I were sober, I would go right now, but we can't go to Germany in this state," Sam complained.
  
  "That's not a problem, my friend," Perdue smiled in his usual mischievous manner. He raised his glass and drank the rest of the alcohol from it. "I have a private jet and a crew that can take us there while we sleep. As much as I would hate to fly back into the wilderness to Detlef, we are talking about Nina."
  
  "Yes," Sam agreed. "I don't want her to stay there one more night. Not if I can do something about it."
  
  Purdue and Sam left the party with their faces completely pissed off and a few cuts and scrapes, determined to clear their minds and come to the aid of the other third of their social alliance.
  
  As night fell on the Scottish coast, they left a merry trail behind them as they listened to the sounds of the bagpipes fade away. It was a harbinger of more serious events, when their momentary recklessness and fun were to give way to the urgent rescue of Dr. Nina Gould, who was sharing space with a rampant murderer.
  
  
  Chapter 9 - Cry of the Faceless
  
  
  Nina was horrified. She slept through most of the morning and early afternoon, but Dr. Fritz took her to an examination room for an eye exam as soon as the police cleared them to move. The ground floor was heavily guarded by both the police and the local security company, which sacrificed two of its own men during the night. The second floor was closed to anyone who was not imprisoned there, or to medical personnel.
  
  "You're lucky you were able to sleep through all this madness, Dr. Gould," Nurse Marx 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 intruder?" Nina frowned. "This is what I was able to make out from the scraps of what was being 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 too much 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 the security personnel. Of course, he didn't linger to see who it was."
  
  "Did they catch the intruder?" Nina asked seriously.
  
  The nurse shook her head. "That's why this place is in quarantine. They are searching the hospital for anyone who is not allowed here, but so far without success."
  
  "How is this 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 is your vision today? Better?"
  
  "The same," Nina replied indifferently. She obviously 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 start treatment."
  
  "I hate this feeling. I'm sleepy all the time and now I can barely see more than a fuzzy image of the people I'm facing," moaned Nina. "You know, I need to get in touch with my friends and family so they know I'm okay. I cannot stay here forever."
  
  "I understand, Dr. Gould," Marlene sympathized, looking back at her other patient across from Nina, who was stirring 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 up at the ceiling, as if he could see something they couldn't. Then a sad nostalgia came over her, and she whispered to herself.
  
  "Sam".
  
  Nina's fading gaze satisfied her curiosity as she watched Patient Sam raise his hand and squeeze Nurse Marx's wrist, but she couldn't make out his expression. Nina's reddened skin, damaged by the toxic air of Chernobyl, was almost completely healed. But she still felt like she was dying. Nausea and dizziness prevailed, while her vital signs only showed improvement. To someone as enterprising and passionate as the Scottish historian, such supposed weaknesses were unacceptable and caused her considerable frustration.
  
  She could hear the whispers before Sister Marks shook her head, denying everything he asked. The nurse then pulled away from the patient and quickly left without looking at Nina. The patient, however, looked at Nina. That's all she could see. But she had no idea why. Tellingly, she stood up to him.
  
  "What's the matter, Sam?"
  
  He did not look away, but remained calm, as if he hoped that she would forget that she had addressed him. Trying to sit up, he groaned in pain and leaned back against 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-do you know... you know... the person they are looking for?" he stammered. "You know? Uninvited guest?"
  
  "Yes," she replied.
  
  "He's after m-me. He's looking for me, Nina. A-and tonight... he's coming to kill me," he said in a trembling, mispronounced mutter. From what he said, Nina's blood froze in her veins, because she did not expect that the criminal would be looking for something near her. "Nina?" he insisted on an answer.
  
  "You are sure?" she asked.
  
  "I am," he confirmed, to her dismay.
  
  "Listen, how do you know who it is? Have you seen him here? Have you seen it with your own eyes? Because if you haven't, chances are you're just being paranoid my friend," she stated, hoping to help him process his assessment and bring some clarity to it. She also hoped he was wrong, as she was in no condition to hide from the killer. She saw his wheels turn as he considered 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 that some faceless enemy is after you?"
  
  Nina was unaware of this, but her choice of words reversed all the consequences the young man had suffered - the memories now came flooding back. His eyes widened in horror as she spoke, piercing her with her black gaze so hard that she could see it even with her failing eyesight.
  
  "Sam?" she asked. "What is this?"
  
  "Mein Gott, Nina!" he croaked. It was actually a scream, but damage to his vocal cords drowned it out to a mere hysterical whisper. "Faceless, you say! Damn face - faceless! He was... Nina, the person who set me on fire...!"
  
  "Yes? What about him? she insisted, though she knew what he was about to say. She just wanted more details if she could get them.
  
  "The man who tried to kill me...he had...no face!" yelled the frightened patient. If he could cry, he would weep at the memory of the monstrous man who haunted him after the game that night. "He caught up with me and set me on fire!"
  
  "Nurse!" Nina screamed. "Nurse! Anyone! Please, help!"
  
  Two nurses came running with puzzled expressions on their faces. Nina pointed to the upset patient and exclaimed, "He just remembered his attack. Please give him something for the shock!"
  
  They rushed to his aid and drew the curtains, giving him a sedative to calm him down. Nina felt herself threatened by her own lethargy, but she tried to solve the strange puzzle on her own. Was he serious? Was he consistent enough to draw such an accurate conclusion, or was he making it all up? She doubted he was insincere. After all, the man could hardly move on his own or speak a sentence without a struggle. He certainly wouldn't be so insane if he wasn't convinced that his incapacitated state would cost him his life.
  
  "God, I wish Sam was here to help me think," she muttered as her mind begged for sleep. "Even Perdue would fit in if he could refrain from trying to kill me this time." Dinner time was already approaching, and since none of them expected visitors, Nina was free to sleep if she wanted to. Or so she thought.
  
  Dr. Fritz smiled as he entered. "Dr. Gould, I just came to give you something for your eye problems."
  
  "Damn," she muttered. "Hello, Doctor. What are you giving me?"
  
  "Just a remedy to reduce the constriction of the capillaries in your eyes. I have reason to believe that your vision is deteriorating due to constriction of blood circulation in the eye area. If you have any problems during the night, you can simply contact Dr. Hilt. He will be on duty again tonight, and I will contact you in the morning, okay?"
  
  "Okay doctor," she agreed as she watched him inject an unknown substance into her arm. "Do you already have the test results?"
  
  Dr. Fritz pretended not to hear her at first, but Nina repeated her question. He didn't look at her, obviously focused on what he was doing. "We will discuss this tomorrow, Dr. Gould. I should have results from the lab by then." He finally looked at her with failed confidence, but she was in no mood to continue the conversation. By this time, her roommate had calmed down and quieted down. "Good night, dear Nina." He smiled good-naturedly 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 jabbed at Nina's arm, bringing her into a terrible wakefulness. Reflexively, she pressed her hand to the affected area, suddenly catching her hand under her palm, which scared her half to death. Her inadequate eyes opened wide to see who was speaking to her, but apart from the piercing dark spots under the eyebrows of the plastic mask, she couldn't make out the faces.
  
  "Nina! Shhh," pleaded the empty face with a soft creak. It was her roommate, standing by her bed in a white hospital gown. The pipes were removed from his hands, leaving traces of oozing scarlet rubbed carelessly on the bare white skin around them.
  
  "Wh-what the hell?" she frowned. "Seriously?"
  
  "Listen, Nina. Just be very quiet and listen to me," he whispered, crouching down a bit so that his body was hidden from the entrance to the room by Nina's bed. Only his head was raised so he could speak into her ear. "The person I told you about is going to come after me. I have to find a hiding place before he leaves."
  
  But he was not lucky. Nina was drugged to the point of delirium, and she did not care too much about his fate. She just nodded until her free-floating eyes were once again hidden under heavy lids. He sighed in despair and looked around, his breathing quickening with every moment. Yes, the presence of the police protected the patients, but to be honest, the armed guards did not even save the people they hired, let alone those who were unarmed!
  
  It would have been better, Patient Sam thought, if he had hidden instead of risking his escape. If he had been discovered, he could have dealt with the attacker accordingly, and hopefully Dr. Gould would not have suffered any further violence. Nina's hearing has improved significantly since she started losing her sight; this allowed her to listen to the shuffling of her paranoid roommate's feet. One by one his steps moved away from her, but not towards his bed. She continued to drift in and out of sleep, but her eyes remained closed.
  
  Shortly thereafter, a staggering pain blossomed deep behind Nina's eye sockets, flooding into her brain like a flower of pain. Nerve connections quickly familiarized her receptors with the splitting migraine it caused, and Nina screamed loudly in her sleep. A sudden, gradually increasing headache filled her eyeballs and brought heat to her forehead.
  
  "Oh my God!" she screamed. "My head! My head is killing me!"
  
  Her screams echoed through the practical silence of the late night in the ward, quickly drawing the medical staff to her. Nina's trembling fingers finally found the emergency button, and she pressed it several times, calling the night nurse for illegal help. A new nurse ran in, fresh from the academy.
  
  "Doctor Gould? Dr. Gould, are you all right? What's the matter, dear? she asked.
  
  "M-God..." Nina stuttered, despite the drug-induced disorientation, "My head hurts! Now she 's sitting right in front of my eyes and it's killing me. My God! It feels like my skull is cracking."
  
  "I will quickly go for Dr. Hilt. He just got out of the operating room. Just relax. He'll be right there, Dr. Gould." The nurse turned and hurried for help.
  
  "Thank you," Nina sighed, exhausted by the terrible pain no doubt from her eyes. She lifted her head for a moment to check on Sam, the patient, but he wasn't there. Nina frowned. I could have sworn he spoke to me while I was sleeping. She thought about it further. No. I must have dreamed it.
  
  "Doctor Gould?"
  
  "Yes? Sorry, I can hardly see," she apologized.
  
  "Doctor Ephesus is with me." Turning to the doctor, she said: "Excuse me, I just need to run into the next room for a moment to help Frau Mittag with her bedding."
  
  "Of course, sister. Please take your time," the doctor replied. Nina heard the nurse's light footsteps. She looked at Dr. Hilt and informed him of her particular complaint. Unlike Dr. Fritz, who was very active and liked to make quick diagnoses, Dr. Hilt was a better listener. He waited for Nina to explain exactly how the headache had settled behind her eyes before answering.
  
  "Doctor Gould? Can you at least get a good look at me?" he asked. "Headaches are usually directly related to impending blindness, you know?"
  
  "Not at all," she said sullenly. "This blindness seems to be getting worse every day, and Dr. Fritz has done nothing constructive about it. Could you please just give me something for the pain? It's almost unbearable."
  
  He took off his surgical mask so he could speak clearly. "Of course, my dear."
  
  She saw him tilt his head, looking at Sam's bed. "Where is the other patient?"
  
  "I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe he went to the toilet. I remember he told Nurse Marks that he had no intention of using the pan."
  
  "Why doesn't he use the restroom here?" the doctor asked, but Nina, frankly, was getting really sick of reporting on her roommate when she needed help to ease her splitting headache.
  
  "I don't know!" she snapped at him. "Listen, can you please just give me something for the pain?"
  
  He was not 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. Extreme irritation seized Nina from his ridiculous question. "Yes. He's somewhere in the room. Twenty points if you can give me painkillers before you find them!"
  
  "You must tell me where he is, Dr. Gould, or you will die tonight," he said bluntly.
  
  "Are you completely crazy?" she squealed. "Are you seriously threatening me?" Nina felt that something was very wrong, but she could not scream. She watched him with blinking eyes, her fingers furtively searching for the red button that was still on the bed next to her, while she stared at his missing face. His blurry shadow held up the call button for her to see. "Are you looking for this?"
  
  "Oh God," Nina immediately cried, covering her nose and mouth with her hands, when she realized that she was now remembering this voice. Her head was pounding and her skin was burning, but she didn't dare to move.
  
  "Where is he?" he whispered evenly. "Tell me or you die."
  
  "I don't know, okay?" her voice trembled softly under her hands. "I really do not know. I slept all this time. My God, am I his keeper?"
  
  The tall man replied, "You are quoting Cain straight from the Bible. Tell me, Dr. Gould, are you religious?"
  
  "Fuck you!" she yelled.
  
  "Ah, an atheist," he remarked thoughtfully. "There are no atheists in foxholes. This is another quote - perhaps it is more suitable for you in this moment of final recovery, when you meet your death at the hands of something for which you will wish you had a god."
  
  "You are not Dr. Hilt," said the nurse behind him. Her words sounded like a question steeped in disbelief and awareness. 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 ship. She slid across the polished floor with a deafening rumble that immediately attracted the attention of the night staff at the nursing station.
  
  Out of nowhere, the police started shouting in the hallway. Nina expected them to grab the impostor in her room, but instead they rushed right past her door.
  
  "Go! Forward! Forward! He's on the second floor! Corner him at the pharmacy! Fast!" shouted the commander.
  
  "What?" Nina frowned. She couldn't believe it. All she could make out was the figure of the charlatan, rapidly approaching her, and, just like the fate of the poor nurse, he gave her a hard blow on the head. For a moment, she felt unbearable pain before disappearing into the black river of oblivion. Nina woke up just a few moments later, still huddled awkwardly in her bed. Her headache now had company. The blow to the temple taught her a new level of pain. Now she was swollen so that her right eye seemed smaller. The night nurse was still sprawled on the floor beside her, but Nina didn't have time. She had to get out of here before the creepy stranger got back to her, especially now that he got to know her better.
  
  She grabbed the dangling call button again, but the head of the device was severed. "Damn," she groaned, carefully sliding her legs off the bed. All she could see were the simple outlines of objects and people. There was no sign of personality or intent when she couldn't see their faces.
  
  "Crap! Where are Sam and Purdue when I need them? How do I always end up in this shit?" she whimpered half in annoyance and fear as she walked, groping for a way to free herself from the tubes in her hands and making her way past the pile of women beside her unsteady legs. The actions of the police attracted the attention of most of the night staff, and Nina noticed that the third floor was eerily quiet, except for the distant echo of a television weather report 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 the deteriorating vision that would soon leave her. After dressing, holding her shoes so as not to arouse suspicion when she came out, she crept back to Sam's bedside table and opened his drawer. His charred wallet was still inside. She tucked the license card inside, slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans.
  
  She began to worry about her roommate's whereabouts, his condition, and most of all, whether his desperate request was real. Until now, she'd thought it was just a dream, but now that he was gone, she began to think twice about his visit earlier that night. In any case, now she needed to escape from the impostor. The police could offer no protection against the menace without a face. They had already pursued the suspects, and none of them had actually seen the person responsible. The only way Nina knew who was responsible was through his reprehensible behavior towards her and Sister Barken.
  
  "Oh shit!" - she said, stopping in her tracks, almost at the end of the white corridor. "Sister Barken. I have to warn her." But Nina knew that asking for the fat nurse nurse would alert the staff that she was slipping away. There was no doubt that they would not 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 out.
  
  Returning to her dark room, using only the light from the corridor on the shimmering floor, Nina began to undress the night nurse. Luckily for the little historian, the nurse was two sizes too big for her.
  
  "I am so sorry. Actually, I am," Nina whispered as she removed her medical uniform from the woman and put it on over her clothes. Feeling pretty terrible about what she was doing to the poor woman, Nina's clumsy morality led her to throw her bedding over the nurse. After all, the lady was in her underwear on the cold floor. Give her a bun, Nina, she thought as she looked again. No, it's stupid. Just get the fuck out of here! But the nurse's motionless body seemed to call to her. Perhaps Nina's pity caused the blood to flow from her nose, blood that formed a sticky, dark puddle on the floor under her face. We don't have time! Convincing arguments made her think. "To hell with that," Nina decided aloud, and turned the unconscious lady over once so that the bedclothes would wrap around her body and protect her from the hardness of the floor.
  
  As a nurse, Nina could have prevented the cops from getting out before they noticed she was having trouble finding steps and doorknobs. When she finally got down to the first floor, she overheard two police officers talking about the murder victim.
  
  "I wish I were here," said one. "I would have caught that son of a bitch."
  
  "Of course, all the action happens before our shift. Now we're forced to babysit what's left," lamented another.
  
  "This time the victim was a doctor on night duty," whispered the first. Perhaps Dr. Hilt? she thought as she made her way to the exit.
  
  "They found this doctor with a piece of skin torn off his face, just like that guard had the night before," she heard him add.
  
  "Shift early?" one of the officers asked Nina as she passed by. She took a breath and articulated her German as best she could.
  
  "Yes, my nerves could not stand the murder. Passed out and hit my face," she muttered quickly, trying to find the doorknob.
  
  "Let me get this for you," someone said and opened the door to their expressions of sympathy.
  
  "Good night, sister," the policeman said to Nina.
  
  "Danke shön," she smiled as she felt the cool night air on her face as she fought her headache and tried not to fall off the stairs.
  
  "And good night to you too, Doctor... Ephesus, isn"t it?" - asked the policeman behind Nina at the door. The blood froze in her veins, but she remained faithful.
  
  "It's right. Good night gentlemen," the man said cheerfully. "Be safe!"
  
  
  Chapter 11 - Baby Margaret
  
  
  "Sam Cleve is just the right person for this, sir. I will contact him."
  
  "We can't afford Sam Cleave," Duncan Gradwell quickly replied. He was dying from the desire to smoke a cigarette, but when the news of the crash of a fighter jet in Germany was transmitted by wire to his computer screen, it required immediate and urgent attention.
  
  "He is my old friend. I... will twist his arm," he heard Margaret. "Like I said, I'll contact him. We worked together many years ago when I was helping his fiancée Patricia with her first job as a professional."
  
  "Is this the girl who was shot dead in front of him by that gun circle whose operation they exposed?" Gradwell asked in a rather insensitive tone. Margaret lowered her head and answered with a slow nod. "No wonder he became so addicted to the bottle in later years," Gradwell sighed.
  
  Margaret couldn't help but laugh at this. "Well, sir, Sam Cleave didn't have to be coaxed into sucking on the neck of the bottle. Not before Patricia, not after... the incident.
  
  "Oh! So, tell me, is he too unstable to tell us this story?" Gradwell asked.
  
  "Yes, Mr. Gradwell. Sam Cleave is not only reckless, he is notorious for having a slightly twisted mind," she said with a gentle smile. "A journalist of exactly the caliber you want to uncover the covert operations of the German Luftwaffe command. I'm sure their chancellor will be thrilled to hear about this, especially now."
  
  "I agree," Margaret confirmed, clasping her hands in front of her as she stood to attention in front of her editor's desk. "I will contact him immediately and see if he will agree to reduce his fee for an old friend a little."
  
  "I must hope so!" Gradwell's double chin trembled as his voice rose. "This man is now a famous writer, so I'm sure that these crazy excursions he goes on with this rich idiot are not a feat of necessity."
  
  The "rich idiot" whom Gradwell so affectionately called was David Purdue. Gradwell has cultivated a growing disrespect for Purdue over the past years due to the billionaire's snub for a personal friend of Gradwell's. The friend in question, Professor Frank Matlock of the University of Edinburgh, was forced to resign as department head in the high-profile Brixton Tower case after Purdue withdrew his generous donations to the department. Naturally, there was a furore over Perdue's subsequent romantic infatuation with Matlock's favorite toy, the object of his misogynistic prescriptions and reservations, Dr. Nina Gould.
  
  The fact that all of this was ancient history, worthy of a decade and a half of "water under the bridge", did not matter to the embittered Gradwell. He now ran the Edinburgh Post, a position he had won through hard work and fair play years after Sam Cleve left the paper's dusty halls.
  
  "Yes, Mr. Gradwell," Margaret replied politely. "I'll get to it, but what if I can't spin it?"
  
  "The history of the world will be made in two weeks, Margaret," Gradwell grinned like a Halloween rapist. "In just over a week, the world will be watching a live broadcast 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 clear threat that this will happen is the recent suicide flight of Dutch pilot Ben Grijsman, remember?"
  
  "Yes, sir". She bit her lip, knowing full well what he was getting at, but refusing to provoke his anger by interrupting. "He infiltrated an Iraqi airbase and hijacked a plane."
  
  "It's right! And crashed into the CIA headquarters, creating the fucking thing that is now unfolding. As you know, the Middle East obviously sent someone to strike back by destroying the German air base!" he exclaimed. "Now tell me again why the reckless and shrewd Sam Cleve doesn't jump at the chance to get into this story."
  
  "Note taken," she smiled shyly, feeling extremely embarrassed to have to watch her boss drool while he passionately talks about the nascent situation. "I have to go. Who knows where he is now? I will have to urgently start calling everyone."
  
  "It's right!" Gradwell growled after her as she headed straight for her little office. "Hurry up and ask Clive to tell us about this before another anti-peace jerk instigates suicide and World War III!"
  
  Margaret didn't even glance at her colleagues as she ran past them, but she knew they were all laughing heartily at Duncan Gradwell's delightful remarks. His chosen words were an office joke. Margaret used to laugh the loudest when the veteran editor of the previous six press services got excited about the news, but she didn't dare now. What if he saw her giggling at what he thought was a newsworthy assignment? Imagine how he would break out 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 hadn't been young Sam in a long time. But for her, he will always be a wayward and overzealous news reporter who exposes injustice wherever he can. He was 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 limit the very freedom of every person. The situation has changed dramatically since the World Unity Organization took over political control of several former EU countries, and several South American territories seceded from what were once Third World governments.
  
  Margaret was by no means a feminist, but the predominantly female-led World Unity Organization showed a significant difference in how they managed and resolved political tensions. Military action no longer enjoyed the favor it once received from male-dominated governments. Advances in problem solving, invention, and resource optimization have come from international donations and investment strategies.
  
  At the head of the World Bank was the chairman of what was established as the Council for International Tolerance, Professor Martha Sloan. She was the former ambassador of Poland to England, who won the last election to rule the new alliance of nations. The main goal of the Council was to eliminate military threats by negotiating treaties of mutual compromise instead of terrorism and military intervention. Trade was more important than political feuds, professor. Sloane has always shared in her speeches. In fact, it has become a principle associated with her in all media.
  
  "Why should we lose our sons by the thousands to feed the greed of a handful of old men in power when the war will never touch them?" she was heard proclaiming just a few days before she was elected in a landslide. "Why should we cripple the economy and destroy the hard work of architects and masons? Or destroying buildings and killing innocents while modern warlords profit from our grief and the severing of our bloodlines? Sacrificed youth to serve an endless circle of destruction is madness perpetuated by the feeble-minded leaders who control your future. Parents who lose their children, lost spouses, brothers and sisters torn away from us because of the inability of older and bitter men to resolve conflicts?"
  
  With her dark braided hair and signature velvet choker that went with any outfit she wore, the petite, charismatic leader shocked the world with her seemingly simple cures for the destructive practices practiced by religious and political systems. In fact, she was once ridiculed by her official opposition for declaring that the spirit of the Olympics had become nothing more than just another rampaging financial generator.
  
  She insisted that it should have been 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 on a tennis court? Even an arm wrestling match between two countries can 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 infantry casualties that have nothing to do with the immediate cause. These people are killing each other for no reason other than an order! If you, my friends, cannot walk up to someone on the street and shoot him in the head without regret or psychological trauma," she asked from her podium in Minsk some time ago, "why do you force your children, brothers, sisters and spouses do it by voting for these old-fashioned tyrants who perpetuate this atrocity? Why?"
  
  Margaret didn't care if the new unions were criticized for what the opposition campaigns called the rise of feminists to power or the insidious coup by agents of the Antichrist. She would support any ruler who opposed the senseless massacre of our own human race in the name of power, greed and corruption. In essence, Margaret Crosby supported Sloan because the world has become less difficult since she came to power. The dark veils that veiled centuries of enmity were now directly removed, opening a channel of communication between disaffected countries. If it were up to me, the dangerous and immoral restrictions of religion would be freed from their hypocrisy, and the dogmas of terror and enslavement would be abolished. Individualism plays a key role in this new world. Uniformity is for formal wear. The rules are based on scientific principles. Freedom concerns the individual, respect and personal discipline. This will enrich each of us in mind and body and allow us to be more productive, to be better at what we do. And as we get better at what we do, we will learn humility. Out of humility comes friendliness.
  
  Martha Sloane's speech played on Margaret's office computer as she searched for the last number she dialed for Sam Cleave. She was thrilled to be able to talk to him again after all this time and couldn't help but give a little giggle as she dialed his number. When the first horn rang, Margaret was distracted by the swaying figure of a male colleague just outside her window. 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 that his lip-reading ability surpassed his gestural skills. "I'm on the phone!"
  
  Sam Cleve's phone switched to voicemail, so Margaret interrupted the call to open the door and listen to what the clerk was talking about. Jabbing the door open with a devilish frown, she barked, "What in the name of all that is holy is so important, Gary? I'm trying to contact Sam Cleve."
  
  "In fact of the matter!" Gary exclaimed. "Look at the news. He's on the news, already in Germany, in a hospital in Heidelberg, where, according to a reporter, there was a guy who crashed a German plane!"
  
  
  Chapter 12 - Self-Assignment
  
  
  Margaret ran back to her office and changed the channel to SKY International. Without taking her eyes off the scenery on screen, she made her way between 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 paid attention to the reporter's comment. Here and there a word cut through the jumble of facts, hitting her brain in just the right place to remember the overall story.
  
  "Authorities have yet to apprehend the elusive killer responsible for the death of two security personnel three days ago and another death last night. The identities of the deceased will be made public as soon as the investigation carried out by the Wiesloch Criminal Investigation Department at the Directorate of Heidelberg is completed." Margaret suddenly made out Sam among the spectators behind the cordon signs and barriers. "Oh my God, boy, how have you changed in..." She put on her glasses and leaned over to get a better look. She remarked approvingly, "Pretty cute ragguard now that you"re a man, huh?" What a metamorphosis he has undergone! Now his dark hair was growing back just below his shoulders, the ends sticking up in a wild, unkempt way that gave him an air of wayward sophistication.
  
  He was wearing a black leather coat and boots. A green cashmere scarf was roughly wrapped around his collar, which adorned his swarthy features and dark clothes. In the foggy 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, right, honey?" Margaret faked a slight smirk. "Well, you haven"t changed that much, have you?"
  
  Behind him, she recognized another man she'd often seen at press conferences and ostentatious college party footage sent by the entertainment editor to the news-spot booth. A tall, white-haired man leaned forward to take a close look at the scene next to Sam Cleve. He, too, was impeccably dressed. His glasses were tucked into the front pocket of his overcoat. His hands remained hidden in his trouser pockets as he paced. She noticed his brown, Italian-cut, fleece blazer, covering what she assumed must be a concealed weapon.
  
  "David Purdue," she announced softly as the scene played out in two smaller versions behind her glasses. Her eyes left the screen for a moment to scan the open-plan office to make sure Gradwell was still. This time he was calm as he looked over the article that had just been brought to him. Margaret chuckled and glanced at the flat screen with a grin. "Obviously you didn"t see that Cleve was still friends with Dave Perdue, did you?" she chuckled.
  
  "Two patients have been reported missing since this morning, and a police spokesman..."
  
  "What?" Margaret frowned. She's already heard it. It was here that she decided to prick up her ears and pay attention to the report.
  
  "... the police have no idea how two patients could get out of a building with only one exit, an exit guarded by officers twenty-four hours a day. This led authorities and hospital officials to believe that two patients, Nina Gould and the burn victim known only as "Sam", may still be at large inside the building. The reason for their flight, however, remains a mystery."
  
  "But Sam is outside the building, idiots," Margaret frowned, completely baffled by the message. She was familiar with Sam Cleve's relationship with Nina Gould, whom she briefly met one day after a lecture on pre-World War II strategies as seen in contemporary politics, "Poor Nina. What happened, because of what they ended up in the burn unit? My God. But Sam is..."
  
  Margaret shook her head and licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, as she always did when she tried to solve a puzzle. Nothing here made sense; neither the disappearance of patients through police barriers, nor the mysterious deaths of three employees, no one even saw the suspect, and strangest of all, for the confusion caused by the fact that Nina's other patient was "Sam" while Sam stood outside among the onlookers. ..in at first glance.
  
  Old colleague Sam's sharp deductive thinking worked, and she leaned back in her chair, watching Sam disappear off-screen with the rest of the crowd. She clasped her fingers together and stared blankly ahead of her, ignoring the changing news reports.
  
  "In plain sight," she repeated over and over again, turning her formulas into various possibilities. "In front of everyone..."
  
  Margaret jumped up, knocking over, fortunately, her empty teacup and one of her press awards, which was on the edge of her desk. She gasped at her sudden insight, encouraged even more to talk to Sam. She wanted to get to the bottom of this whole thing. From the confusion she felt, she realized that there must have been a few pieces of the puzzle that she didn't have, pieces that only Sam Cleve could sacrifice for her new search for the truth. Why not? He would only be glad if someone with her logical mindset helped him solve the mystery of Nina's disappearance.
  
  It would be a shame if the beautiful little storyteller was still caught in the building with some kidnapper or lunatic. Such a thing almost guaranteed bad news, and she didn't want it to come to that at all if she could stop it.
  
  "Mr. Gradwell, I have a week to write an article in Germany. Please arrange the timing of my absence," she said irritably, throwing open Gradwell's door, still hurriedly putting on her coat.
  
  "What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about, Margaret?" exclaimed Gradwell. He turned around in his chair.
  
  "Sam Cleve is in Germany, Mr. Gradwell," she announced excitedly.
  
  "Fine! Then you can let him in on the story he's already here for," he squealed.
  
  "No, you don't understand. That's not all, Mr. Gradwell, much more! 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 thought. He looked at her incredulously for a second. Then he roared, "What the hell are you still doing here? Go and get Clive. Let's expose the Krauts before someone else jumps into the bloody suicide car!"
  
  
  Chapter 13 - Three Strangers and a Missing Historian
  
  
  "What are they saying, Sam?" Perdue asked softly as Sam joined him.
  
  "Two patients are said to have been missing since early this morning," Sam replied with equal restraint as the two of them walked away from the crowd to discuss their plans.
  
  "We have to get Nina out before she becomes another target for this animal," Purdue insisted, his thumbnail crookedly between his front teeth as he considered this.
  
  "It's too late, Perdue," Sam announced with a grim expression. He stopped and scanned the sky above, as if seeking help from some higher power. Purdue's light blue eyes stared at him questioningly, but Sam felt as if a stone had been lodged in his stomach. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "Nina is gone."
  
  Perdue didn't realize it right away, perhaps because it was the last thing he wanted to hear... After the news of her death, of course. Instantly out of his reverie, Perdue stared at Sam with an expression of intense concentration. "Use your mind control to get us some information. Come on, you used that to get me out of Sinclair." he urged Sam, But his friend just shook his head. "Sam? This is for the lady we both are," he reluctantly used the word he had in mind and tactfully replaced it with "I adore".
  
  "I can't," Sam complained. He looked distraught at such a confession, 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 l-lost... that... ability," he struggled.
  
  Sam said it out loud for the first time since the Scottish holidays and it sucked. "I lost her, Perdue. When I tripped over my own bloodied feet while running from Giantess Greta, or whatever her name was, my head hit a rock and, well, he shrugged and gave Purdue a look of terrible guilt. "I'm sorry, dude. But I lost what I could do Lord, when I had it, I thought it was an evil curse-something that was making my life miserable. Now that I don't have it... Now that I really need it, I wish it didn't disappear."
  
  "Great," Purdue moaned, his hand sliding over his forehead and below his hairline to sink into the thick whiteness of his hair. "Okay, let's think about it. Think. We survived much worse than this incident without the help of some sort of psychic trickery, right?"
  
  "Yes," Sam agreed, still feeling like he'd let his side down.
  
  "So we just have to use old-fashioned tracking to find Nina," Perdue suggested, doing his best to mimic his usual "never say you die" attitude.
  
  "What if she's still there?" Sam shattered all illusions. "They say there was no way she could get out of here, so they think she might still be inside the building."
  
  The cop he spoke to didn't tell Sam that the nurse had complained about the attack the previous night-a nurse who had her medical uniform taken away before waking up on the floor of the ward, wrapped in blankets.
  
  "Then we must enter. There is no point in looking for it all over Germany if we have not properly surveyed the original territory and its surroundings," Perdue reflected. His eyes marked the proximity of the deployed officers and plainclothes security men. Using his tablet, he secretly recorded the scene of the incident, the access to the floor outside the brown building, and the basic structure of its entrances and exits.
  
  "Cute," Sam said, keeping a straight face and feigning innocence. He took out a pack of cigarettes to think better. Lighting up his first mask was like shaking hands with an old friend. Sam inhaled the smoke and instantly felt peaceful, centered, as if he stepped back from it all to see the bigger picture. Coincidentally, he also saw the SKY International News van and three suspicious-looking men loitering beside it. Somehow they seemed out of place, but he couldn't figure out what.
  
  Glancing at Perdue, Sam noticed that the grey-haired inventor was panning with his tablet, moving it slowly from right to left to capture the panorama.
  
  "Perdue," Sam said through pursed lips, "quickly go far to the left. At the van. The van has three suspicious-looking bastards. Do you see them?
  
  Perdue did as Sam suggested and filmed three men in their early thirties, as far as he could tell. Sam was right. It was clear that they were not there to see what caused the commotion. Instead, they all glanced at their watches at once, their hands on the buttons. As they waited, one of them spoke.
  
  "They check their watches," Perdue remarked, barely moving his lips.
  
  "Yes," Sam agreed through a long puff of smoke that helped him observe without looking obvious. "What do you think, bomb?"
  
  "Unlikely," Purdue replied deadpan, his voice cracking like that of a distracted lecturer as he held the frame of the clipboard to the men. "They wouldn't have stayed in such close proximity."
  
  "Unless they're suicidal," Sam retorted. Perdue peered over his gold-rimmed glasses, the clipboard still in place.
  
  "Then they wouldn"t have to sync their clocks, would they?" he said impatiently. Sam had to give in. Perdue was right. They were supposed to be there as observers, but from what? He pulled out another cigarette without even finishing the first one.
  
  "Gluttony is a cardinal sin, you understand," Perdue teased, but Sam ignored him. He stubbed out his cigarette butt and headed towards the three men before Perdue could react. He casually strolled across the flat plain of unkempt earth so as not to spook his targets. His German was terrible, so this time he decided to play himself. Maybe 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 assume you don"t have a wisp?"
  
  They didn't expect this. They stared dumbfounded at the stranger who was standing there, grinning and looking stupid with his unlit cigarette.
  
  "My wife went to have lunch with other women from the tour and took my lighter with her." Sam came up with an excuse by focusing on their features and clothing. After all, it was the prerogative of the journalist.
  
  The red-haired loafer spoke to his friends in German. "Give him a light, for heaven's sake. Look how pathetic he looks ." The other two chuckled in agreement, and one stepped forward, throwing fire at Sam. Now Sam realized that his distraction had been ineffective because the three of them were still keeping a close eye on the hospital. "Yes, Werner!" one of them suddenly exclaimed.
  
  A small nurse stepped out of the police-guarded exit and motioned 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 clapped the back of his hand on the red-haired man's hand.
  
  "Warum nicht Himmelfarb?" Kohl protested, followed by a quick firefight, which was quickly settled between the three.
  
  "Kohl! Sofort! The domineering dark-haired man repeated insistently.
  
  In Sam's head, the words struggled to make their way into his dictionary, but he guessed that the first word was the guy's last name. The next word, he guessed, was like doing it quickly, but he wasn't sure.
  
  "Oh, his wife gives orders too," Sam played dumb as he lazily smoked. "Mine is 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 it hard for us. Our job is to make sure the killer in the hospital doesn't slip away unnoticed, and for that, well, we don't need to be disturbed while doing our job."
  
  "I understand. I'm sorry. I thought you were just a bunch of jerks just waiting to steal gas from a news van. You looked like a type," Sam replied with a somewhat sarcastic attitude. He turned and walked away, ignoring the sound of one holding the other. Sam looked back and saw that they were staring at him, which prompted him to move a little faster towards the Purdue house. However, he did not join his friend and avoided visual associations with him in case the three hyenas were looking for a black sheep to pick out. Perdue knew what Sam was doing. Sam's dark eyes widened slightly as their gazes met through the morning mist, and he gave Purdue a sneaky gesture that he shouldn't be drawn into the conversation.
  
  Perdue decided to return to the rental car with several others who had left the scene to return to their day while Sam stayed behind. He, on the other hand, joined a group of locals who volunteered to help police keep an eye on any suspicious activity. It was just his front to keep an eye on the three sly Boy Scouts in their flannel shirts and windbreakers. Sam called Purdue from his vantage point.
  
  "Yes?" Purdue's voice was clearly heard over the phone.
  
  "Military watch, all exactly the same issue. These guys are from the military," he reported as his eyes roamed the hall to avoid being seen. "And yet, names. Kohl, Werner and... uh..." he couldn't remember the third one.
  
  "Yes?" Perdue pressed a button, typing names into a folder of German military personnel in the US Department of Defense Archives.
  
  "Damn," Sam frowned, wincing at his poor ability to remember details. "It's a longer surname."
  
  "That, my friend, will not help me," Perdue mimicked.
  
  "I know! I know, for heaven's sake!" Sam seethed. He felt extraordinarily powerless now that his once outstanding abilities were being challenged and deemed insufficient. The reason for his newfound self-hatred was not the loss of psychic powers, but frustration at not being able to compete in tournaments like he once did when he was younger. "Heaven. I think it has something to do with heaven. God, I have to work on my German - and my goddamn memory."
  
  "Maybe Engel?" Perdue tried to help.
  
  "No, it's too short," Sam protested. His gaze slid across the building, up to the sky, down to the area where the three German soldiers were. Sam gasped. They disappeared.
  
  "Himmelfarb?" Perdue agreed.
  
  "Yes, this is the one! That's the name!" Sam exclaimed in relief, but now he was worried. "They are gone. They're gone, Purdue. Crap! I just lose it all over the place, don't I? I used to be able to chase a farter in a storm!"
  
  Perdue was silent as he reviewed the information he had obtained by cracking closed secret files from the comfort of his car, while Sam stood in the cold morning air, waiting for something he didn't even understand.
  
  "Those guys look like spiders," Sam groaned, surveying the people with eyes hidden under whipping bangs. "They threaten while you watch them, but it's much worse when you don't know where they've gone."
  
  "Sam," Perdue spoke suddenly, turning on the journalist, who was convinced he was being followed, setting up an ambush. "They are all pilots of the German Luftwaffe, Leo 2 unit."
  
  "And what does it mean? Are they pilots? Sam asked. He was almost disappointed.
  
  "Not really. They are a bit more specialized," Purdue explained. "Go back to the car. You'll want to hear it over double iced rum."
  
  
  Chapter 14 - Trouble in Mannheim
  
  
  Nina woke up on the couch, feeling like someone had planted a rock in her skull and just pushed her brain aside to hurt. She reluctantly opened her eyes. It would be too hard for her to discover that she was completely blind, but it would be too unnatural not to . She carefully allowed her eyelids to flicker and part. Nothing had changed since yesterday, for which she was extremely grateful.
  
  Toast and coffee hovered in the living room, where she had 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 , apart from all the differences in his attitude, he had so far helped her to remain unnoticed by the authorities, authorities who would gladly send her back to the hospital, where the madman had already come to say hello.
  
  They had spent the previous day on foot, trying to get to Mannheim before dark. Neither of them had any documents or money with them, so Nina had to play a pity card to give them both a free ride from Mannheim to Dillenburg north from there. Unfortunately, the sixty-two-year-old lady Nina was trying to convince thought it would be better for the two tourists to eat, take warm showers, and get a good night's sleep. And that's why she spent the night on the couch, hosting two big cats and an embroidered pillow that smelled of stale cinnamon. God, I have to contact Sam. My Sam, she reminded herself as she sat down. Her lower back entered the ring along with her hips, and Nina felt like an old woman, full of pain. Her eyesight had not deteriorated, but it was still a problem for her to behave normally when she could barely see. On top of that, both she and her new friend had to hide from being recognized as two patients missing from a medical facility in Heidelberg. This was especially hard on Nina, as most of the time she had to pretend that her skin didn't hurt or she didn't have a fever.
  
  "Good morning!" - said the good hostess from the threshold. With a spatula in one hand, she asked in an anxious drawl in German, "Do you want some scrambled eggs on your toast, Schatz?"
  
  Nina nodded with a goofy smile, wondering if she looked even half as bad as she felt. Before she could ask where the bathroom was, the lady disappeared back into the lime-colored kitchen, where the smell of margarine joined the many scents wafting up to Nina's pointed nose. It suddenly dawned on her. Where is Other Sam?
  
  She remembered how the lady of the house had given each of them a sofa to sleep on last night, but his sofa was empty. It wasn't that she wasn't relieved to be alone for a while, but he knew the area better than she did and still served as her eyes. Nina was still in her jeans and hospital shirt, having thrown away her medical uniform just outside the clinic in Heidelberg as soon as most eyes were taken away from them.
  
  Throughout the time she shared with the other Sam, Nina couldn't help but wonder how he could pass for Dr. Hilt before leaving the hospital after her. Of course, the officers on guard must have known that the man with the burnt face could not possibly be the late doctor, despite his clever disguise and name badge. Of course, she had no way of distinguishing his features in the state in which her vision was.
  
  Nina pulled her sleeves up over her reddened forearms, feeling her body tingle with nausea.
  
  "Toilet?" she managed to call out from behind the kitchen door before rushing down the short hallway pointed out by the lady with the spatula. As soon as she was at the door, waves of convulsions swept over Nina, and she quickly slammed the door shut to clear 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 made her worse.
  
  As she vomited even harder, Nina timidly stepped out of the bathroom and walked over to the couch where she slept. Another problem was keeping her balance without holding onto the wall as she walked. In the whole little house, Nina realized that all the rooms were empty. Could he leave me here? Bastard! She frowned, overcome by a rising fever that she could no longer fight. With the added disorientation of her damaged eyes, she strained to reach for the mangled object that she hoped was a large sofa. Nina's bare feet dragged across the carpet as the woman rounded the corner to bring her breakfast.
  
  "ABOUT! Mein Gott!" she screamed in panic at the sight of her guest's frail body collapsing. The mistress of the house quickly put the tray on the table and rushed to help Nina. "My dear, are you all right?"
  
  Nina couldn't tell her that she was in the hospital. In fact, she could hardly say anything to her. Spinning in her skull, her brain hissed and her breath was like an open oven door. Her eyes rolled back as she went limp in the lady's arms. Shortly thereafter, Nina woke up again, her face icy with sweat. She had a washcloth on her forehead, and she felt an awkward movement in her hips that alarmed her and forced her into an upright position quickly. The indifferent cat met her gaze as her hand grabbed the furry body and immediately let go after that. "Oh," was all Nina could manage, and lay down again.
  
  "How do you feel?" asked the lady.
  
  "I must be getting sick from the cold here in an unfamiliar country," Nina muttered softly to support her deception. Yes, exactly, mimicked her inner voice. A Scot recoiling from a German autumn. Great idea!
  
  Then her mistress spoke the golden words. "Liebchen, is there anyone I should call to come and pick you up? 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 take the two of you into town, he just wasn't there. Did you two have a fight?"
  
  "No, he said he was in a hurry to get to his brother's house. Maybe he thought that I would support him, being sick, "Nina answered and realized that her hypothesis was probably absolutely correct. When the two of them spent the day walking along a country road outside of Heidelberg, they didn't quite bond. But he told her everything he could remember about his personality. At the time, Nina found the other Sam's memory remarkably selective, but she didn't want to rock the boat while she was so dependent on his guidance and tolerance.
  
  She remembered that he did indeed wear a long white cloak, but other than that it was almost impossible to see his face, even if he still had it. What irritated her a little was the lack of shock expressed by seeing him wherever they asked for directions or interacted with others. Surely if they saw a man whose face and torso turned into toffee, would people make a sound or exclaim some sympathetic word? But they reacted trivially, showing no sign of concern at the man's apparently fresh wounds.
  
  "What happened to your mobile phone?" the lady asked her - a perfectly normal question, to which Nina effortlessly answered with the most obvious lie.
  
  "I got robbed. My bag with phone, money, all of that. Disappeared. 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 remembered so well. When the phone on the other end of the line rang, 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 more secure than she had been in a long time. How long has she not heard the voice of her old friend, casual lover and occasional colleague? Her heart jumped. Nina hasn't seen Sam since he was kidnapped by the Order of the Black Sun when they were on a field trip looking for the famous 18th century Amber Room in Poland almost two months ago.
  
  "S-Sam?" she asked, almost laughing.
  
  "Nina?" he screamed. "Nina? It's you?"
  
  "Yes. How are you doing?" she smiled weakly. Her whole body ached and she could hardly sit up.
  
  "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. However, hardly. But I'm safe. With a lady in Mannheim, here in Germany. Sam? Can you come and pick me up?" her voice cracked. The request hit Sam in the heart. Such a daring, intelligent and independent woman would hardly beg for salvation like a small child.
  
  "Of course I will come for you! Mannheim is a short drive from where I am. Give me the address and we'll come get you," Sam exclaimed excitedly. "Oh my God, you have no idea how happy we are that you are okay!"
  
  "What does all this mean we?" she asked. "And why are you in Germany?"
  
  "To take you home to the hospital, naturally. We saw on the news that where Detlef left you, hell was going on. And when we got here, you were gone! I can't believe it," he raved, his laugh full of relief.
  
  "I will give you to the dear lady who gave me the address. See you soon, okay?" Nina answered through heavy breathing and handed the phone to the owner before falling into a deep sleep.
  
  When Sam said 'we', she had a bad feeling that this meant that he had rescued Purdue from the decent cage he had been imprisoned in after Detlef had shot him in cold blood near Chernobyl. But with the disease tearing through her body like punishment from the morphine god left behind, she didn't care for the moment. All she wanted was to melt into the arms of what awaited her.
  
  She could still hear the lady explaining what the house was like when she left control and fell into a feverish sleep.
  
  
  Chapter 15 - Bad Medicine
  
  
  Sister Barken sat on the thick leather of a vintage office chair, her elbows resting on her knees. Under the monotonous buzz of fluorescent light, her hands rested at the sides of her head as she listened to the administrator's report on Dr. Hilt's passing. The plump nurse mourned the doctor she had only known for seven months. She did not have an easy relationship with him, but she was a compassionate woman who sincerely regretted the death of this man.
  
  "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 unless absolutely necessary. He didn't want me to be in danger either," she told her subordinate, Nurse Marks. "Marlene, you should ask for a transfer. I can't worry about you anymore every time I'm off duty."
  
  "Don't worry about me, Sister Barken," Marlene Marks smiled as she handed her one of the cups of instant soup she had prepared. "I think whoever did this must have had a special reason, you know? Like a target that was already here."
  
  "You don"t think...?" Nurse Barken's eyes widened at Nurse Marks.
  
  "Dr. Gould," Sister 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 staff and patients is over. I mean, I bet the poor people who died only met their end because they got in the way of a killer, you know? They were probably trying to stop him."
  
  "I understand that theory sweetheart, but why is patient 'Sam' also missing?" asked Sister Barken. She could see from Marlene's expression that the young nurse hadn't thought about it yet. She sipped her soup silently.
  
  "However, it's so sad that he took Dr. Gould," Marlene lamented. "She was very ill and her eyes only got worse, poor woman. On the other hand, my mother was furious when she heard about the kidnapping of Dr. Gould. She was angry that she was here all this time in my care, I did not tell her.
  
  "Oh my God," Sister Barken sympathized with her. "She must have given you hell. I have seen this woman upset and she scares even me."
  
  The two dared to laugh at this grim situation. Dr. Fritz entered the nurse's office on the third floor with a file under his arm. His face was serious, ending their meager gaiety in an instant. Something like sadness or disappointment flickered in his eyes as he prepared himself a cup of coffee.
  
  "Guten Morgen, Dr. Fritz," the young nurse said to break the awkward silence.
  
  He didn't answer her. Sister Barken was surprised by his rudeness and used her authoritarian voice to force the man to keep up appearances by uttering the same greeting, only a few decibels louder. Dr. Fritz jumped, snapped out of his comatose state of thought.
  
  "Oh, I'm sorry, ladies," he breathed. "Good morning. Good morning," he nodded to everyone, wiping his sweaty palm on his coat before stirring the coffee.
  
  It was very unlike Dr. Fritz to act that way. For most of the women who came across him, he was the German medical industry's answer to George Clooney. His confident charm was his strength, surpassed only by his skill as a doctor. And yet he stood there, in the modest office on the third floor, with sweaty palms and an apologetic air that baffled both ladies.
  
  Sister Barken and Sister Marks exchanged frowns quietly before the burly veteran got up to wash her cup." Dr. Fritz, what's upsetting you? Nurse Marks and I volunteer to find whoever upset you and give them a free barium enema laced with my specialty Chai...straight from the kettle!"
  
  Nurse Marks couldn't help but choke on her soup with sudden laughter, though she wasn't sure how the doctor would react. Her wide eyes stared hard at her superior with a subtle reproach, her jaw dropping in amazement. Sister Barken was unperturbed. It was very convenient for her to use humor to get information, even personal and very emotional.
  
  Dr. Fritz smiled and shook his head. He liked that approach, although what he was hiding was by no means worthy of a joke.
  
  "As much as I appreciate your gallant gesture, Sister Barken, the cause of my grief is not so much the person as the fate of the person," he said in his most civilized tone.
  
  "May I know who?" Sister Barken inquired.
  
  "Actually, I insist," he replied. "You both treated Dr. Gould, so it would be more than fitting 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 Marx's reaction, as she herself did not take the news very well. Besides, if Dr. Fritz was in a bubble of quiet ignorance about the world, that must have been great.
  
  "It's a setback, especially after it healed so quickly at first," he began, clutching the folder tighter. "Tests show a significant deterioration in her blood counts. The cell damage was too severe for the time it took her to get into treatment."
  
  "Oh sweet Jesus," Marlene whimpered in her arms. Tears filled her eyes, but Sister Barken's face kept the expression she had been trained to accept bad news.
  
  Empty.
  
  "What level are we looking at?" Sister Barken asked.
  
  "Well, her intestines and lungs seem to be bearing the brunt of the developing cancer, but there are also clear indications that she has suffered some minor neurological damage that is likely causing her vision to deteriorate, Nurse Barken. She has only been tested, so I won't be able to make an accurate diagnosis until I see her again."
  
  In the background, Nurse Marks whimpered softly at the news, but she did her best to pull herself together and not let the patient influence her so personally. She knew it was unprofessional to cry over a patient, but this was not just a patient. It 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 get her back before things get any worse than they should be. We just can't just give up hope like that, although," he said, looking down at the young crying nurse, "it's pretty hard to stay positive."
  
  "Dr. Fritz, Commander of the German Air Force is sending a man to talk to you sometime today," Dr. Fritz's assistant announced from the doorway. She didn't have time to ask why Nurse Marks was in tears, as she was in a hurry to return to Dr. Fritz's small office, which she was in charge of.
  
  "Who?" he asked, his confidence returning.
  
  "He says his name is Werner. Dieter Werner of the German Air Force State Office. It's about a burn victim who disappeared from the hospital. I checked - he has military clearance to be here on behalf of Lieutenant General Harold Mayer. 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 on their own, and now they're coming in and wasting my time on..." and he left, muttering furiously. His assistant gave the two nurses another look before rushing after her boss.
  
  "What does it mean?" Sister Barken sighed. "I'm glad I'm not in the place of the poor doctor. Come on, Sister Marx. Time for our detour." She returned to her usual stern command uniform, just to show that work hours had begun. And with her usual stern exasperation, she added, "And dry your eyes, for God's sake, Marlene, before the patients think you're just as high as they are!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A few hours later Sister Marx took a break. She had just left the maternity ward, where she worked her shift every day for two hours. Two staff nurses from the maternity hospital had taken a compassionate leave of absence following the recent murders, so the unit was a bit understaffed. In the nurse's office, she lifted the weight off her aching legs and listened to the teapot's promising purr.
  
  As she waited, several beams of golden light illuminated the table and chairs in front of the small refrigerator and forced her to stare at the clean lines of the furniture. In her tired state, it brought back 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 map she could read. Only this one had its own scent. A foul smell of decay emanated from her, suffocating Nurse Marks until she awoke from her terrible dream with a sudden wave of her hand. She nearly dropped her cup of tea on the hard floor, but caught it just in time, using those adrenaline-fueled jump-start reflexes.
  
  "Oh my God!" she whispered in a fit of panic, clutching the china cup tightly. Her eyes fell on the empty surface of the table, where not a single folder was visible. To her relief, it was just an ugly mirage of the recent upheaval, but she really wished it was the same with the real news it contained. How could this, too, have been more than 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 if the beautiful dark-haired historian was even alive, let alone where that stone-hearted villain had taken her.
  
  
  Chapter 16 - The Merry Meeting / The Mournful Part
  
  
  "My old colleague from the Edinburgh Post, Margaret Crosby, just called," Sam shared, still looking at his phone with nostalgia just after getting into Purdue's rental car. "She's on her way here to offer me to co-author an investigation into the involvement of the German Air Force in some kind of scandal."
  
  "Sounds like a good story. You have to do it, old man. I sense an international conspiracy here, but I'm not a fan of the news," Perdue said as they made their way to Nina's makeshift hideout.
  
  When Sam and Perdue stopped in front of the house they were directed to, the place looked creepy. Although the modest house had recently been painted, the garden was wild. The contrast between them made the house stand out. Thorn bushes surrounded the beige exterior walls under a black roof. Chips of pale pink paint on the chimney showed that it had deteriorated before it was painted. Smoke rose from it like a lazy gray dragon, merging with the cold monochrome clouds of an overcast day.
  
  The house stood at the end of a small street near the lake, which only added to the dreary loneliness of this place. As the two men got out of the car, Sam noticed the curtains on one of the windows twitch.
  
  "We've been discovered," Sam announced to his companion. Perdue nodded, his tall body towering over the frame of the car door. His blond hair fluttered in the moderate breeze as he watched the front door slide open. A plump, kind face peeked out from behind the door.
  
  "Frau Bauer?" Perdue asked from the other side of the car.
  
  "Herr Cleve?" She smiled.
  
  Perdue pointed to Sam and smiled.
  
  "Go, Sam. I don't think Nina should date me right away, you know?" Sam understood. His friend was right. In the end, he and Nina didn't part on the best of terms, due to Perdue hunting her in the dark, threatening to kill her and all that.
  
  As Sam hopped up the porch steps to where the lady held the door open, he couldn't help but wish he could stay for a while. The inside of the house smelled divine: a mixed scent of flowers, coffee, and a faint memory of what might have been French toast a few hours ago.
  
  "Thank you," he said to Frau Bauer.
  
  "She's here on the other end. She's been asleep since we talked on the phone," she informed Sam, looking shamelessly at his gruff exterior. This gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he had been raped in prison, but Sam focused his attention on Nina. Her little figure was curled up under a pile of blankets, some of which turned into cats as 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 a pale face, her hair stuck to her temples as she breathed hoarsely.
  
  "Is she a smoker?" Frau Bauer asked. "Her lungs sound terrible. She didn't let me call the hospital before you saw her. Should I call them now?"
  
  "Not yet," Sam said quickly. Frau Bauer told him over the phone about the man who had accompanied Nina, and Sam assumed it was another missing person from the hospital. "Nina," he said softly, running his fingertips over the top of her head and repeating her name a little louder each time. Eventually her eyes opened and she smiled, "Sam." Jesus! What was wrong with her eyes? He thought with horror of the slight sheen of cataracts that had cobwebbed all over her eyes.
  
  "Hello, beautiful," he replied, kissing her on the 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 scent?" he asked.
  
  "Marlboro and attitude," she joked. "God, I would kill for a cigarette right now."
  
  Frau Bauer choked on her tea. Sam chuckled. Nina coughed.
  
  "We were terribly worried, love," Sam said. "Let us take you to the hospital. Please."
  
  Nina's damaged eyes fluttered open. "No".
  
  "Now everything is calm there." He tried to deceive her, but Nina did not want any of this.
  
  "I'm not stupid, Sam. I followed the news from here. They haven't caught the son of a bitch yet, and the last time we talked, he made it clear that I was playing on the wrong side of the barricades," she croaked hastily.
  
  "Good good. Calm down a bit and tell me exactly what it means, because to me it sounds like you had direct contact with the killer," Sam replied, trying to keep the true horror he felt from what she alluded to.
  
  "Tea or coffee, Herr Cleve?" the good hostess asked quickly.
  
  "Doro makes great cinnamon tea, Sam. Try it," Nina suggested wearily.
  
  Sam nodded amiably, sending the impatient German woman to the kitchen. He was concerned that Perdue was in the car for the time it would take to sort out Nina's current situation. Nina fell asleep again, lulled by the war in the Bundesliga on television. Worried about her life in the midst of a teenage tantrum, Sam texted Purdue.
  
  She's stubborn, just like we thought.
  
  Mortally ill. Any ideas?
  
  He sighed, waiting for any ideas on how to get Nina to the hospital before her stubbornness led to her death. Naturally, non-violent coercion was the only way to deal with a man who was delirious and angry at the whole world, but he was afraid that this would alienate Nina even more, especially from Purdue. The tone of his phone broke the monotony of the TV commentator, waking Nina up. Sam looked down to where he hid his phone.
  
  Suggest another hospital?
  
  Otherwise, knock her out with a charged sherry.
  
  In the latter, Sam realized that Perdue was joking. The first, however, was a great idea. Immediately after the first message came the next.
  
  Universitätsklinikum Mannheim.
  
  Theresienkrankenhaus.
  
  Nina's clammy forehead showed a deep frown. "What the hell is that constant noise?" she muttered through the swirling house of laughter in her fever. "Stop this! My God..."
  
  Sam switched off his phone to calm the frustrated woman he was trying to save. Frau Bauer entered with a tray. "I'm sorry, Frau Bauer," Sam apologized very quietly. "We'll get rid of your hair in just a few minutes."
  
  "Don't be crazy," she wheezed in her thick accent. "Do not rush. Just make sure Nina gets to the hospital soon. I think she looks bad."
  
  "Danke," Sam replied. He took a sip of tea, trying 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 dumped you, so I don't really trust him. If he comes back with a few friends, we will be in trouble."
  
  Nina opened her eyes. Sam felt a wave of sadness go through 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, love."
  
  "No, Sam!" she pleaded. Her chest heaved uncomfortably as her hands tried to find the facial hair that bothered her. Nina's slender fingers clenched at the back of her head as she repeatedly tried to remove the stubborn curls, growing more annoyed each time she failed. Sam did it for her while she looked at what she thought was his face. "Why can't I go home? Why can"t they treat me at the hospital in Edinburgh?"
  
  Nina suddenly gasped and held her breath, her nostrils fluttering slightly. Frau Bauer was standing at the door with the guest she had followed.
  
  "You can".
  
  "Perdue!" Nina choked, trying to swallow through her dry throat.
  
  "You can be taken to a medical facility of your choice in Edinburgh, Nina. Just let us take you to the nearest emergency hospital to stabilize your condition. As soon as they do, Sam and I will send you home immediately. I promise you," Perdue told her.
  
  He tried to speak in a soft and even voice so as not to excite her nerves. His words were imbued with positive tones of determination. Perdue knew he had to give her what she wanted without any talk of Heidelberg in general.
  
  "What do you say, love?" Sam smiled as he stroked her hair. "You don"t want to die in Germany, do you?" He looked up apologetically at the German hostess, but she only smiled and waved him away.
  
  "You tried to kill me!" Nina growled somewhere around her. At first she could hear where he was standing, but Purdue's voice cracked when he spoke, so she lashed out anyway.
  
  "He was programmed, Nina, to follow the commands of that jerk from Black Sun. Come on, you know Perdue would never intentionally hurt you," Sam tried, but she was panting wildly. They couldn't tell if Nina was furious or horrified, but her hands fumbled frantically around until she found Sam's hand. She clung to him, her milky white eyes darting from side to side.
  
  "Please, God, don't let it be Perdue," she said.
  
  Sam shook his head in disappointment as Purdue left the house. There was no doubt that this time Nina's remark hurt him very much. Frau Bauer watched with sympathy as the tall, fair-haired man left. Finally, Sam decided to wake up Nina.
  
  "Let's go," he said, gently touching her fragile body.
  
  "Leave the blankets. I can knit more," smiled Frau Bauer.
  
  "Thank you very much. You've been very, very helpful," Sam told the waitress as he lifted Nina into his arms and carried her to the car. Perdue's face was plain and expressionless as Sam loaded the sleeping Nina into the car.
  
  "That's right, she's in," Sam announced nonchalantly, trying to console Perdue without falling into tears. "I think we will need to return to Heidelberg to collect her file from her previous doctor after she enters Mannheim."
  
  "You can go. I'm going back to Edinburgh as soon as we've dealt with Nina." Perdue's words left a hole in Sam.
  
  Sam frowned, dazed. "But you said you would take her by plane to the hospital there." He understood Purdue's frustration, but he shouldn't have played with Nina's life.
  
  "I know what I said, Sam," he said sharply. The blank look returned; the same look he had on Sinclair when he told Sam he couldn't be helped. Purdue started the car. "I also know what she said."
  
  
  Chapter 17 - Double Trick
  
  
  In the upper office on the fifth floor, Dr. Fritz met with a respected representative of 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 taking me in without notice, Dr. Fritz," Werner said cordially, disarming the medical specialist with his charisma. "The lieutenant general has asked me to come because he is inundated with visits and legal threats at the moment, which I am sure you can appreciate."
  
  "Yes. Please sit down, Mr. Werner," said Dr. Fritz sharply. "As I'm sure you can appreciate, I also have a busy schedule as I have to attend to critical and terminal patients without unnecessary interruptions to my daily work."
  
  Grinning, Werner sat up, bewildered not only by the doctor's appearance, but also by his unwillingness to see him. However, when it came to missions, such things didn't bother Werner in the slightest. He was there to get as much information as possible about the airman Lö Wenhagen and the extent of his injuries. Dr. Fritz would have had no choice but to help him find the burn victim, especially under the pretense that they wanted to appease his family. Of course, in fact, he was fair game.
  
  What Werner also didn't highlight was the fact that the commander didn't trust the medical establishment enough to simply accept the information. He carefully concealed the fact that while he was studying with Dr. Fritz on the fifth floor, two of his colleagues were sweeping the building with a well-prepared fine-toothed comb for the possible presence of a pest. Everyone explored the area separately, climbing one flight of fire escapes and descending to the next. They knew that they only had a certain amount of time to complete their search before Werner finished interrogating the chief medical officer. Once they were sure that Lö Wenhagen was not in the hospital, they could expand their search to other possible locations.
  
  It was just after breakfast when Dr. Fritz asked Werner a more pressing question.
  
  "Lieutenant Werner, if you please," his words were garbled with sarcasm. "How is it that your squadron leader is not here to talk to me about this? I think we should stop talking nonsense, you and me. We both know why Schmidt is after the young pilot, but what does that have to do with you?"
  
  "Orders. 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 commander, Captain Gerhard Schmidt, was sending him and his assistants after the pilot. Three of them suggested that they only intended to kill the pilot for embarrassing the Luftwaffe when he crashed 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 does not belong to him," said Dr. Fritz defiantly. "Go tell that to Schmidt, errand boy."
  
  Werner's face turned ash gray. He was filled with rage, but he wasn't there to pick on the health worker. The doctor's blatant derogatory sneer was an undeniable call to war, which Werner mentally entered into his to-do list for later. But now he was focused on this juicy piece of information that Captain Schmidt hadn't counted on.
  
  "I'll tell him exactly that, sir." Werner's clear, narrowed eyes pierced right through Dr. Fritz. A smirk appeared on the face of the fighter pilot, while the clatter of dishes and the chatter of the hospital staff drowned out their words of a clandestine duel. "Once the mask is found, I will definitely invite you to the ceremony." Again, Werner peeked, trying to insert keywords that could not be traced back to a specific meaning.
  
  Dr. Fritz laughed out loud. He slapped the table cheerfully. "Ceremony?"
  
  Werner feared for a moment that he had ruined the performance, but this soon served his curiosity. "Did he tell you? Ha! Did he tell you that you need a ceremony to take on the form of a victim? Oh my boy!" Dr. Fritz sniffed, wiping tears of amusement from the corners of his eyes.
  
  Werner was in awe of the doctor's arrogance, so he took advantage of it by dropping his ego and apparently admitting that he had been fooled. Looking extremely disappointed, he continued to reply, "He lied to me?" His voice was muffled, barely above a whisper.
  
  "Quite right, lieutenant. The Babylonian mask is not ceremonial. Schmidt is deceiving you to prevent you from taking advantage of this. Let's face it, this is an extremely valuable item for the highest bidder," Dr. Fritz eagerly shared.
  
  "If she is so valuable, why did you return her to Löwenhagen?" Werner looked deeper.
  
  Dr. Fritz stared at him in complete bewilderment.
  
  "Löwenhagen. Who is Löwenhagen?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As Nurse Marks cleared away the remains 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, since none of her colleagues had finished with their patients yet. It was the front desk on the first floor.
  
  "Marlene, there is someone here who wants to see Dr. Fritz, but no one is answering in his office," the secretary said. "He says it's very urgent and lives depend on it. Could you connect me to the doctor?"
  
  "Hmm, he's not around. I would have to go and look for him. What is it 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. "Does he have Nina?"
  
  "I don't know. He just said his name was...Sam," whispered the receptionist, a close acquaintance of Nurse Marks, who knew about the burn victim's assumed name.
  
  Nurse Marks's body went numb. Adrenaline pushed her forward, and she waved her hand to get the attention of the guard from the third floor. He came running from the far side of the hallway, hand holstered, walking past patrons and staff on a clean floor that reflected his reflection.
  
  "All right, tell him I'll come get him and take him to Dr. Fritz," Sister Marks said. As she hung up, she told the security officer, "There is a man downstairs, one of the two missing patients. He says he must see Dr. Fritz or the other missing patient will die. I need you to come with me to delay him."
  
  The guard snapped open his holster strap and nodded. "Understood. But you stay behind me." He radioed his unit to say he was going to arrest a possible suspect, and followed Nurse Marks into the waiting room. Marlene felt her heart race, frightened but thrilled by the turn of events. If she could be involved in the arrest of the suspect who kidnapped Dr. Gould, she would be a hero.
  
  Accompanied by two other officers on either side, Nurse Marks and a security officer descended the stairs to the first floor. As they reached the landing and turned the corner, Nurse Marks peered impatiently past the huge officer to see the burns patient she knew so well. But he was nowhere to be seen.
  
  "Nurse, who is this man?" the officer asked as the other two prepared to evacuate the area. Sister Marks just shook her head. "I don't...I can't see him." Her eyes scanned every man in the lobby, but there was no one anywhere with burns to their face and chest. "This can't be," she said. "Wait, I'll call his name." Standing among all the people in the lobby and waiting area, Nurse Marks stopped and called, "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 posh coat waiting at the counter. He immediately approached her, smiling. The officers drew their pistols, stopping Sam in his tracks. At the same time, the audience caught their breath; some disappeared around corners.
  
  "What's happening?" Sam asked.
  
  "You're not Sam," Sister Marks frowned.
  
  "Sister, is this the kidnapper or not?" one of the policemen asked impatiently.
  
  "What?" Sam exclaimed, frowning. "I'm Sam Cleve, looking for Dr. Fritz."
  
  "Do you have Dr. Nina Gould?" asked the officer.
  
  Amid their discussion, the nurse gasped. Sam Cleave, right here in front of her.
  
  "Yes," Sam began, but before he could say another word, they raised their pistols, aiming straight at him. "But I didn't kidnap her! Jesus! Put away your weapons, you idiots!"
  
  "That's not the right way to talk to a lawman, son," another officer reminded Sam.
  
  "I'm sorry," Sam said quickly. "Fine? I'm sorry, but you have to listen to me. Nina is my friend and she is currently undergoing treatment in Mannheim at the Theresien Hospital. They want her file or dossier, whatever, and she sent me to her primary care physician to get that information. That's all! That's all I'm here for, you know?"
  
  "Identity card," the guard demanded. "Slowly".
  
  Sam refrained from poking fun at the officer's actions in the FBI films, just in case they were successful. He carefully opened the flap of his coat and took out his passport.
  
  "Like this. Sam Cleve. Do you see? Nurse Marks stepped out from behind the officer, apologetically holding out her hand to Sam.
  
  "I'm so sorry about the misunderstanding," she told Sam and repeated the same to the officers. "You see, the other patient who went missing with Dr. Gould was also named Sam. Obviously, I immediately thought that this is the Sam who wants to see a doctor. And when he said Dr. Gould might die..."
  
  "Yes, yes, we understand the picture, Sister Marx," the guard sighed, putting the pistol back in its holster. 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 to him. The flushed young nurse held up her open hand in thanks as they left, feeling terribly self-conscious.
  
  "Mr. Cleave, it's an honor to meet you." She smiled as she shook Sam's hand.
  
  "Call me Sam," he flirted, deliberately staring into her eyes. Besides, an ally could help his mission; not only in obtaining Nina's file, but also in getting to the bottom of the recent incidents at the hospital and perhaps even at the air base in Büchel.
  
  "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. Do not need to apologizes. It was an honest mistake." They took the elevator to the fifth floor. A mistake that nearly cost me my fucking life!
  
  In the elevator with two radiologists and an enthusiastic nurse, Marks, Sam put the awkwardness out of his head. They looked at him silently. For a split second, Sam wanted to scare the German ladies with a remark about how he once saw a Swedish porn movie begin in much the same way. The doors to the second floor opened, and Sam caught a glimpse of a white sign on the hallway wall that read "X-rays 1 and 2" in red letters. The two radiologists exhaled for the first time only after they got off the elevator. Sam heard their giggles fade as the silver doors closed again.
  
  Nurse Marks had a smirk on her face and her eyes remained glued to the floor, which prompted the journalist to spare her confusion. He exhaled heavily, looking up at the light above them. "So, Sister Marks, Dr. Fritz is a specialist in radiology?"
  
  Her posture instantly straightened, like that of a loyal soldier. From Sam's knowledge of body language, he understood that the nurse had an undying reverence or desire for the doctor in question. "No, but he is a veteran physician who lectures at global medical conferences on several scientific topics. Let me tell you - he knows a little about each disease, while other doctors specialize in only one and know nothing about the rest. He took very good care of Dr. Gould. You can be sure. In fact, he was the only one who caught it..."
  
  Sister Marks swallowed her words immediately, nearly delivering the terrible news that had stunned her just this morning.
  
  "What?" he asked kindly.
  
  "All I wanted to say is that whatever torments Dr. Gould, Dr. Fritz will deal with it," she said, pursing her lips. "Oh! Go!" she smiled, delighted at their timely arrival on the Fifth Floor.
  
  She led Sam to the administration wing on the fifth floor, past the archives office and the staff tearoom. While they were walking, Sam periodically admired the views from the identical square windows located along the snow-white hall. Every time the wall gave way to the curtained window, the sun would come through and warm Sam's face, giving him a bird's-eye view of the surroundings. He wondered where Purdue was. He left the car for Sam and without much explanation took a taxi to the airport. Another thing is that Sam carried the unresolved deep in his soul until he had time to deal with it.
  
  "Dr. Fritz must have finished his interview by now," Sister Marks informed Sam as they approached the closed door. She briefly recounted how the Air Force Commander had sent an emissary to talk to Dr. Fritz about a patient who shared a room with Nina. So, so. Sam considered. How convenient is it? All the people I need to see are all under one roof. It's like a compact information center for a criminal investigation. Welcome to the mall of corruption!
  
  According to protocol, Sister Marks knocked three times and opened the door. Lieutenant Werner was just about to leave and didn't seem at all surprised to see the nurse, but he recognized Sam from the news van. A question flickered across Werner's forehead, but Sister Marx stopped, and all the blush faded from her face.
  
  "Marlene?" Werner asked curiously. "What's the matter, baby?"
  
  She stood motionless, awestruck, while a fit of terror slowly overwhelmed her. Her eyes read the name badge on Dr. Fritz's white coat, but she shook her head in bewilderment. Werner walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands as she prepared to scream. Sam knew something was going on, but since he didn't know any of these people, it was vague at best.
  
  "Marlene!" Werner screamed to bring her to her senses. Marlene Marks let her voice return and she growled at the man in the overcoat. "You are not Dr. Fritz! You are not Dr. Fritz!"
  
  Before Werner could fully comprehend what was happening, the impostor lunged forward and drew Werner's pistol from his shoulder holster. But Sam reacted faster and rushed forward to push Werner out of the way, thwarting the ugly attacker's attempt to arm himself. Nurse Marks ran out of the office, hysterically calling for help from the guards.
  
  Squinting through a mirrored window in the double doors of the ward, one of the officers called in by Nurse Marks earlier tried to make out a figure running towards him and his colleague.
  
  "Cheer up, Klaus," he chuckled at his colleague, "Polly the Paranoid is back."
  
  "Good God, but she really moves, right?" another officer remarked.
  
  "She is crying like a wolf again. Look, it's not like we've got a lot to do this shift or anything, but being screwed up isn't something I see as an occupation, you know? ' replied the first officer.
  
  "Sister Marks!" exclaimed the second officer. "Who can we threaten for you now?"
  
  Marlene dived swiftly, landing right on his arms, clawing at him with her claws.
  
  "Doctor Fritz's office! Forward! Go away, for God's sake!" she screamed as people started staring.
  
  As Nurse Marks began tugging at the man's sleeve, dragging him toward Dr. Fritz's office, the officers realized that this time it was not a premonition. Once again, they raced towards the far corridor, out of sight as the nurse yelled at them to catch what she kept calling the monster. Despite being confused, they followed the sound of the quarrel ahead and soon realized why the distraught young nurse 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 cups, which shattered after the impostor stunned him with the vessel and overturned the small cabinet where Dr. Fritz kept Petri dishes and other fragile items.
  
  "Mother of God, look at this thing!" one officer shouted to his partner as they decided to bring down the seemingly invincible criminal by leaning on him with their bodies. Sam scrambled out of the way as two cops subdued the white-coated criminal. Sam's forehead was decorated with scarlet ribbons that elegantly framed the features of his cheekbones. Beside him, Werner held on to the back of his head where the ship had hurt his skull.
  
  "I think I'm going to need stitches," Werner told Nurse Marx as she crept cautiously through the doorway into the office. There were bloody clumps in his dark hair where a deep wound gaped. Sam watched as the officers held the strange-looking man down, threatening to use lethal force, until he finally surrendered. The other two bums Sam had seen with Werner at the news van also showed up.
  
  "Hey, what is a tourist doing here?" - Asked Kohl, seeing Sam.
  
  "He's not a tourist," Sister Marks defended herself, holding Werner's head. "This is a world famous journalist!"
  
  "Really?" Kohl asked sincerely. "Darling". And he reached out his hand to lift Sam to his feet. Himmelfarb just shook his head, stepping back to give everyone a chance to move. The officers handcuffed the man, but were told that the Air Force had jurisdiction in this case.
  
  "I suppose we should hand it over to you," the officer conceded to Werner and his men. "Let's just get our paperwork done so he can be formally handed over to military custody."
  
  "Thank you, officer. Just sort it all out right here in the office. We don't need the public and patients to be alarmed again," Werner advised.
  
  The police and security guards took the man aside while Nurse Marks performed her duties against her will, dressing the old man's cuts and abrasions. She was sure that a creepy face could easily haunt the most hardened men in their dreams. Not that he was ugly in and of himself, but his lack of features made him ugly. In the back of her mind, she felt a strange sense of pity mixed with disgust as she wiped away his barely bleeding scratches with an alcohol swab.
  
  His eyes were perfectly shaped, if not attractive in their exotic nature. However, the rest of his face seemed to have been sacrificed for their quality. His skull was uneven and his nose seemed to be almost non-existent. But it was his mouth that hit Marlene to the quick.
  
  "You suffer from microstomia," she remarked to him.
  
  "Minor systemic sclerosis, yes, causes the small mouth phenomenon," he replied casually, as if he were there to get a blood test. However, his words were well delivered, and his German accent by now was practically flawless.
  
  "Any pre-processing?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but if she hadn't entered into small talk with him about medicine, he would have repulsed her much more. Talking to him was almost like talking to patient Sam when he was there, an intellectual conversation with a convincing monster.
  
  "No," was all he replied, depriving himself of his ability for sarcasm just because she bothered to ask. His tone was innocent, as if he was 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 an inappropriate compliment to his German, but the thick cloth around his mouth robbed him of that privilege.
  
  "Identity papers," the officer barked, still rubbing at his swollen lip from the accidental blow during his arrest. Marduk slowly reached into the pocket of Dr. Fritz's white coat. "I need to record his testimony for our records, lieutenant."
  
  Werner nodded approvingly. They were tasked with tracking down and killing Löwenhagen, not apprehending an old man who was posing as a doctor. However, now that Werner has been told why Schmidt was actually after L &# 246; wenhagen, they could benefit greatly from more information from Marduk.
  
  "So Dr. Fritz is also dead?" Sister Marks asked softly as she leaned over to cover a particularly deep cut from the steel links of Sam Cleave's watch.
  
  "No".
  
  Her heart jumped. "What do you mean? If you pretended to be him in his office, you should have killed him first."
  
  "This is not a fairy tale about an annoying 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 belly of a wolf."
  
  
  Chapter 19 - Babylonian Exposition
  
  
  "We found him! He is OK. Just knocked out and gagged!" one of the policemen announced when they found Dr. Fritz. He was exactly where Marduk had told them to look. They couldn't apprehend Marduk without concrete proof that he committed the murders in Precious Nights, so Marduk gave away his whereabouts.
  
  The impostor insisted that he only overpowered the doctor and took on his appearance to allow him to leave the hospital without suspicion. But Werner's appointment took him by surprise, forcing him to play the role a little longer, "...until Nurse Marx ruined my plans," he lamented, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.
  
  A few minutes after the police captain in charge of the Karlsruhe police department appeared, Marduk's brief statement was completed. They could only charge him with minor offenses such as minor assault.
  
  "Lieutenant, after the police are done, I have to release the medically detainee before you pick him up," nurse Marx told Werner in the presence of the officers. "This is a hospital protocol. Otherwise, the Luftwaffe may suffer legal consequences."
  
  Before she had time to touch on this topic, it became relevant in the flesh. A woman entered the office with a chic leather briefcase in her hand, dressed in corporate attire. "Good afternoon," she said to the police in a firm but cordial tone. "Miriam Inckley, UK Legal Representative, World Bank Germany. I understand that this delicate matter has been brought to your attention, Captain?"
  
  The police chief agreed with the lawyer. "Yes, it is, madam. However, we are still sitting with an open murder case, and the military is stating our only suspect. This creates a problem."
  
  "Don't worry, captain. Come on, let's discuss the joint operations of the Air Force Criminal Investigation Unit and the Karlsruhe Police Department in another room," the mature Brit suggested. "You can confirm the details if they satisfy your investigation with 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 culprit to justice. I don't care about media coverage, just justice for the families of these three victims," the police captain could be heard speaking as the two of them walked out into the hallway. The officers said goodbye and followed him with documents in their hands.
  
  "So the WBO even knows that the pilot was involved in some sort of covert PR stunt?" Nurse Marks was worried. "This is pretty serious. I hope this doesn't get in the way of the big treaty they're going to sign soon."
  
  "No, WUO doesn't know anything about it," Sam said. He bandaged his bleeding knuckles with a sterile bandage. "In fact, we are the only ones who are privy to the escaped pilot and, hopefully, soon the reasons for his persecution." 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 got you out of a whole bunch of lawsuits that could have dragged out your little hunt," Sam said. "She's a reporter for a Scottish newspaper."
  
  "So your friend," Werner suggested.
  
  "Yes," Sam confirmed. Kohl looked puzzled, as always.
  
  "Incredible!" Sister Marks threw up her hands. "Is there anyone they say they are? Mr. Marduk plays Dr. Fritz. And Mr. Cleve is playing a tourist. This lady reporter is playing a lawyer for the World Bank. No one shows who they really are! It's just like that story in the Bible where nobody could speak each other's tongues and there was all this confusion."
  
  "Babylon," followed the collective responses of the men.
  
  "Yes!" she snapped her fingers. "You all speak different languages, and this office is the Tower of Babel."
  
  "Remember, you're pretending you're not romantically involved with the lieutenant here," Sam stopped her with a reproachful index finger.
  
  "How do you know?" she asked.
  
  Sam simply bowed his head, refusing to even draw her attention to the closeness and caresses between them. Sister Marx blushed when Werner winked at her.
  
  "Then there is a group of you who pretend to be undercover officers when in fact you are the outstanding fighter pilots of the German Luftwaffe operational forces, just like the prey you hunt for God knows what reason," Sam gutted their deception .
  
  "I told you he was a brilliant investigative reporter," 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!" - admitted Dr. Fritz. "He just asked me to keep it 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 this thing could do that! My God, I almost lost my mind when I saw this... it"s... an unnatural transformation!"
  
  Werner and his men, along with Sam and Nurse Marks, stood bewildered by the doctor's incoherent babble. Only Marduk seemed to know what was going on, but he remained calm as he watched the madness unfold in the doctor's office.
  
  "Well, I'm completely confused. How about you guys?" Sam declared, pressing his bandaged hand to his side. They all nodded in a deafening chorus of disapproving mutterings.
  
  "I think it's time for some exposure that will help us all expose each other's true intentions," Werner suggested. "After all, we might even help each other in our various pursuits instead of trying to fight each other."
  
  "A wise man," Marduk interjected.
  
  "I have to make my last round," Marlene sighed. "If I don't show up, Sister Barken will know something's going on. Will you fill me in tomorrow, dear?"
  
  "I will," Werner lied. He then kissed her goodbye before she opened the door. She looked 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 distrust enveloped the occupants of Dr. Fritz's office. There was not only one Alpha here, but each person knew something about which the other lacked knowledge. Eventually, Sam started.
  
  "Let's do this quickly, okay? I have some very urgent business to attend to after this. Dr. Fritz, I need you to send Dr. Nina Gould's test results to Mannheim before we can sort out what you've done wrong," Sam ordered the doctor.
  
  "Nina? Is Dr. Nina Gould alive?" he asked reverently, breathing a sigh of relief and crossing himself like the good Catholic he was. "This is great news!"
  
  "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 too misunderstood my presence here," said Marduk, looking regretful. He decided not to talk about the fact that he slapped the poor girl when she made trouble. But when he told her she was going to die, he only meant that Löwenhagen was free and dangerous, something he didn't have time to explain right now.
  
  "Everything is fine. She's like a pinch of hot pepper to just about everyone," Sam replied as Dr. Fritz pulled out Nina's hard copy folder and scanned the test results into his computer. As soon as the document with the terrible material was scanned, he asked Sam for the e-mail of Nina's doctor in Mannheim. Sam provided him with a card with all the details and proceeded to clumsily apply a cloth patch to his forehead. Grimacing, he glanced at Marduk, the man responsible for the cut, but the old man pretended not to see.
  
  "There you are," Dr. Fritz exhaled deeply and heavily, relieved that his patient was still alive. "I'm just delighted that she's alive. How she got out of here with such poor eyesight, I will never know."
  
  "Your friend walked her all the way to the exit, doctor," Marduk enlightened him. "Do you know the young bastard you gave the mask to wear the faces of the people he killed in the name of greed?"
  
  "I did not know!" fumed Dr. Fritz, 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 fix this, not mess things up even more! So, first I want to know what your" - he pointed directly at Marduk - "involvement with Löwenhagen." We were sent to apprehend him, and that's all we know. Then when I was interviewing you, the whole mask thing came out."
  
  "As I told you before, I don't know who Löwenhagen is," insisted Marduk.
  
  "The name of the pilot who crashed the plane is Olaf Löwenhagen," Himmelfarb replied. "He was burned in the crash, but somehow survived and made it to the hospital."
  
  There was a long pause. Everyone was waiting for Marduk to explain why he was after Löwenhagen at all. The old man knew that if he told them why he was after the young man, he would also have to reveal why he set him on fire. Marduk took a deep breath and began to shed some light on the crow's nest of misunderstanding.
  
  "I was under the impression that the man I was chasing from the flaming fuselage of the Tornado fighter was a pilot named Neumand," he said.
  
  "Neumand? This cannot be. Neumand is on vacation, probably playing the last family coins in some back alley," Himmelfarb chuckled. Kohl and Werner nodded approvingly.
  
  "Well, I followed him from the scene of the accident. I followed him because he had a mask. When I saw the mask, I had to destroy it. He was a thief, an ordinary thief, I tell you! And what he stole was too powerful for some stupid imbecile like that to handle! So I had to stop him in the only way that the Masked One can be stopped," Marduk said anxiously.
  
  "Masker?" - Asked Kohl. "Dude, this sounds like a villain from a horror movie." He smiled as he patted Himmelfarb on the shoulder.
  
  "Grow up," Himmelfarb grumbled.
  
  "The masquerade is one who assumes the form of another, using a Babylonian mask. This is the mask your evil friend took off with Dr. Gould," Marduk explained, but they could all see that he was reluctant to elaborate further.
  
  "Go on," Sam snorted, hoping his guess at the rest of the description was wrong. "How to kill a disguised one?"
  
  "Fire," Marduk replied, almost too quickly. Sam could see that he just wanted to take it off himself. "Listen, for the modern world, all this is grandmother's tales. I don't expect any of you to understand."
  
  "Pay no attention to it," Werner waved away his concern. "I want to know how it is possible to put on a mask and turn my face into someone else's. What part of it is even rational?"
  
  "Trust me, lieutenant. I've seen things that people only read about in mythology, so I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it as irrational," Sam stated. "Most of the absurdities that I once scoffed at, I have since found to be somewhat scientifically plausible, once you dust off the embellishments added over the centuries to make something practical, seem ridiculously fabricated."
  
  Marduk nodded, grateful that someone had the opportunity to at least listen to him. His sharp gaze darted between the men who were listening as he studied their expressions, wondering if he should even be bothered.
  
  But he had to tinker, because his prey eluded him for the most nefarious enterprise of recent years - to start the Third World War.
  
  
  Chapter 20 - The Incredible Truth
  
  
  Dr. Fritz had been silent all this time, but at that moment he felt he had something to add to the conversation. Looking down at the hand in his lap, he testified to the strangeness of the mask. "When that patient came in, all grief-stricken, he asked me to save the mask for him. At first I didn't think anything about it, you know? I thought that she 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 pretended not to see what he himself saw.
  
  "At some point, after I put this thing face down, so to speak, so I could attend to my patient. Some of the dead flesh that had come loose from his shoulder stuck to my glove; I had to shake it off to continue working." Now he was breathing heavily. "But part of her got inside the mask and I swear to God..."
  
  Dr. Fritz shook his head, too embarrassed to repeat the nightmarish and ridiculous statement.
  
  "Tell them! Tell them, in the name of the saint! They need to know that I'm not crazy!" cried the old man. His words were flustered and slow as the shape of his mouth made it difficult to speak, but his voice penetrated the ears of everyone present like a roll of thunder.
  
  "I have to finish my work. Let it be known, 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 hit the mask," he continued, "the surface of the mask... took shape?" Dr. Fritz found himself unable to believe his own words, and yet he remembered that this was exactly what had happened! The faces of the three pilots remained frozen in disbelief. However, there was not a hint of condemnation or surprise on the faces of Sam Cleve and Marduk. "The inside of the mask became... the face, just," he took a deep breath, "just concave. I told myself that it was long hours of work and the shape of the mask played a cruel joke on me, but as soon as the bloody napkin was wiped off it, the face disappeared."
  
  Nobody said anything. Some men found it hard to believe, while others struggled to articulate possible ways in which this could have happened. Marduk thought this would be the perfect time to complete the doctor's stunner with something incredible, but this time present it more scientifically. "That's how it goes. The Babylonian mask uses a rather creepy method, using dead human tissue to absorb the genetic material it contains, and then shaping that person's face as a mask."
  
  "Jesus!" Werner said. He watched as Himmelfarb ran past him, heading for the bathroom in the suite. "Yes, I don't blame you, Corporal."
  
  "Gentlemen, let me remind you that I have to manage the department." Dr. Fritz repeated his previous statement.
  
  "There is... something more," Marduk cut in, 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 assumes the facial features of the donor, the mask can only be removed by fire. Only fire can remove her from the Masker's face." Then he solemnly added, "and that is 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 shit is definitely not for me. It all sounds too much like Hannibal Lecter to 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, whatever the cost.
  
  "I am aware of this, lieutenant!" he shouted. "And I will be sure to convey my dissatisfaction to our esteemed commander personally so that you do not receive a reprimand for my behavior." He sighed, wiping his damp, pale forehead. "Sorry guys, but I can't handle this. Good luck, actually. Call me when you need a pilot. This is all I am." He went out and closed the door behind him.
  
  "Cheers, boy," Sam said goodbye. He then turned to Marduk with one unpleasant question that had haunted him ever since the phenomenon was first explained. "Marduk, I'm having trouble with something. Tell me, what happens if a person just puts on a mask without doing anything with the dead flesh?"
  
  "Nothing".
  
  A friendly chorus of disappointment followed among the rest. They were expecting more contrived rules of the game, Marduk realized, but he wasn't about to come up with something for fun. He just shrugged.
  
  "Nothing happens?" Kohl was amazed. "You don"t die a painful death or suffocate to death? You put on a mask and nothing happens." Babylon mask. Babylon
  
  "Nothing is happening, son. It's just a mask. That is why very few people are aware of its sinister power," replied Marduk.
  
  "What a killer boner," Kohl complained.
  
  "Okay, so if you put on a mask and your face becomes someone else"s-and you don"t get set on fire by a crazy old bastard like you-will you still have someone else"s face forever?" Werner asked.
  
  "Ah, good!" Sam exclaimed, fascinated by it all. If he were an amateur, he would be chewing on the tip of his pen and taking notes like crazy by now, but Sam was a veteran journalist, able to memorize countless facts as he listened. That, and he secretly recorded the entire conversation from a tape recorder in his pocket.
  
  "You will go blind," Marduk replied nonchalantly. "Then you become like a rabid animal and die."
  
  Again, a startled hiss ran through their ranks. Then there was a chuckle or two. One was from Dr. Fritz. By this time he realized that it was useless to try to throw away the bundle, and besides, now he began to be interested.
  
  "Wow, Mr. Marduk, you seem to have an answer for everything, don't you?" Dr. Fritz shook his head with an amused grin.
  
  "Yes, it is, my dear doctor," agreed Marduk. "I am almost eighty years old and have been responsible for this and other relics since I was a fifteen year old boy. By now, not only have I become familiar with the rules, but, unfortunately, I have seen them in action too many times."
  
  Dr. Fritz suddenly felt stupid about his arrogance, and it showed on his face. "My apologies".
  
  "I understand, Dr. Fritz. Men are always quick to dismiss what they cannot control as insanity. But when it comes to their own absurd practices and idiotic ways of doing things, they can offer you almost any explanation to justify it," the old man said with difficulty.
  
  The doctor could see that the limited muscle tissue around his mouth was indeed preventing the man from continuing to speak.
  
  "Hmm, is there any reason why people who wear a mask go blind and lose their minds?" Kohl asked his first sincere question.
  
  "That part has remained mostly lore and myth, son," Marduk shrugged. "I've only seen this happen a few times over the years. Most of the people who used the mask for insidious purposes had no idea what would happen to them after they took revenge. As with every evil urge or desire achieved, there is a price. But humanity never learns. Power is for the gods. Humility is for men."
  
  Werner calculated all this in his head. "Let me recap," he said. "If you wear a mask as just a disguise, it is harmless and useless."
  
  "Yes," Marduk replied, lowering his chin and blinking slowly.
  
  "And if you take some skin off some dead target and put it on the inside of the mask and then put it on your face...God, those words alone make me sick...Your face becomes that person"s face, right?"
  
  "Another cake for the Werner team." Sam smiled and pointed as Marduk nodded.
  
  "But then you'll have to burn it with fire or put it on and go blind before you finally go crazy," Werner frowned, concentrating on lining up his ducks in a row.
  
  "That's right," Marduk confirmed.
  
  Dr. Fritz had one more question. "Has anyone ever figured out how to avoid any of these fates, Mr. Marduk? Has anyone ever released a mask without being blinded or killed in a fire?"
  
  "How did Löwenhagen do it? In fact, he put it back on to take Dr. Hilt's face and leave the hospital! How did he do it? Sam asked.
  
  "Fire took her out the first time, Sam. He was just lucky to survive. The skin is the only way to avoid the fate of the Babylon Mask," said Marduk, sounding completely indifferent. It has become such an integral part of his existence that he is tired of repeating the same old facts.
  
  "This... skin?" Sam cringed.
  
  "That's exactly what it is. In fact, this is the skin of the Babylonian mask. It must be applied to the Masker's face in time to hide the merging of the Masker's face and the mask. But our poor, disappointed victim has no idea. He will soon realize his mistake, if he hasn't already," replied Marduk. "Blindness usually lasts no more than three or four days, so wherever he is, I hope he is not driving."
  
  "It serves him right. Bastard!" Kohl grimaced.
  
  "I can't help but agree," said Dr. Fritz. "But, gentlemen, I really must beg you to leave before the administrative staff gets wind of our excessive courtesies here."
  
  To Dr. Fritz's relief, this time they all agreed. They took their coats and slowly prepared to leave the office. With nods of approval and a final goodbye, the Air Force pilots departed, leaving Marduk in protective custody. They decided to meet Sam a little later. With this new turn of events and the much-needed sorting out of confusing facts, they wanted to rethink their roles in the grand scheme of things.
  
  Sam and Margaret met at her hotel's restaurant as Marduk and the two pilots were on their way to the airbase to report to Schmidt. Werner now knew that Marduk was familiar with his commander from their previous interview, but he didn't yet know why Schmidt kept information about the sinister mask to himself. Sure, it was a priceless artifact, but with his position in such a key organization as the German Luftwaffe, Werner figured there must be a more politically motivated reason behind Schmidt's hunt for the Babylon Mask.
  
  "What will you tell your commander about me?" Marduk asked the two young men he accompanied as they walked towards Werner's jeep.
  
  "I'm not sure we should even tell him about you. From what I'm deriving here, 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!" Kohl called from four cars away from us, unlocking his own car.
  
  Werner nodded. "Remember, Marduk doesn't exist and we haven't been able to find Löwenhagen yet, right?"
  
  "Understood!" Kohl approved the plan with a slight salute and a boyish grin. He got into his car and drove off as the late afternoon light illuminated the cityscape in front of him. It was almost sunset and they reached the second day of their search, still ending the day without success.
  
  "I suppose we will have to start looking for blind pilots?" Werner asked sincerely, no matter how ridiculous his request sounded. "This is the third day since Löwenhagen used the mask to escape from the hospital, so he must already have problems with his eyes."
  
  "That's right," replied Marduk. "If his body is strong, which is not due to the fire bath I gave him, it may take him longer to lose his sight. That is why the West did not understand the old customs of Mesopotamia and Babylonia and considered us all as heretics and bloodthirsty animals. When the ancient kings and leaders burned the blind during witch executions, it was not out of the cruelty of a false accusation. Most of these cases were a direct reason for using the Babylonian mask for their own ploy."
  
  "Most of these instances?" Werner asked, raising an eyebrow as he turned on the Jeep's ignition, looking suspicious of the aforementioned methods.
  
  Marduk shrugged, "Well, everyone makes mistakes, son. Better to be safe than sorry later."
  
  
  Chapter 21 - The Secret of Neumand and Löwenhagen
  
  
  Exhausted and filled with a steadily growing sense of regret, Olaf Lahnhagen sat down in a pub near Darmstadt. It had been two days since he'd left Nina at Frau Bauer's house, but he couldn't afford to drag his partner along on such a secret mission, especially one that had to be led 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 he was being tracked. By now the authorities must have figured out that he was responsible for the murders in the hospital, which is why he didn't requisition Hilt's car to get to Captain Schmidt, who was at the Schleswig Air Base at the time.
  
  He decided to risk using Hilt's cell phone to make one call. This would probably put him in an awkward position with Schmidt, as cell phone calls could be traced, but he had no other choice. As his security was compromised and his mission went horribly wrong, he had to resort to more dangerous means of communication in order to connect with the person who sent him on the mission in the first place.
  
  "More Pilsner, sir?" the waiter suddenly asked, causing Löwenhagen's heart to beat wildly. He looked at the dimwitted waiter with deep boredom in his voice.
  
  "Yes thank you". He quickly changed his mind. "Wait, no. I'd like some schnapps, please. And something to eat."
  
  "You should take something from the menu, sir. Did you like anything there?" the waiter asked indifferently.
  
  "Just bring me a seafood platter," Löwenhagen sighed angrily.
  
  The waiter chuckled, "Sir, as you can see, we don't offer seafood. Please order the dish we actually offer."
  
  If Löwenhagen hadn't been waiting for an important meeting, or if he hadn't been weak from hunger, he might well have used the privilege of wearing Hilt's face to smash the skull of a sarcastic cretin. "Then just bring me a steak. My God! Just, I don't know, surprise me!" the pilot yelled furiously.
  
  "Yes, sir," the stunned waiter replied, quickly collecting the menu and a beer glass.
  
  "And don't forget the schnapps first!" he shouted after the idiot in the apron, who was making his way to the kitchen through the tables with goggle-eyed customers. Löwenhagen grinned at them and let out what looked like a low growl that came from deep in his esophagus. Worried about the dangerous man, some people left the establishment while others carried on 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 meet an irate customer as soon as his meal was ready.) She smiled apprehensively, put down her glass, and announced, "Schnapps for you, sir."
  
  "Thank you," was all he said, to her surprise.
  
  Löwenhagen, twenty-seven, sat contemplating his future in the cozy lighting of the pub as the sun left the day outside, painting the windows dark. The music got a little louder as the evening crowd flowed in like a grudgingly leaking ceiling. As he waited for his meal, he ordered five more hard liquors, and as the soothing hell of alcohol seared his wounded flesh, he thought about how he had gotten to this point.
  
  Never in his life had he thought that he would become a cold-blooded killer, a killer for profit, no less, and at such a tender age. Most men degrade as they age, turning into heartless pigs for the promise of monetary gain. Not him. As a fighter pilot, he knew that one day he would have to kill a lot of people in combat, but it would be for the sake of his country.
  
  To defend Germany and the utopian goals of the World Bank for the new world was his first and foremost duty and desire. Taking lives for this purpose was commonplace, but now he embarked on a bloody gamble to satisfy the desires of the Luftwaffe commander, which had nothing to do with the freedom of Germany or the well-being of the world. In fact, he was now seeking the opposite. This depressed him almost as much as his deteriorating eyesight and his increasingly defiant temperament.
  
  What worried him the most was the way Neumand screamed when Löwenhagen set it on fire for the first time. Löwenhagen was hired by Captain Schmidt for what the commander described as a highly secret operation. This comes after the recent deployment of their squadron near the city of Mosul, Iraq.
  
  From what the commander confidentially told Löwenhagen, it appears that Flieger Neumand was sent by Schmidt to procure an obscure ancient relic from a private collection while they were in Iraq during the latest round of bombing raids directed against the World Bank and especially the CIA office there. Neumand, once a teenage delinquent, had the skill set needed to break into the home of a wealthy collector and steal the Babylon Mask.
  
  He was given a photograph of a thin, skull-like relic, and with it he managed to steal the item from the brass box in which he slept. Shortly after his successful extraction, Neumand returned to Germany with the booty he had obtained for Schmidt, but Schmidt did not count on the weaknesses of the men he chose to do his dirty work. Neumand was an avid gambler. On his first evening after returning, he took the mask with him to one of his favorite gambling establishments, a diner in a back alley in Dillenburg.
  
  Not only did he commit the most reckless act of carrying a priceless, stolen artifact around with him, he also angered Captain Schmidt by not delivering the mask as quickly and discreetly as he had been hired to do so. Upon learning that the squadron had returned and discovering Neumand's absence, Schmidt immediately contacted a fickle outcast from the barracks of his previous air base to obtain 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 caused unnecessary sacrifices. He was the cause of injustice caused by greed. He was the reason that Löwenhagen would never regain his attractive features, and this was by far the most unforgivable crime that the greed of the commander imposed on Löwenhagen's life - what was left of it.
  
  Ephesus was beautiful enough, but for Löwenhagen, the loss of his personality struck deeper than any physical injury that could ever strike. On top of that, his eyes were starting to fail him to the point where he couldn't even read the 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 over his head for more.
  
  In his head, he could hear thousands of voices blaming everyone else for his poor choices, and his own inner mind left mute by how quickly things had gone wrong. He remembered the night he had obtained the mask, and how Neumand had refused to hand over his hard-earned booty. He followed Neumand's trail to a gambling den under the stairs of a nightclub. There he waited for the right moment, posing as another party-goer who often visits this place.
  
  Just after 1:00 a.m., Neumand had lost everything, and now he was faced with a "double or nothing" challenge.
  
  "I will pay you 1,000 euros if you let me keep this mask as a guarantee," Löwenhagen offered.
  
  "Are you kidding?" Neumand chuckled in his drunken state. "This fucking thing is worth a million times more!" He held the mask for all to see, but thankfully his drunken state caused the dubious company he was in to question his sincerity on the matter. Löwenhagen couldn't let them think twice about it, so he acted quickly.
  
  "Right now, I'll play you as a stupid mask. At least I can get your ass back to base." He said it especially loudly, hoping to convince the others that he was just trying to get the mask to get his friend to come home. It's good that L ö wenhagen's deceitful past has honed his skills of deceit. He was extremely persuasive when he carried out a scam, and this character trait usually worked to his advantage. Until now, when it ultimately determined his future.
  
  The mask sat in the center of a round table, surrounded by three men. Lö wenhagen could hardly object when another player wanted to get in on the action. The man was a local biker, a simple foot soldier in his order, but it would be suspicious to deny him access to a poker game in a public hole known everywhere to local scum.
  
  Even with his trickery skills, Löwenhagen found that he couldn't trick a stranger flaunting a black and white Gremium emblem on a leather neckline.
  
  "The Black Seven rules, bastards!" roared the big biker as Löwenhagen folded and Neumand's hand turned up a powerless three of jacks. Neumand was too drunk to attempt to return the mask, although he was visibly devastated by the loss.
  
  "Oh Jesus! Oh sweet Jesus, he's going to kill me! He's going to kill me!" - this is all that Neumand could say, clasping his bowed head in his hands. He sat and moaned until the next group that wanted to take the table told him to back off or go to the bank. Neumand left, muttering something under his breath like a madman, but again it was written off as a drunken stupor, and those whom he shouldered out of the way took it that way. Löwenhagen followed Neumann, having no idea about the esoteric nature of the relic, which the biker was waving in his hand somewhere in front. The biker paused for a while, bragging to a group of girls that a skull mask would look disgusting under his German army-style helmet. He soon realized that Neumand had actually followed the biker into a dark concrete pit, where a row of motorcycles gleamed in pale headlights that didn't quite reach the parking lot.
  
  He watched calmly as Neumand drew his pistol, stepped out of the shadows, and shot the biker at point-blank range in the face. Shots were not uncommon in these parts of the city, although some people warned other bikers. Shortly thereafter, their silhouettes appeared over the edge of the parking pit, but they were still too far away to see what had happened.
  
  Gasping at what he saw, Löwenhagen witnessed the grisly ritual of cutting off a piece of dead man's flesh with his own knife. Neumand lowered the bleeding cloth onto the underside of the mask and began to undress his victim as quickly as he could with his drunken fingers. Shocked, wide-eyed, Löwenhagen immediately recognized the secret of the Babylonian mask. Now he knew why Schmidt was so eager to get his hands on her.
  
  In his new grotesque guise, Neumand rolled the body into the trash cans a few meters from the last car in the dark, then casually climbed onto the man's motorcycle. Four days later, Neumand took the mask and went into hiding. Löwenhagen tracked him outside the Schleswig base, where he was hiding from Schmidt's wrath. Neumand still looked like a biker, in dark glasses and dirty jeans, but he got rid of the club colors and bike. The head of Mannheim in Gremium was looking for an impostor, and it wasn't worth the risk. When Neumand confronted Löwenhagen, he was laughing like a madman, mumbling incoherently in what looked like an ancient Arabic dialect.
  
  He then raised a knife and tried to cut off his own face.
  
  
  Chapter 22 - Rise of the Blind God
  
  
  "So you finally made contact." The voice broke through Lövenhagen's body from behind his left shoulder. He instantly imagined the devil, and he was not far from the truth.
  
  "Captain Schmidt," he admitted, but for obvious reasons he didn't stand up and salute. "You must excuse me for not responding properly. You see, I end up wearing another person's face."
  
  "Absolutely. "Jack Daniels, please," Schmidt said to the waiter before he had even reached the table with the Löwenhagen dishes.
  
  "Put the plate down first, buddy!" Löwenhagen called out, prompting the bewildered man to comply. The manager of the restaurant stood nearby, waiting for one more offense before asking the offender to leave.
  
  "Now I see you've figured out what the mask does," Schmidt muttered under his breath and lowered his head to check for anyone eavesdropping.
  
  "I saw what she did the night 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 to do now? Blackmail me for money like Neumand did?" Schmidt asked, trying to buy time. He was well aware that the relic was taken from those who used it.
  
  "Blackmail you?" Löwenhagen squealed with a mouthful of pink meat between his teeth. "Are you fucking kidding me? I want to take it off, captain. You are going to go to the surgeon to have it removed."
  
  "Why? I recently heard that you were quite badly burned. I would have thought that you would want to keep the face of a dashing doctor instead of a molten mess of flesh where your face once was," the commander replied viciously. He watched in surprise as Lövenhagen struggled to cut his steak, straining his ailing eyes to find the edges.
  
  "Fuck you!" Löwenhagen swore. He couldn't get a good look at Schmidt's face, but he felt an irresistible urge to stick a butcher knife into his eye area and hope for the best. "I want to take it off before I turn into a crazy bat... r-rabid... fuck..."
  
  "Is that what happened to Neumand?" interrupted Schmidt, helping the working young man with sentence structure. "What exactly happened, Löwenhagen? Thanks to the gambling fetish this idiot had, I can understand his motive to keep what is 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 Neumand, but that very night I was on fire, my dear captain." Löwenhagen was now stuffing pieces of meat into his mouth by hand. 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 intolerant to listen. He tossed a black American Express card on the table and said, "Look, get us a bottle of tequila and I'll treat all those nosy morons if they stop looking at me like that!"
  
  Some of his supporters at the pool table applauded. The rest of the people went back to their work.
  
  "Don't worry, we're leaving soon. Just bring everyone their drinks and let my friend finish his meal, okay?" Schmidt justified their current state with his more holy than you, civilized manner. This took the manager's interest away for a few more minutes.
  
  "Now tell me how you ended up with my mask in a goddamn government facility where anyone could have taken it," whispered Schmidt. A bottle of tequila arrived and he poured two shots.
  
  Löwenhagen swallowed hard. The alcohol obviously couldn't effectively numb the agony from his internal damage, but he was hungry. He told the commander what happened, mostly to save face and not make excuses. The entire scenario that he had been fuming about earlier replayed itself when he told Schmidt everything that led to him finding Neumand speaking in tongues in the guise of a biker.
  
  "Arab? It's unsettling," Schmidt admitted. "What you heard was actually in Akkadian? Amazing!"
  
  "Who cares?" Löwenhagen barked.
  
  "Then? How did you get the mask from him?" - Asked Schmidt, almost smiling at the interesting facts of history.
  
  "I had no idea how to return the mask. I mean, here he was with a fully developed face and no trace of the mask that was hiding underneath. My God, listen to what I say! It's all nightmarish and surreal!"
  
  "Go on," Schmidt insisted.
  
  "I asked him directly 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 ripped out a whole piece! God! What should I have thought? I just started beating him with the first piece of metal pipe I could find nearby."
  
  "So what did he do? Did he still speak Akkadian?" - asked the commander, pouring them another one each.
  
  "He took off running, so of course I chased after him. In the end, we went through the eastern part of Schleswig, where only we know how to get there? he said to Schmidt, who in turn nodded, "Yes, I know this place, behind the hangar of the auxiliary building."
  
  "It's right. We ran through it, captain, like bats out of hell. I mean, I was ready to kill him. I was in a lot of 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 softly, sounding delightfully psychotic.
  
  "Yes Yes. Go on." Schmidt insisted on hearing the end of the story before his subordinate finally succumbed to the oppressive madness.
  
  As his plate got dirtier and emptier, Löwenhagen spoke faster, his consonants sounded more distinct. "I didn"t know what he was trying to do, but maybe he knew how to take off the mask or something. I followed him all the way to the hangar, and then we were alone. I could hear the screams of the guards outside the hangar. I doubt they recognized Neumand now that he had someone else's face, right?"
  
  "Is that when he captured the fighter jet?" Schmidt asked. "Was that the cause of the plane crash?"
  
  Löwenhagen's eyes were almost completely blind by this time, but he could still distinguish between shadows and solids. A yellow tinge tinted his lion-eyed irises, but he continued to speak, pinning Schmidt in place with his blind eyes as he lowered his voice and tilted his head slightly. "My God, Captain Schmidt, how he hated you."
  
  Narcissism did not allow Schmidt to reflect on the feelings contained in the statement L & # 246; wenhagen, but common sense made him feel a little tarnished-right where his soul should have been beating. "Of course he did," he told his blind subordinate. "I'm the one who introduced him to the mask. But he should never have known what she was doing, let alone use her for himself. The fool brought it upon himself. Just like you did."
  
  "I..." Löwenhagen rushed forward angrily amid clinking crockery and toppling glasses, "only used it to retrieve your precious blood relic from the hospital and hand it over to you ungrateful subspecies!"
  
  Schmidt knew that Löwenhagen had accomplished his task, and his insubordination was no longer of much concern. However, it was expiring soon, so Schmidt let him throw a fit. "He hated you as I hate you! Neumand regretted that he ever participated in your insidious plan to send a suicide squad to Baghdad and The Hague."
  
  Schmidt felt his heart skip a beat at the mention of his supposedly secret plan, but his face remained impassive, hiding all worry behind a steely expression.
  
  "Saying your name, Schmidt, he saluted and said he was going to visit you on your own little suicide mission." Löwenhagen's voice broke through his smile. "He stood there and laughed like a crazed animal, squealing with relief at who he was. Still dressed as a dead biker, he walked towards the plane. Before I could get to him, the guards burst in. I just ran away so they wouldn't arrest me. Once outside the base, I got into my truck and rushed to Büchel to try to warn you. Your mobile phone has been turned off."
  
  "And that's when he crashed the plane near our base," Schmidt nodded. "How am I supposed to explain the true story to Lieutenant General Meyer? He was under the impression that this was a legitimate counterattack after what that Dutch idiot did in Iraq."
  
  "Neumand was a first-class pilot. Why he missed his target - you - is as much a pity as it is a mystery," growled Löwenhagen. Only Schmidt's silhouette still indicated his presence at his side.
  
  "He missed because, like you, my boy, he was blind," Schmidt said, enjoying his victory over those who could expose him. "But you didn't know about that, did you? Because Neumand wore sunglasses, you weren't aware of his poor eyesight. Otherwise, you would never use the Babylon Mask yourself, would you?"
  
  "No, I wouldn't," Löwenhagen rasped, feeling defeated to the point of boiling. "But I should have guessed that you would send someone to burn me and return the mask. After I drove to the crash site, I found Neumand's charred remains scattered far from the fuselage. The mask had been removed from his scorched 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 the commander's deception.
  
  "You sent someone after me. He found me with a mask at the crash site and chased me all the way to Heidelberg until my truck ran out of fuel! ' Löwenhagen growled. "But he had enough gas for both of us, Schmidt. Before I could see him approaching, he doused me with gasoline and set me on fire! All I could do was run to the hospital a stone's throw from here, still hoping that the fire wouldn't catch on and maybe even go out on the run. But no, it only grew stronger and hotter, devouring my skin, lips and limbs, until it seemed to me that I was screaming through my flesh! Do you know what it's like to feel your heart break from the shock of the smell of your own flesh burning like a grilled steak? YOU?" he yelled at the captain with a dead man's angry expression.
  
  As the manager hurried over to their table, Schmidt raised his hand dismissively.
  
  "We are leaving. We are leaving. Just transfer it all to that credit card," Schmidt ordered, knowing that Dr. Hilt would soon be found dead again and his credit card statement would show that he had lived several days longer than originally reported.
  
  "Let's go, Löwenhagen," Schmidt insisted. "I know how we can take this mask off your face. Although I have no idea how to reverse the blindness."
  
  He took his companion to a bar where he signed the receipt. As they left, Schmidt slipped the credit card back into Löwenhagen's pocket. All staff and visitors breathed a sigh of relief. The unfortunate waiter who didn't get a tip clicked his tongue, saying, "Thank God! I hope this is the last time we see him."
  
  
  Chapter 23 - Murder
  
  
  Marduk glanced at the clock and the small rectangle on its face with the flip-down date panels positioned to say that it was October 28th. His fingers tapped the bar as he waited for the receptionist at the Swanwasser Hotel, where Sam Cleve and his mysterious girlfriend were also staying.
  
  "That's it, Mr. Marduk. Welcome to Germany," the receptionist smiled graciously and handed back Marduk's passport. Her eyes lingered on his face for too long. This made 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 smile 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 onto the terrace overlooking the pool. The small, smartly dressed man followed Marduk at a distance, but the old man was too shrewd not to know.
  
  Sam cleared his throat meaningfully, but all Marduk said was "I see him."
  
  Of course you know, Sam told himself, nodding his head in Margaret's direction. She looked at the stranger and recoiled slightly, but hid it from his eyes. Marduk turned to look at the man following him, just enough to assess the situation. The man smiled apologetically and disappeared down the hallway.
  
  "They see a passport from Iraq and lose their damn brains," he barked irritably as he sat up.
  
  "Mr Marduk, this is Margaret Crosby of the Edinburgh Post," Sam introduced them.
  
  "Pleased to meet you madam," said Marduk, again using his polite nod instead of a smile.
  
  "And you too, Mr. Marduk," Margaret replied cordially. "It's great to finally meet someone as knowledgeable and well-traveled as you are." Is she really flirting with Marduk? Sam wondered as he watched them shake hands.
  
  "And how do you know that?" Marduk asked with mock surprise.
  
  Sam raised his recorder.
  
  "Ah, everything that happened in the doctor's office is now recorded." He gave the investigative reporter a stern look.
  
  "Don't worry, Marduk," Sam said, intending to put all fears aside. "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 done her part to get us rid of the chief of police."
  
  "Yes, some journalists have the good sense to be selective about what the world needs to know and... well, what the world is better off never knowing. The Babylonian mask and its abilities belong to the second category. You are sure of my prudence," Margaret promised Marduk.
  
  His image captivated her. The British old maid has always had a fondness for everything unusual and unique. He was nowhere near as monstrous as the Heidelberg hospital staff described him to be. Yes, he was visibly deformed by normal standards, but his face only added to his intriguing personality.
  
  "It's a relief to know, madam," he sighed.
  
  "Please call me Margaret," she said quickly. Yes, there's some geriatric flirting going on here, Sam decided.
  
  "So, to the current case," Sam interrupted, moving on to a more serious conversation. "Where are we going to start looking for this Löwenhagen character?"
  
  "I think we should take him out of the game. According to Lieutenant Werner, the man behind the purchase of the Babylon Mask is German Luftwaffe Captain Schmidt. I instructed Lieutenant Werner to go under the pretext of a report 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 myself will have to infiltrate the base and exchange a few words with Schmidt. He is at the origin of this whole crazy operation, and he will want to take possession of the relic by the time the great peace treaty is signed.
  
  "So you think he's going to impersonate a Meso-Arab signing commissioner?" Margaret asked, making good use of the new term for the Middle East after the adjoining small lands were united under a single government.
  
  "There are a million possibilities, Mada... Margaret," Marduk explained. "He could have done it of his own choosing, but he doesn't speak Arabic, so the Commissar's people will know he's a charlatan. Of all time 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 take the form of an unknown person and kill the commissioner. He could even send another suicide pilot into the building. It seems to be in vogue these days."
  
  "Wasn"t there a Nazi squadron that did this during World War II?" asked Margaret, putting 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 could find out how Schmidt planned to organize something like this. Maybe I'm far from the truth, but shouldn't we at least explore this possibility? Perhaps Dr. Gould can even help us."
  
  "At the moment she is 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 went to see Dr. Fritz in the first place," Sam replied. "But you're right. I can also see if she can help us - if she's conscious. God, I hope they can help her. She was in a bad state when I last saw her."
  
  "Then I would say that a visit is necessary for several reasons. What about Lieutenant Werner and his friend Kohl?" Marduk asked, taking a sip of coffee.
  
  Margaret's phone rang. "This is my assistant." She smiled proudly.
  
  "Do you have an assistant?" Sam teased. "Since when?" She answered Sam in a whisper just before answering the call. "I have an undercover operative with a penchant for police walkie-talkies and closed lines of communication, my boy." With a wink, she answered the bell and walked away across the impeccably manicured lawn, lit by garden lights.
  
  "So, hacker," Sam muttered with a chuckle.
  
  "Once Schmidt has the mask, one of us will have to intercept him, Mr. Cleve," said Marduk. "I vote for you to storm the wall while I wait in ambush. You are getting rid of him. After all, with this face, I will never be able to get to the base."
  
  Sam drank his single malt and thought it over. "If only we knew what he planned to do to her. Obviously, he himself must know about the dangers of wearing it. I suppose he will hire some lackey to sabotage the signing of the treaty."
  
  "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 it!" Margaret's ankles twisted in her haste as she crossed the lawn to the table.
  
  "What? What is this?" Sam frowned as he jumped up from his chair to catch her before she fell onto the stone patio.
  
  Eyes wide in disbelief, Margaret stared at her two male companions. She could hardly catch her breath. As she evened her breath, she exclaimed, "Professor Martha Sloan has just been murdered!"
  
  "Jesus Christ!" Sam was crying, his head in his hands. "Now we are fucked. You understand that this is World War III!"
  
  "I know! What can we do now? This agreement now means nothing, "Margaret confirmed.
  
  "Where did you get your information, Margaret? Has anyone taken responsibility yet?" asked Marduk as tactfully as he could.
  
  "My source is a family friend. Usually all her information is accurate. She hides in a private security area and spends every moment of her day checking..."
  
  "...break-in," Sam corrected.
  
  She glared at him. "She checks security sites and secret organizations. This is usually how I get the news even before the police are called to the scene of crimes or incidents," she admitted. "A few minutes ago, crossing the Dunbar private security redline, she received a report. They haven't even called the local police or the coroner yet, but she will keep us updated on how Sloan was killed."
  
  "So it hasn"t aired yet?" Sam insistently exclaimed.
  
  "No, but it's about to happen, no doubt about it. The security company and the police will file reports before we finish our drinks." As she spoke, there were tears in her eyes. "Here goes our chance to a new world. Oh my god, they were supposed to ruin everything, right?"
  
  "Of course, my dear Margaret," said Marduk, as calmly as ever. "This is what humanity does best. Destruction of everything uncontrollable and creative. But we don't have time for philosophy right now. I have an idea, albeit a very far-fetched one."
  
  "Well, we don't have anything," 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 cheeky tongue behind his 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 spread of reporting and keep the world in the dark? Thus, we will have time to work out a solution and make sure that the meeting in The Hague takes place. With luck, we may be able to avert the catastrophe we are no doubt facing now."
  
  "I don't know, Marduk," Sam said, feeling overwhelmed. "Every ambitious journalist in the world would love to be the one to talk about it for their radio station in their country. This is big news. Our vulture brothers would never refuse such a delicacy out of respect for the world or some moral standard."
  
  Margaret shook her head too, confirming Sam's murderous revelation. "If only we could put this mask on someone who looks like Sloan...just to sign a contract."
  
  "Well, if we can't stop the fleet of ships from coming ashore, we'll have to remove the ocean they're sailing on," Marduk imagined.
  
  Sam smiled, enjoying the old man's unorthodox thinking. He understood, while Margaret was confused, and her face confirmed her confusion. "You mean if the reports come out anyway, we have to turn off the media they use to do it?"
  
  "Correct." Marduk nodded as usual. "As far as we can."
  
  "How on God"s green earth...?" Margaret asked.
  
  "I like Margaret's idea too," said Marduk. "If we can get the mask, we can fool the world into believing reports of Prof. Sloane is a scam. And we can send our own impostor to sign the document."
  
  "This is a huge undertaking, but I think I know who could be crazy enough to pull off such a thing," Sam said. He grabbed his phone and pressed a letter on the speed dial. He waited a moment, and then his face assumed absolute concentration.
  
  "Hi Perdue!"
  
  
  Chapter 24 - Another face of Schmidt
  
  
  "You are relieved of your assignment at Löwenhagen, Lieutenant," Schmidt said firmly.
  
  "So, have you found the person we're looking for, sir? Fine! How did you find it? Werner asked.
  
  "I will tell you, Lieutenant Werner, only because I have such great respect for you and because you agreed to help me find this criminal," Schmidt replied, reminding Werner of his "need to know" constraint. "In fact, it was amazingly surreal. Your colleague called me to let me know that he will bring Löwenhagen just an hour ago."
  
  "My colleague?" Werner frowned, but played his part convincingly.
  
  "Yes. Who would have thought that Kol would have the heart to arrest anyone, hey? But I tell you this with great desperation," Schmidt feigned his sadness and his actions were obvious to his subordinate. "While Kohl was bringing Löwenhagen, they had a terrible accident that claimed the lives of both."
  
  "What?" Werner exclaimed. "Please tell me it's not true!"
  
  His face paled with news 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 achieved all this in the short time it took Werner to get to the base. But Werner kept everything to himself. Werner's only weapon was to close Schmidt's eyes to the fact that he knew all about the motives behind Löwenhagen's capture, the mask, and the dirty lies about Kohl's death. Indeed, military intelligence.
  
  At the same time, Werner was truly shocked by Kohl's death. His distraught behavior and frustration were genuine as he sank back into his chair in Schmidt's office. To rub salt in his wounds, Schmidt played a penitent commander and offered him some fresh tea to soften the shock of the bad news.
  
  "You know, I shudder at the thought of what Lö Wenhagen must have done to cause that disaster," he told Werner as he paced around his desk. "Poor Kol. Do you know how painful it is for me to think that such a good pilot with such a bright future lost his life because of my order to detain a callous and treacherous subordinate like Löwenhagen?"
  
  Werner's jaw clenched, but he had to keep his own mask until the time was right to reveal what he knew. With a trembling voice, he decided to play the victim in order to find out a little more. "Sir, please don't tell me that Himmelfarb shared this fate?"
  
  "No no. Don't worry about Himmelfarb. He asked me to take him off the assignment because he couldn't take it. I think I'm grateful to have a man like you under my command, Lieutenant." Schmidt grimaced imperceptibly from behind Werner's seat. "You're the only one who didn't let me down."
  
  Werner was interested in whether Schmidt managed to get a mask, and if so, where does he keep it. This, however, was one of the answers he couldn't just ask for. It was something he would have to spy for.
  
  "Thank you, sir," Werner replied. "If you need me for anything else, just ask."
  
  "It"s that attitude that makes heroes, lieutenant!" sang Schmidt through his thick lips as sweat broke out on his thick cheeks. "For the sake of the well-being of one's country and the right to bear arms, one sometimes has to sacrifice great things. Sometimes giving your life to save the thousands of people you protect is part of being a hero, a hero that Germany can remember as a messiah of old customs and a man who sacrificed himself to preserve the supremacy and freedom of his country."
  
  Werner didn't like where this was leading, but he couldn't act on impulse without risking being discovered. "I can't help but agree, Captain Schmidt. You must know. I'm sure no man reaches the rank you achieved as a spineless little man. I hope one day to follow in your footsteps."
  
  "I'm sure you'll be fine, lieutenant. And you're right. I have donated a lot. My grandfather was killed in action against the British in Palestine. My father died defending the German chancellor during an assassination attempt during the Cold War," he justified. "But I'll tell you one thing, lieutenant. When I leave my legacy, my sons and grandsons will remember me for more than just a sweet story to tell to strangers. No, I will be remembered for changing the course of our world, I will be remembered by all Germans and therefore remembered by world cultures and generations." Hitler a lot? Werner thought, but admitted Schmidt's bullshit with false support. "Quite right, sir! I can't help but agree."
  
  Then he noticed the emblem on the Schmidt ring, the same ring that Werner took for an engagement ring. On the flat gold base that crowned the tip of his finger was engraved the symbol of a supposedly defunct organization, the symbol of the Order of the Black Sun. He had seen it before at his great-uncle's house on the day he helped his great-aunt sell all of her late husband's books at a yard sale in the late 80s. The symbol intrigued him, but his great aunt threw a fit when he asked if he could borrow the book.
  
  He never thought about it again, until now he recognized the symbol on Schmidt's ring. The question of staying in the dark became difficult for Werner because he desperately wanted to know what Schmidt was doing while wearing a symbol that his own patriotic great-aunt didn't want him to know.
  
  "That's intriguing, sir," Werner involuntarily remarked, without even thinking about the consequences of his request.
  
  "What?" - Asked Schmidt, interrupting his grandiose speech.
  
  "Your ring, captain. It looks like an ancient treasure or some secret talisman with superpowers like in the comics!" Werner said excitedly, cooing over the ring as if it was just a beautiful piece of work. In fact, Werner was so curious that he didn't even bother asking about the emblem or the ring. Perhaps Schmidt believed that his lieutenant was really enamored with his proud affiliation, but he preferred to keep his involvement with the Order to himself.
  
  "Oh, this was given to me by my father when I was thirteen," Schmidt explained nostalgically, looking at the thin, perfect lines on the ring, which he never took off.
  
  "Family coat of arms? It looks very exquisite," Werner urged 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 cordially. "You're off duty right now."
  
  Werner watched as the captain went outside to give him some privacy.
  
  "Hello?"
  
  It was Marlene. "Dieter! Dieter, they killed Dr. Fritz!" she called from what sounded like an empty pool or shower stall.
  
  "Wait, slow down, love! Who? And when?" Werner asked his girlfriend.
  
  "Two minutes ago! D-d-just like th-that...in composure, for heaven's sake! Right in front of me!" she screamed hysterically.
  
  Lieutenant Dieter Werner felt his stomach clench at the sound of his lover's frantic sobs. Somehow, that evil emblem on Schmidt's ring was an omen of what was to come shortly after. It seemed to Werner that his admiration for the ring had in some evil way brought misfortune upon him. He was remarkably 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, throwing an inquiring glance at the lieutenant.
  
  "Where are you? Where did it happen? In the hospital?" he urged 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 frustration at the eerie, booming location he couldn't get her to reveal.
  
  "Marlene, where are you?" he shouted.
  
  The phone call ended with a click. Schmidt was still standing in front of Werner, dazed, waiting for an answer. Werner's face turned pale as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
  
  "I'm sorry, sir. I have to go. Something terrible has happened in the hospital," he told his commander as he turned to leave.
  
  "She's not in the hospital, lieutenant," Schmidt said dryly. Werner stopped dead in his tracks, but did not turn around yet. Judging by the commander's voice, he expected the muzzle of an 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 when he pulled the trigger.
  
  "Himmelfarb just killed Dr. Fritz," Werner said without turning to 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 getting rid of his false admiration.
  
  "Ha! No, romance is for the meek in spirit. The only conquest I'm interested in is the dominance of the meek mind," Schmidt said.
  
  "Himmelfarb is a fucking coward. We all knew this from the start. He sneaks up on the asses of anyone who can protect him or help him, because he is just an inept and creepy puppy," Werner said, insulting the corporal with genuine contempt, which he always kept hidden out of politeness.
  
  "That's absolutely true, lieutenant," the captain agreed. His hot breath touched the back of Werner's head as he leaned uncomfortably close to him. "That's why, unlike people like you and other dead people you will soon join, he does this." Babylon
  
  Werner's flesh was filled with rage and hatred, his whole being was filled with disappointment and serious concern for his Marlene. "And what? Shoot already!" he said defiantly.
  
  Schmidt chuckled behind him. "Sit down, lieutenant."
  
  Reluctantly, Werner complied. He had no choice, which infuriated a free thinker like him. He watched as the arrogant officer sat down, deliberately flashing his ring for Werner's eyes to see. "Himmelfarb, as you say, is following my orders because he is incapable of mustering up the courage to stand up for what he believes in. However, he does the job I send him to do, and I don't have 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 link your fate with the opposition - the enemy - you become a traitor. Himmelfarb told me everything, lieutenant," Schmidt admitted with a deep sigh.
  
  "Maybe you're too blind to see what a traitor he is," Werner snapped.
  
  "A traitor to the right side is basically a hero. But let's leave my preferences for now. I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself, Lieutenant Werner. Leading a squadron of fighter jets, you'll be honored to fly your Tornado straight into the CIA meeting room in Iraq to make sure they know how the world feels about their existence."
  
  "This is absurd!" Werner protested. "They stuck to their end of the ceasefire and agreed to enter into trade negotiations...!"
  
  "Blah blah blah!" Schmidt laughed and shook his head. "We all know the political eggshell, my friend. This is a trick. Even if it weren't, what would the world be like while Germany is just another bull in the pen? His ring gleamed in the light of the lamp on his desk as he rounded the corner. "We are leaders, pioneers, powerful and proud, lieutenant! 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 way, fucking"!
  
  "It's a union, sir," Werner tried, but it only pissed off the captain.
  
  "Union? Oh, oh, "union" means the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics in those distant times? He sat down on his desk directly in front of Werner, lowering his head to the level of a lieutenant. "There is no room for growth in an aquarium, my friend. And Germany can't thrive in a quirky little knitting club where everyone chats and gives gifts over a tea set. Wake up! They limit us to uniformity and cut off our balls, my friend! You are going to help us undo this atrocity...oppression."
  
  "If I refuse?" Werner stupidly asked.
  
  "Himmelfarb will get the opportunity to be alone with dear Marlene," Schmidt smiled. "Besides, I've already set the stage for a good ass spanking, as they say. Most of the work has already been done. Thanks to one of my trusty drones doing their duty under orders," Schmidt called out to Werner, "that bitch Sloan is out of the game forever. That alone should warm up the world for a showdown, huh?"
  
  "What? Professor Sloan? Werner gasped.
  
  Schmidt confirmed the news by running the tip of his thumb down 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 her feverish and painful sleep, she found herself in a very different kind of hospital. Her bed, although adjustable in the same way as hospital beds, was cozy and filled with winter linens. It featured some of her favorite design motifs in chocolate, brown and tan. The walls were adorned with old Da Vinci paintings, and there were no signs of IVs, syringes, basins, or any of the other humiliating devices Nina hated in the hospital room.
  
  There was a bell button that she had to press because she was too dry and couldn't reach the water next to the bed. Perhaps she could, but her skin ached like 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 do you feel?"
  
  "I feel terrible. I-so want it," Nina squeezed out. She didn't even realize she could see well enough again until she gulped down half a tall glass of enriched water. Having drunk her fill, Nina leaned back on the soft, warm bed and looked around the ward, finally stopping her eyes on the smiling nurse.
  
  "I 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-German at all."
  
  The nurse laughed. "No, Dr. Gould. I am from Jamaica but live here in Kirkwall as a full time carer. I have been hired to look after you for the foreseeable future, but there is a doctor who is working very hard with his comrades to cure you."
  
  "They can not. Tell them to drop it," 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 do not announce their discoveries and do not patent their drugs for fear of being boycotted by drug companies. That's all I'll say until you talk to Dr. Kate," the nurse advised.
  
  "Doctor Kate? Is this his hospital? Nina asked.
  
  "No madam. Dr. Keith is a medical scientist who has been hired to focus solely on your illness. And this is a small clinic on the coast of Kirkwall. It is owned by Scorpio Majorus Holdings based in Edinburgh. Only a few 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 something to eat? Or is the nausea still not going away?
  
  "No," Nina answered quickly, but then exhaled and smiled at the long-awaited discovery. "No, I don"t feel sick in any way. In fact, I'm starving." Nina smiled wryly, so as not to aggravate the pain behind the diaphragm and between the lungs. "Tell me how I got here?"
  
  "Mr. David Purdue flew you here from Germany so you can get specialized treatment in a safe environment," the nurse told Nina, checking her eyes with a handheld flashlight. Nina lightly grabbed the nurse's wrist.
  
  "Wait, is Perdue here?" she asked, slightly alarmed.
  
  "No madam. He asked me to convey his apologies to you. Probably for not being here for you," the nurse said to Nina. Yes, probably for trying to cut off my fucking head in the dark, Nina thought to herself.
  
  "But he was supposed to be joining Mr. Cleve in Germany for some kind of consortium meeting, so I'm afraid you'll just be with us, your little medical team for now," put in a thin black nurse. Nina was captivated by her beautiful complexion and surprisingly unique accent, halfway between a London aristocrat and a rasta. "Mr. Cleve is apparently coming to visit you in the next three days, so 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 definitely better, although her eyes had not yet acquired the power of an owl. There was little to no burn or pain on her skin, and she breathed easier. She had only had a fever the day before, but it cleared up quickly after she was given a light green liquid that Dr. Keith joked they used on the Hulk before he became famous. Nina fully enjoyed the humor and professionalism of the team, which perfectly combines positivity and medical science in order to maximize her well-being.
  
  "So, is it true what they say about steroids?" Sam smiled from the doorway.
  
  "Yes it's true. All this. You should have seen my balls turn into raisins!" she joked with the same astonishment on her face that made Sam laugh heartily.
  
  Not wanting to touch her and hurt her, he just kissed the top of her head gently, smelling the fresh shampoo in her hair. "So good to see you, love," he whispered. "And those cheeks are glowing too. Now we just have to wait until the nose gets wet and you are ready to go."
  
  Nina laughed hard, 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 this rather startling.
  
  "They tell me it's just part of décor, changing the flowers every week and so on," Nina remarked, "but I know they're from Purdue."
  
  Sam didn't want to rock the boat between Nina and Perdue, especially at a time when she still needed the kind of treatment that only Perdue could give her. On the other hand, he knew that Perdue couldn't control what he was trying to do to Nina in those pitch-black tunnels under Chernobyl. "Well, I tried to bring you some moonshine, but your employees confiscated it," he shrugged. "Damn drunkards, most of them. Watch out for the sexy nurse. She trembles when she drinks."
  
  Nina giggled along with Sam, but figured he had heard about her cancer and was desperately trying to cheer her up with an overdose of pointless nonsense. Since she did not want to participate in these painful circumstances, she changed the subject.
  
  "What's going on in Germany?" she asked.
  
  "Funny you should ask that, Nina." He cleared his throat and pulled his recorder out of his pocket.
  
  "Oooh, audio porn?" she joked.
  
  Sam felt guilty about his motives, but he put on a pitying face and explained, "Actually, we need help with a little information about the Nazi Suicide Squadron that apparently destroyed several bridges..."
  
  "Yes, 200kg," she put in before he could continue. "According to rumors, they destroyed seventeen bridges to prevent the crossing of Soviet troops. But according to my sources, this is mostly speculation. I only know about KG 200 because I wrote a dissertation in my second year of graduate school on the impact of psychological patriotism on suicide missions."
  
  "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 the straw. "They were tasked with operating the bomb..." she tried to remember the name, looking up at the ceiling, "... called, um, I think... Reichenberg, as far as I remember. But later they were known as the squadron of Leonidas. Why? They are all dead and gone."
  
  "Yes, that's true, but you know how we seem to be constantly running into things that are supposed to be dead and gone," he reminded Nina. She couldn't argue with that. At any rate, she knew as well as Sam and Purdue that the old world and its wizards were alive and well in the modern establishment.
  
  "Please, Sam, don't tell me we're up against a World War II suicide squad still flying their Focke-Wulfs over Berlin," she exclaimed, inhaling and closing her eyes in mock fright.
  
  "Um, no," he began to fill her in on the crazy facts of the past few days, "but remember that pilot who escaped from the hospital?"
  
  "Yes," she replied in a strange tone.
  
  "Do you know what he looked like when you two made your journey?" Sam asked, so he could figure out exactly how far back to go before he started filling her in on everything that was going on.
  
  "I couldn't see him. At first, when the cops called him Dr. Hilt, I thought it was the monster, you know, the one that was chasing 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 was actually traveling with a werewolf assassin who 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 sidestep the subject, hoping she at least knew about the Babylon Mask. But he was quite sure that Löwenhagen would not accidentally share such a secret.
  
  "What? Mask? Like his mask they put on him to avoid tissue contamination?" she asked.
  
  "No, darling," Sam replied, getting ready to lay out everything they were involved in. "Ancient relic. Babylonian mask. Did he mention it at all?"
  
  "No, he never mentioned anything about any other mask other than the one they put on his face after applying the antibiotic ointment," Nina clarified, but her frown deepened. "For the sake of Christ! Are you going to tell me what it's about or not? Stop asking questions and stop playing with the thing you have in your hands so I can hear that we are back in deep shit again."
  
  "I love you, Nina," Sam chuckled. She must have been healed. That kind of wit belonged to the healthy, sexy, angry historian he so adored. "Okay, for starters, let me just tell you the names of the people who own these voices and what their role is in this."
  
  "Okay, go ahead," she said, looking focused. "Oh God, this is going to be a brain destroyer, so just ask if there"s anything you don"t understand..."
  
  "Sam!" she growled.
  
  "Fine. Get ready. Welcome to Babylon."
  
  
  Chapter 26 - Face Gallery
  
  
  Under poor lighting, with dead moths in the belly of thick glass shades, Lieutenant Dieter Werner accompanied Captain Schmidt to where he was to hear an account of the events of the next two days. The day of the signing of the treaty, October 31, was approaching, and Schmidt's plan was almost to be carried out.
  
  He informed his section of the rendezvous point in preparation for the attack, of which he was the architect, an underground bunker that had once been used by the SS in the area to house their families during Allied bombing raids. He was going to show his chosen commander a hot spot from where he could facilitate an attack.
  
  Werner hasn't heard a word from his lover Marlene since that hysterical phone call that revealed the factions and their members. His mobile phone was confiscated to prevent him from alerting anyone, and he was under Schmidt's strict surveillance around the clock.
  
  "It's not far," Schmidt told him impatiently as they turned for the hundredth time into a small hallway that looked just like the rest of them. However, Werner tried to find distinctive features wherever he could. Finally they came to a secure door with a numeric keypad security system. Schmidt's fingers were too fast for Werner to remember the code. A few moments later the thick steel door unlocked with a deafening clang and swung open.
  
  "Come in, lieutenant," Schmidt invited.
  
  As the door closed behind them, Schmidt turned on the bright white overhead light with a lever against the wall. The lights flashed rapidly several times before staying on and illuminating the inside of the bunker. Werner was amazed.
  
  Communication devices were located at the corners of the chamber. Red and green digital numbers blinked monotonously on panels located between two flat computer screens with a single keypad in between. On the right screen, Werner saw a topographical image of the strike zone, the CIA headquarters in Mosul, Iraq. To the left of this screen was an identical satellite monitor.
  
  But it was the others in the room who told Werner that Schmidt was dead serious.
  
  "I knew that you knew about the Babylonian mask and its manufacture even before you came to me with a report, so this saves me the time that would be required to explain and describe all the "magical powers" that it has, Schmidt boasted. "Thanks to some advances in cellular science, I know that the action of the mask is not actually magical, but I am not interested in how it works - only what it does."
  
  "Where is she?" Werner asked, pretending to be excited about the relic. "I never saw this? Will I wear it?"
  
  "No, my friend," Schmidt smiled. "I will do".
  
  "In the role of who? Together with Prof. Sloan is dead, there's no reason for you to disguise yourself as someone connected to the treaty."
  
  "It doesn't concern you who I will portray," Schmidt replied.
  
  "But you know what will happen," Werner said, hoping to dissuade Schmidt so he could get the mask himself and give it to Marduk. But Schmidt had other plans.
  
  "I believe, but there is something that can take the mask off without incident. It's called Skin. Unfortunately, Neumand didn't bother picking up this very important accessory when he stole the mask, idiot! So I sent Himmelfarb to violate the airspace and land on a secret airstrip eleven clicks north of Nineveh. He should get the skin in the next two days so I can take the mask off before..." he shrugged, "inevitable.
  
  "And if he fails?" Werner asked, amazed at the risk Schmidt had taken.
  
  "He won't let you down. He has the coordinates of the place and..."
  
  "Excuse me, captain, but did it ever occur to you that Himmelfarb might go against you? He knows the value of the Babylonian mask. Are you not afraid that he will kill you for this?" Werner asked.
  
  Schmidt turned on the light on the opposite side of the room where they were standing. In her radiance, Werner was met by a wall full of identical masks. Turning the bunker into what looked like catacombs, skull masks hung on the wall.
  
  "Himmelfarb has no idea which one is real, but I do. He knows he can't claim the mask unless he takes his chance during the skinning of my face to get it off and to make sure she does, I'll be holding a gun to his son's head all the way to Berlin." Schmidt grinned, admiring the images on the wall.
  
  "Did you do all this to confuse anyone who tries to steal your mask? Brilliant!" Sincerely remarked Werner. Crossing his arms over his chest, he slowly walked along the wall, trying to find any inconsistency between them, but it was almost impossible.
  
  "Oh, I didn't do them, Dieter." Schmidt momentarily abandoned his narcissism. "These were replica attempts made by the scientists and designers of the Order of the Black Sun around 1943. The Babylonian Mask was acquired by Renatus of the Order when it was deployed to the Middle East on a campaign."
  
  Renatus? Werner asked, unfamiliar with the secret organization's ranking system, as very few people are.
  
  "Leader," Schmidt said. "In any case, finding out what it was capable of, Himmler immediately ordered a dozen similar masks made in a similar way and experimented with them in the Leonidas detachment from KG 200. They were supposed to attack two specific units of the Red Army and infiltrate their ranks, issuing himself for the Soviet soldiers."
  
  "These same masks?" Werner was amazed.
  
  Schmidt nodded. "Yes, all twelve of them. But it turned out to be a failure. The scientists who reproduced the Babylonian mask either miscalculated or, well, I don't know the details," he shrugged. "Instead, the pilots became suicidal psychopaths and crashed their cars in the camps of various Soviet units instead of completing the mission. Himmler and Hitler didn't care, because it was a failed operation. So, the Leonidas squadron went down in history as the only Nazi kamikaze squadron in history."
  
  Werner took it all in, trying to formulate a way to avoid the same fate while tricking Schmidt into dropping his defenses for a moment. But, frankly, there were two days left before the implementation of the plan, and it would be almost impossible to prevent a catastrophe now. He knew the Palestinian pilot from the VBO flying core. If he could contact her, she could stop 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.
  
  "Oh! Here we are!" Schmidt exclaimed happily.
  
  "Who?" Werner asked curiously. Schmidt patted him on the back and led him to the screens.
  
  "We are, my friend. Operation Lion 2. Do you see this stain? This is satellite control of the CIA offices in Baghdad. A 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 out to the Baghdad point while the other two units of your squadron attack two other cities simultaneously."
  
  "Oh my God," Werner muttered, looking at the pulsing red button. "Why these three cities? I get The Hague - the summit should 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 commander, lieutenant. You are a natural strategist," Schmidt said triumphantly.
  
  The commander's wall-mounted intercom speaker clicked, and a harsh, agonizing sound of feedback echoed through the pressurized bunker. Both men plugged their ears instinctively, grimacing until the noise died down.
  
  "Captain Schmidt, this is Kilo base guard. There's a woman here who wants to see you, along with her assistant. The documents indicate that she is Miriam Inckley, the British legal representative of the World Bank in Germany, said the voice of the guard at the gate.
  
  "Now? Without an appointment? Schmidt screamed. "Tell her to get out. I'm busy!"
  
  "Oh, I wouldn't do that, sir," Werner argued convincingly enough for Schmidt to believe he was dead serious. In an undertone, he told the captain: "I heard she works for Lieutenant General Meyer. It's probably about the murders committed by Löwenhagen and the press trying to make us look bad."
  
  "God knows I don"t have time for this!" he replied. "Bring them to my office!"
  
  "Shall I accompany you, sir? Or do you want me to become invisible?" Werner asked slyly.
  
  "No, of course you must come with me," snapped Schmidt. He was annoyed at being interrupted, 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 along with his commander to the office, he racked his brains, trying to figure out where to keep Marlene and how he could get away from Schmidt unnoticed.
  
  "Hurry up, lieutenant," Schmidt ordered. All signs of his former pride and joyful anticipation have now vanished, and he has returned to full tyrant mode. "We don't have time to waste." Werner wondered if he should just 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 Cleave was upstairs and that Marduk probably already knew that Werner was in trouble.
  
  However, if he overpowered the chief, they could all be exposed. It was a difficult decision. In the past, Werner often found himself indecisive because there were too few options, but this time there were too many, and each of them led to equally difficult results. Not knowing which part was the real Babylonian mask was also 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 administration staff greeting or saluting. It would be foolish to stage a coup now. Wait your time. See what opportunities come first, Werner told himself. But Marlene! How are we going to find her? His emotions struggled with his reasoning as he kept his face blank 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 a female reporter and Marduk waiting in their masks. For a split second, he felt free again, as if he had hope to scream and subdue his keeper, but Werner knew he had to wait.
  
  The exchange of glances between Marduk, Margaret, and Werner was a quick, underhand confession far from Captain Schmidt's keen feelings. Margaret introduced herself and Marduk as two aviation lawyers with extensive backgrounds in political science.
  
  "Please have a seat," Schmidt suggested, pretending to be nice. He tried not to stare at the strange old man who accompanied the stern, extroverted woman.
  
  "Thank you," said Margaret. "Actually, we wanted to talk to the real commander of the Luftwaffe, but your guards said that Lieutenant General Meyer was out of the country."
  
  She delivered that humiliating blow to the nerves elegantly and with the intention of angering the captain a little. Werner stood stoically at the side of the table, trying not to laugh.
  
  
  Chapter 27 - Susa or War
  
  
  Nina's eyes froze in Sam's as she listened to the last part of the tape. At one point, he feared that she stopped breathing as she listened, frowned, focused, gasped, and tilted her head to the side throughout the soundtrack. When it was over, she just kept looking at him. There was a news channel on Nina's TV in the background, but no sound.
  
  "Damn it!" she suddenly exclaimed. Her hands were covered in needles and tubes from her day's treatment, otherwise she would have buried them in her hair in amazement. "Are you telling me that the guy I thought was Jack the Ripper was actually Gandalf the Grey, and my buddy who slept in the same room with me and walked miles with me was a cold-blooded killer?"
  
  "Yes".
  
  "Then why didn"t he kill me at the same time?" Nina thought aloud.
  
  "Your blindness saved your life," Sam told her. "The fact that you were the only person who couldn"t see that his face belonged to someone else must have been your saving grace. You weren't a threat to him."
  
  "I never thought I would be happy being blind. Jesus! Can you imagine what could happen to me? So where are they all now?"
  
  Sam cleared his throat, a trait that Nina had by now come to know meant that he was uncomfortable with something he was trying to articulate, something that would otherwise sound crazy.
  
  "Oh my gosh," she exclaimed again.
  
  "Look, this is all risky. Purdue is busy gathering hacker groups in every major city to interfere with satellite broadcasts and radio signals. He wants to prevent news of Sloan's death from spreading too quickly," Sam explained, not really looking forward to 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 that Purdue had at hand. "Margaret, the female voice you heard is still in Germany now. Werner was supposed to notify Marduk when he managed to return the mask to Schmidt without Schmidt's knowledge, but nothing was heard from him by the deadline.
  
  "So he's dead," Nina shrugged.
  
  "Not necessary. It just means he failed to get his hands on the mask," Sam said. "I don't know if Kohl can help him get it, but he looks a little out of his mind in my opinion. But since Marduk didn"t hear anything from Werner, he went with Margaret to the B üchel base to see what was going on."
  
  "Tell Purdue to speed up his work with broadcast systems," Nina told Sam.
  
  "I'm sure they're moving as fast as they can."
  
  "Not fast enough," she protested, nodding her head towards the TV. Sam turned to find that the first major broadcaster had received a report that Purdue's men were trying to stop.
  
  "Oh my God!" Sam exclaimed.
  
  "That won't work, Sam," Nina admitted. "No news agent will care if they start another world war by spreading the news of Professor Sloan's death. You know what they are! Careless, greedy people. Typically. They would rather try to get a reputation for gossip than think about the consequences."
  
  "I wish some major newspapers and social media posters would declare this a hoax," Sam said disappointedly. "That would be 'he said - she said' long enough to deter real calls for war.
  
  The image on the TV suddenly disappeared and several music videos from the 80s appeared. Sam and Nina wondered if this was the work of the hackers, who meanwhile were using everything they could get their hands on to delay more reports.
  
  "Sam," she immediately said in a softer, more sincere tone. "What Marduk told you about the skin thing that can take off the mask - does he have it?"
  
  He didn't have an answer. It never occurred to him at the time to ask Marduk more about this.
  
  "I have no idea," Sam replied. "But I can't risk calling him on Margaret's phone at the moment. Who knows where they are behind enemy lines, you know? It would be an insane move that could have cost everything."
  
  "I know. I'm just wondering," she said.
  
  "Why?" he had to ask.
  
  "Well, you said that Margaret had the idea of someone using a mask to take on the appearance of Professor Sloan, even just to sign a peace treaty, right?" Nina told.
  
  "Yes, she did," he confirmed.
  
  Nina sighed heavily as she thought about what she was about to serve. Ultimately, it would serve more good than just her well-being.
  
  "Can Margaret connect us to Sloan's office?" Nina asked as if she were ordering a pizza.
  
  "Perdue can. Why?"
  
  "Let's arrange a meeting. The day after tomorrow is Halloween, Sam. One of the greatest days in recent history and we cannot let it be cornered. If Mr. Marduk can deliver the mask to us," she explained, but Sam started shaking his head vigorously.
  
  "In no case! I will never let you do this, Nina," he protested furiously.
  
  "Let me finish!" she screamed as loudly as her wounded body could bear. "I'll do it, Sam! This is my decision and my body is my destiny!"
  
  "Really?" he screamed. "What about the people you leave behind if we don"t manage to remove the mask before she takes you from us?"
  
  "What if I don't, Sam? Is the whole globe plunging into a fucking World War III? The life of one person... or the children of the entire planet are being air raided again? Fathers and brothers are back on the front lines, and God knows what else they will use technology for this time!" Nina's lungs worked overtime to squeeze out the words.
  
  Sam just shook his bowed head. He didn't want to admit that it was the best thing to do. If it were any other woman, but not Nina.
  
  "Come on, Cleve, you know this is the only way," she said as the nurse rushed in.
  
  "Dr. Gould, you can't be so tense. Please go away, Mr. Cleve," she demanded. Nina didn't want to be rude to the medical staff, but there was no way she could leave the matter unresolved.
  
  "Hannah, please let us end this discussion," Nina pleaded.
  
  "You can barely breathe, Dr. Gould. You're not allowed to get on your nerves like that and make your heart beat go wild," Hannah reprimanded.
  
  "I understand," Nina replied quickly, keeping her heartfelt 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 in the broadcast and the distorted images. "I'll ask the repairmen to take a look at our antenna." With that, she left the room, taking one last look at Nina to impress what she had said. Nina nodded in response.
  
  "Good luck fixing the antenna," Sam smiled.
  
  "Where's Purdue?" Nina asked.
  
  "I told you. He is busy connecting satellites operated by his umbrella companies to the remote access of 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 stays away." Now it's out. He said this while incredibly defending Perdue to Nina. "He is seriously remorseful about what happened at 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 understand the level of distrust this cultivates?"
  
  "Yes, I believe! I believe. And keep your voice low until Sister Betty comes in again. I know what it's like to sink into despair when my life is threatened by those I trusted. You can't believe he ever intentionally wanted to hurt 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 Purdue's relentless pursuit of her affection. By his own account, Sam was already inferior to Perdue in many ways. Purdue was a genius with the charm to match, having made his fortune independently, inheriting estates, estates and technologically advanced patents. He had a brilliant reputation as a researcher, philanthropist and inventor.
  
  All Sam had was a Pulitzer Prize and a few other awards and commendations. In addition to three books and a small amount of money earned from participating in the Purdue treasure hunt, Sam had a penthouse apartment and a cat.
  
  "Answer my question," she said simply, seeing the sting in Sam's eyes at the possibility of losing her. "I promise to behave myself if Purdue helps me get in touch with WUO headquarters."
  
  "We don't even know if Marduk has a mask," Sam clutched at straws to thwart Nina's progress.
  
  "This is wonderful. While we don't know for sure, we can also arrange for my WUO representation at the signing to prof. Sloan's people can arrange the logistics and security accordingly. "After all," she sighed, "when a petite brunette shows up with or without Sloane's face, it would be easier to declare the reports a hoax, right?"
  
  "While we're talking, Perdue is in Reichtisusis," Sam surrendered. "I will contact him and tell him about your offer."
  
  "Thank you," she replied softly as the TV screen cycled through channel by itself, pausing briefly on test signals. All of a sudden it stopped at the global news station, which hadn't been powered down yet. Nina's eyes were glued to the screen. For the moment, she ignored Sam's sullen silence.
  
  "Sam, look!" she exclaimed, and raised her hand with difficulty to point to the television. Sam turned around. The reporter appeared with her microphone at the CIA office in The Hague behind her.
  
  "Turn up the volume!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing at the remote control and hitting a lot of wrong buttons before turning up the volume in the form of growing green bars on the HD screen. By the time they could hear what she was saying, she had only spoken three sentences in her speech.
  
  "... here in The Hague following reports of the alleged murder of Professor Martha Sloan yesterday at her holiday residence in Cardiff. The media were unable to confirm these reports as the professor's representative was unavailable for comment."
  
  "Okay, at least they're still not sure about the facts," Nina remarked. Continuation of the report from the studio, where the news anchor added more information about another development.
  
  However, in light of the approaching summit on the signing of a peace treaty between the Meso-Arab states and the World Bank, the office of the leader of Meso-Arabia, Sultan Yunus ibn Mekkan, announced a change in plan.
  
  "Yes, now it starts. Fucking war," Sam growled, sitting and listening in anticipation.
  
  "The Meso-Arab House of Representatives modified the agreement to be signed in the city of Susa, Meso-Arabia, following threats to the life of the Sultan by the association."
  
  Nina took a deep breath. "So now it's Susa or war. Now, do you still think that my wearing the Babylonian mask is not critical to the future of the world at large?"
  
  
  Chapter 28 - Marduk's Betrayal
  
  
  Werner knew that he was not allowed to leave the office while Schmidt was talking to visitors, but he had to find out where Marlene was being held. If he managed to 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 legal jargon skillfully poured out of the lips of a British journalist as she deceived Schmidt into appearing to be a lawyer from the WUO head office.
  
  Suddenly Marduk interrupted the conversation. "My apologies, Captain Schmidt, but can I please use your men's room? We were in such a hurry to arrive at your base due to all these fast-paced events that, I confess, I neglected my bladder."
  
  Schmidt was too helpful. He didn't want to make himself look bad in front of the VO since they currently controlled his base and his superiors. Until he made his fiery coup with their power, he had to obey and kiss ass as much as was necessary to keep up appearances.
  
  "Certainly! Of course," Schmidt replied. "Lieutenant Werner, could you please escort our guest to the men's room? And don't forget to ask... Marlene... for admission 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. Take care of your youth."
  
  Schmidt and Margaret chuckled at Marduk's remark as Werner followed in Marduk's footsteps. He took note of Schmidt's subtle, coded warning that Marlene's life would be at stake if Werner tried to do anything out of his sight. They left the office at a slow pace to emphasize a ploy to buy 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 failure to contact me and this not very effective veiled warning from your superior gave it away," replied Marduk. Werner stared admiringly at the old man. It was unbelievable how perceptive Marduk was, especially for a man of his age.
  
  "My God, I love shrewd people," Werner finally said.
  
  "Me too, son. Me too. And on that note, did you at least find out where he keeps the Babylonian mask? " - he asked. Werner nodded.
  
  "But first we must secure our absence," said Marduk. "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 things unfold. "Here".
  
  Ten minutes later, two men stood in front of the number pad on the cell where Schmidt kept his twisted Nazi dreams and relics. Marduk looked up and down the door and the keyboard. Upon closer inspection, he realized that getting inside would be more difficult than he had originally thought.
  
  "He has a backup circuit that alerts him if someone tampers with the electronics," Marduk told the lieutenant. "You'll have to go and distract him."
  
  "What? I can not do it!" Werner whispered and shouted at the same time.
  
  Marduk deceived him with his unceasing calmness. "Why not?"
  
  Werner didn't say anything. He could very easily distract Schmidt, especially in the presence of a lady. Schmidt would hardly 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 which mask it is?" at last he 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. "Tsok-tsok-tsok".
  
  "Okay, okay," Werner admitted it was a stupid question. "Can I use your phone? I should ask Sam Cleve to trace my number."
  
  "ABOUT! Forgive me, son. I don't have one. When you get upstairs, use Margaret's phone to contact Sam. Then create a real emergency. Say fire.
  
  "Certainly. Fire. Your thing," Werner remarked.
  
  Ignoring the young man's remark, Marduk explained the rest of the plan. "As soon as I hear the alarm, I will unlock the keypad. Your captain will have no choice but to evacuate the building. He won't have time to come down here. I will meet you and Margaret outside the base, so make sure you are by her side at all times."
  
  "Understood," Werner said. "Does Margaret have Sam's number?"
  
  "They are, as they say, 'trauchle twins' or something," Marduk frowned, "but anyway, yes, she has his number. Now go and do your thing. I will wait for the signal of chaos." There was a hint of a joke in his tone, but Werner's face was filled with the utmost concentration on what he was about to undertake.
  
  Although Marduk and Werner had secured an alibi in the infirmary for their absence for so long, the discovery of a backup circuit required a new plan. However, Werner used her to make up a believable story in case he arrived at the office to find that Schmidt had already alerted security.
  
  In the opposite direction from the corner where the entrance to the base infirmary had been marked, Werner slipped into the administration archives 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 go off. Excited, he was tempted to try fiddling with the keyboard, but refrained from doing so to avoid getting Werner caught prematurely. Marduk never thought that the theft of the Babylonian mask would provoke such open hostility. Usually he was able to quickly and covertly eliminate the thieves of the mask, returning to Mosul with the relic without much hindrance.
  
  Now that the political scene was so fragile and the motive behind the latest theft was world domination, Marduk believed the situation would inevitably spin out of control. Never before had he had to break into someone else's house, deceive people, or even show his face! Now he felt like a government agent - with a team, no less. He had to admit that for the first time in his life, he was pleased to be accepted into the team, but he was simply not the right type-or age-for such things. The signal he had been waiting for without warning. The red lights above the bunker began to flash like 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 alternate password. The door opened, revealing him a bunker filled with old Nazi artifacts and communications devices. But Marduk was there for nothing but the mask, the most destructive relic of all.
  
  As Werner had told him, he found that the wall was hung with thirteen masks, each of which, with amazing accuracy, resembled a Babylonian mask. Marduk ignored subsequent intercom calls to evacuate as he checked every relic. One by one, he examined them with his impressive gaze, prone to scrutinizing details with the intensity of a predator. Each mask was similar to the next: a thin, skull-shaped covering with a dark red interior teeming with composite material designed by the wizards of science from a cold and cruel era that could not be allowed to repeat itself.
  
  Marduk recognized the accursed mark of these scientists that adorned the wall behind the electronic technology and communications satellite controls.
  
  He mockingly chuckled, "Order of the Black Sun. It's time for you to go beyond our horizons."
  
  Marduk took the real mask and tucked it under his coat, buttoning up the large inside pocket. He needed to hurry to join Margaret and hopefully Werner if the boy hadn't already been shot. Before stepping out into the reddish glow of the gray cement of the underground corridor, Marduk paused to take another look at the hideous chamber.
  
  "Well, now I'm here," he sighed heavily, squeezing the steel pipe from the closet between his two hands. In just six strikes, Peter Marduk destroyed the bunker's power grids, along with the computers that Schmidt used to mark areas to attack. The power outage, however, was not limited to the bunker, it was actually connected to the administration building of the airbase. A complete power outage throughout Büchel Air Base ensued, sending personnel into a frenzy.
  
  After the world saw a television report about the decision of Sultan Yunus ibn Mekkan to change the place where the peace treaty was signed, the general consensus was that a world war was imminent. While the alleged murder of Prof. Martha Sloan was still unclear, it was still a cause for concern for all citizens and military around the world. For the first time, two eternally warring factions were about to establish peace, and the event itself caused fear at best among most viewers from around the world.
  
  Such anxiety and paranoia were commonplace everywhere, so a power outage at the very airbase where an unknown pilot had crashed a fighter just a few days ago caused panic. Marduk always liked the chaos caused by the stampede of people. The confusion always gave the situation a certain tinge of lawlessness and disregard for protocol, and this helped him well in his desire to move around unnoticed.
  
  He slipped up the stairs to the exit that led to the courtyard where the barracks and administration buildings converged. Flashlights and generator-powered soldiers illuminated the area with a yellow light that penetrated every accessible corner of the airbase. Only sections of the dining room were dark, giving Marduk the perfect path to pass through the secondary gates.
  
  Returning to a convincingly slow limp, Marduk finally made his way through the thrashing military personnel, where Schmidt was yelling orders for the pilots to be on standby and the security personnel to lock down the base. Marduk soon reached the guard at the gate, who first announced his and Margaret's arrival. Looking decidedly pitiful, the old man asked the distraught guard, "What"s going on? I've lost my way! You can help? My colleague walked 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 looked back again. "So you saw her pass here?"
  
  "No sir! Please just wait in your car! ' shouted the guard, listening for orders in the howl of alarms and searchlights.
  
  "OK. See you then," Marduk replied, heading towards Margaret's car, hoping to find her there. The mask pressed against his protruding chest as he quickened his pace towards the car. Marduk felt fulfilled and even peaceful as he entered Margaret's rental car with the keys he had taken from her.
  
  As he drove off at the sight of the pandemonium in the rearview mirror, Marduk felt a weight lift from his soul, a great relief that now he could return to his homeland with the mask he had found. What the world was doing with its ever-falling controls and power plays, he cared little more. As far as he was concerned, if the human race had become so arrogant and filled with a lust for power that even the prospect of harmony turned into callousness, perhaps extinction was long overdue.
  
  
  Chapter 29 - Perdue Tab Launched
  
  
  Perdue was reluctant to talk to Nina in person, so he stayed at his Reichtisousis mansion. From there, he proceeded to organize the media shutdown that Sam requested. But the researcher was by no means going to become a reclusive, pitiful on legs just because his former lover and friend Nina shunned him. In fact, Perdue had some plans of his own for the imminent trouble that began to appear on the horizon on Halloween day.
  
  Once his network of hackers, broadcast experts and semi-criminal activists was connected to the media bloc, he was free to initiate his own plans. His work was hampered by personal problems, but he learned not to let his emotions interfere with more tangible tasks. While studying the second story, surrounded by checklists and travel documents, he received a Skype alert. It was Sam.
  
  "How are things at Casa Purdue this morning?" Sam asked. There was amusement in his voice, but his face was deadly serious. If it had been a simple phone call, Purdue would have thought that Sam was the epitome of cheerfulness.
  
  "Great Scott, Sam," Perdue had to exclaim when he saw the journalist's bloodshot eyes and luggage. "I thought I was the one who doesn't sleep anymore. You look worn out in a very unsettling way. Is that Nina?
  
  "Oh, it's always Nina, my friend," Sam replied with a sigh, "but not just in the way she usually drives me crazy. She took it to the next level this time."
  
  "Oh my God," Perdue muttered as he prepared for the news, sucking a sip of black coffee into his mouth, which had gone horribly bad because it had run out of heat. He winced at the taste of the sand, but he was more worried about Sam's call.
  
  "I know you don't want to deal with anything about her right now, but I have to beg you to at least help me brainstorm her proposal," Sam said.
  
  "Are you in Kirkwall now?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Yes, but not for long. Did you listen to the tape 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 molested you after I left Germany." Perdue chuckled, inadvertently torturing himself with another sip of rancid caffeine. "Bluff!"
  
  "I thought about it," Sam replied. "If it was just about the murders in the Heidelberg hospital or corruption in the Luftwaffe high command, yes. This would be a good step towards maintaining my reputation. But now it is of secondary importance. The reason I ask if you have learned the secrets of the mask is because Nina wants to put it on."
  
  Purdue's eyes flickered in the screen's bright light, turning a damp gray as he glared at Sam's image. "I'm sorry?" he said without flinching.
  
  "I know. She asked you to contact WUO and ask Sloan's people to tailor... sort of an agreement," Sam explained in a devastated tone. "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 the sake of both of us - her and mine. But I do not resort to childish silence just because I want to take 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 refuse if I think it's a bad idea."
  
  "Thank you, Perdue," 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? - asked the billionaire.
  
  "Right," Sam nodded.
  
  "And then? Does she know that the Sultan asked to change 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 taking on Sloane's face to sign the treaty, even right in the middle of ancient Babylonia. The problem is getting the skin to take it off," Sam said.
  
  "Just ask that Marduk guy on the tape, Sam. I got the impression that you were keeping in touch?"
  
  Sam looked upset. "He's gone, Perdue. He was going to infiltrate Buchel Air Force Base with Margaret Crosby to take the mask from Captain Schmidt. Lieutenant Werner should have done it too, but he failed..." Sam paused for a long time, as if he needed to squeeze out the next words. "So, we have no idea how to find Marduk to borrow the mask to sign the treaty."
  
  "Oh my God," Purdue exclaimed. After a brief lull, 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 left them there and took it away with...ah!" Sam understood immediately. "You are a genius! I'll send you her details to find traces on the car too."
  
  "Always up to date with technology, old rooster," Perdue boasted. "Technology is the nervous system of God."
  
  "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." Saying all this, Sam couldn't shake the guilt he felt for putting so much on Purdue after his efforts were so unceremoniously denounced by Nina Gould.
  
  Perdue was surprised, if anything. "Wait a second, Sam. Let me take my notes and a pen."
  
  "Are you keeping score?" Sam asked. "If not, I think you should. I feel bad, man."
  
  "I know. And you look just like you sound. No offense," Perdue said.
  
  "Dave, you can call me dogshit right now and I wouldn't care. Just please say you can help us with this," Sam pleaded. His large dark eyes looked downcast and his hair was disheveled.
  
  "So, what should I do for the lieutenant?" Perdue asked.
  
  "When he got back to base, he learned that Schmidt had sent Himmelfarb, one of the men in the footage of The Defector, to capture and hold his girlfriend. And we have to take care of her because she was Nina's nurse in Heidelberg," Sam explained.
  
  "Okay, points in favor of the lieutenant"s girlfriend, what"s her name?" asked Perdue, pen in hand.
  
  "Marlene. Marlene Marks. 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."
  
  "Understood. Send the information to him. Text me his number."
  
  On the screen, Sam was already shaking his head. "No, Schmidt has his phone number. I'm sending you his tracking number, but you can't reach him there, Purdue."
  
  "Oh hell, of course. Then I will forward it to you. When he calls, you can give it to him. Okay, then let me take care of these assignments and I will be in touch with you shortly with the results."
  
  "Thank you so much, Perdue," Sam said, looking exhausted but grateful.
  
  "No problem, Sam. Kiss the Fury for me and try not to gouge out your eyes." Perdue smiled as Sam chuckled mockingly back at him before disappearing in the blink of an eye into the darkness. Perdue was still smiling after the screen went blank.
  
  
  Chapter 30 - Desperate Measures
  
  
  Even though media broadcast satellites were largely non-functional across the board, there were still some radio signals and internet sites that managed to infect the world with a plague of uncertainty and exaggeration. On the remaining social media profiles that have not yet been blocked, people have reported panic caused by the current political climate, along with reports of assassinations and World War III threats.
  
  Due to server corruption in the core centers of the planet, people everywhere naturally came to the worst possible conclusions. According to some reports, the Internet has been attacked by a powerful faction of everything from aliens about to invade Earth to the Second Coming. Some of the more dim-witted thought the FBI was responsible, somehow thinking it would be better for national intelligence to 'crash the internet'. And so the citizens of every country took to the streets with all that was left to express their displeasure.
  
  Major cities were in turmoil and city halls had to account for the communications embargo, which they couldn't. At the top of the World Bank Tower in London, a distraught Lisa looked down on a bustling city full of strife. Lisa Gordon was the second person on the organization's team that had recently lost its leader.
  
  "Oh my God, just look at this," she told her personal assistant, leaning against the glass window of her 22nd-floor office. "Human beings are worse than wild animals as soon as they have neither leaders, nor teachers, nor any authorized representative. You noticed?"
  
  She watched the robbery from a safe distance, but still wished she could reason with them all. "As soon as the order and leadership in the countries are even slightly shaken, citizens will think that destruction is the only alternative. I have 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 at the same time try to live together. God bless us. This is the real Babylon."
  
  "Dr. Gordon, the Consulate of Mesoarabia is on the 4th line. They need confirmation for Professor Sloan's appointment tomorrow at the Sultan's palace in Susa," the personal assistant said. "Do I still have to make excuses that she's sick?"
  
  Lisa turned to face her assistant. "Now I know why Martha used to complain about having to make all the decisions. Tell them she will be there. I'm not going to shoot this hard-earned endeavor in the foot just yet. Even if I myself have to go there and beg for peace, I will not let it pass because of terrorism."
  
  "Dr. Gordon, there is a gentleman on your main line. He has a very important proposal for us regarding a peace treaty," said the secretary, looking out from behind the door.
  
  "Haley, you know we don't take calls from the public here," Lisa reprimanded.
  
  "He says his name is David Purdue," the secretary added reluctantly.
  
  Lisa turned around sharply. "Connect him to my desk immediately, please."
  
  After listening to Purdue's suggestion that they use an impostor to take the place of Prof. Sloan, Lisa was more than a little taken aback. Of course, he didn't include the ridiculous use of a mask to take on a woman's face. That would be a little too creepy. However, the suggestion of a substitution shocked the feelings of Lisa Gordon.
  
  "Mr Perdue, as much as we at WUO Britain appreciate your continued generosity towards 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 methods that we oppose. It would make us hypocrites."
  
  "Of course I do," Perdue replied. "But think about it, Dr. Gordon. How far are you willing to break the rules to achieve peace? Before us is a sickly woman - and didn't you use the disease as a scapegoat to prevent the confirmation of Martha's death? And this lady, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Martha, is offering to mislead the right people for just a moment in history to found your organization in her chapters."
  
  "I-I should have...think about it, Mr. Purdue," she stammered, still unable to make up her mind.
  
  "You'd better hurry, Dr. Gordon," Perdue reminded her. "The signing will take place tomorrow, in another country, and time is running out."
  
  "I'll get back to you as soon as I've spoken to our advisers," she told Purdue. Inwardly, Lisa knew that this was the best solution; no, the only one. The alternative would be too costly and would have to balance its morality decisively with the common good. It wasn't really a competition. At the same time, Lisa knew that if she were found plotting such a deception, she would be prosecuted and likely charged with treason. Forgery is one thing, but to be a knowing accomplice in such a political parody, she would be tried for nothing less than a public execution.
  
  "Are you still here, Mr. Purdue?" she suddenly exclaimed, looking at the telephone system on her desk as if it were his face.
  
  "I am. Should I make preparations?" he asked cordially.
  
  "Yes," she firmly confirmed. "And it should never 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 the WUO permit provided that the passenger is indeed a professor. Sloane."
  
  After they ended their conversation, Lisa found her demeanor to be somewhere between relief and horror. She paced her office with her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed tightly over her chest, thinking about what she had just agreed to. Mentally, she checked all her reasons, making sure each one was covered up with a plausible excuse in case the charade was revealed. For the first time, she rejoiced at the media delays and constant power outages, having no idea that she was in cahoots with the people responsible.
  
  
  Chapter 31 - Whose face would you put on?
  
  
  Lieutenant Dieter Werner was relieved, apprehensive, but nonetheless in high spirits. He contacted Sam Cleave from a prepaid phone he had purchased while on the run from 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 so much, Sam!" Werner said, standing out of the way on a cold Mannheim night at the gas station where he filled up his brother's car. He asked his brother to lend him his vehicle, 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 is alive and well."
  
  "I will, I promise. And give Perdue a million thanks for finding her," he told Sam before hanging up.
  
  Yet Werner could not believe Marduk's deceit. He was dissatisfied with himself for even thinking he could trust the very person who had deceived him when he was interviewed in the hospital.
  
  But now he had to drive as hard as he could to get to a factory called Kleinschaft Inc. on the outskirts of Berlin, where his Marlene was kept. With every mile he rode, he prayed that she was safe, or at least alive. Holstered at his hip was his personal firearm, a Makarov, which he had received as a gift from his brother on his twenty-fifth birthday. He was ready for Himmelfarb if the coward still had the audacity to stand up and fight when he was confronted by a real soldier.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Meanwhile, Sam was helping Nina prepare for her trip to Susa, Iraq. They were supposed to be there the next day, and Purdue had already arranged the flight after receiving a very cautious green light from the Deputy Commander of the Air Force, Dr. Lisa Gordon.
  
  "Are you nervous?" Sam asked as Nina left the room, gorgeously dressed and groomed, just like the late professor. Sloane. "Oh my God, you look so much like her... If only I didn"t know you."
  
  "I'm very nervous, but I just keep telling myself two things. It's for the good of the world and it only takes fifteen minutes before I'm done," she confessed. "I heard they played the sick card in her absence. Well, they have one point of view."
  
  "You know you don't have to do this, love," he told her one last time.
  
  "Oh Sam," she sighed. "You are relentless, even when you lose."
  
  "I can see you're not in the least bit embarrassed by your competitiveness, even from a common sense point of view," he remarked as he took the bag from her. "Let's go, the car is waiting to take us to the airport. In a few hours you will go down in history."
  
  "Will we meet her people in London or in Iraq?" she asked.
  
  "Perdue said they would meet us at the CIA rendezvous in Susa. There you will spend some time with the de facto successor of the WUO reins, Dr. Lisa Gordon. Now remember, Nina, Lisa Gordon is the only one who knows who you are and what we do, okay? Don't stumble," he said as they walked slowly out into the white mist that floated in the cold air.
  
  "Understood. You worry too much," she snorted, straightening her scarf. "By the way, where is the great architect?"
  
  Sam frowned.
  
  "Purdue, Sam, where is Purdue?" she repeated as they started off.
  
  "The last time I spoke to him, he was at home, but he is Perdue, always up to something." He smiled and shrugged. "How do you feel?"
  
  "My eyes are almost completely healed. You know, when I listened to the tape and Mr. Marduk said that people who wear masks go blind, I wondered if that was what he must have thought the night he visited me at my hospital bed. 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 could be just that. Nina told him that Marduk had asked her if she was hiding her roommate, so this could very well be a real 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 suddenly asked over the muffled hum of the car. "What would you do if you could wear anyone's face?"
  
  "I didn't even think about it," he admitted. "I guess it depends."
  
  "Worn?"
  
  "On how long I can keep this man's face," Sam teased.
  
  "Just for one 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's removed and you have your own again," she whispered softly.
  
  "I suppose I should say that I would take on the guise of some important person and that I would do good," Sam began, wondering how honest he must be. "I should be Purdue, I think."
  
  "What the hell do you want to be Purdue for?" Nina asked as she sat down. Oh, great. Now you've done it, Sam thought. He thought about the real reasons he had 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 paid attention, so Sam clarified. "Perdue can do anything. He is too infamous to be a benevolent saint, but too ambitious to be a nobody. He is smart enough to invent marvelous machines and devices that can change medical science and technology, but he is too modest to patent them and thus make a profit. Using his wits, his reputation, his connections and his money, he can literally achieve anything. I would use his face to push myself towards higher goals that my simpler mind, meager finances and insignificance could achieve."
  
  He expected a sharp review of his twisted priorities and misplaced goals, but instead Nina leaned in and kissed him hard. Sam's heart trembled at the unpredictable gesture, but it literally went berserk at her words.
  
  "Save your face, Sam. You have the one thing Purdue wants, the one thing for which all his genius, money and influence will do him nothing."
  
  
  Chapter 32 - Shadow's Offer
  
  
  Peter Marduk did not care about the events taking place around him. He was used to people acting like maniacs, running around like derailed locomotives whenever something beyond their control reminded them of how little power they had. Thrusting his hands into his coat pockets and peering warily from under his fedora, he walked through the panic-stricken strangers at the airport. Many of them were heading to their homes in case of a nationwide shutdown of all services and transport. Having lived for many eons, Marduk had seen it all before. He survived three wars. In the end, everything always straightened out and flowed to another part of the world. He knew that the war would never end. This would only lead to relocation to another area. In his opinion, the world was a delusion made up by those who were tired of fighting for what they had or playing tournaments to win arguments. Harmony was just a myth concocted by cowards and religious fanatics who hoped that by spreading the faith they would earn the title of hero.
  
  "Your flight has been delayed, Mr. Marduk," the check-in clerk told him. "We expect all flights to be delayed due to the latest situation. Flights will only be available tomorrow morning"
  
  "No problem. I can wait," he said, ignoring her scrutiny of his strange features, or rather lack thereof. Peter Marduk meanwhile decided to rest in a hotel room. He was too old and his body too bony for long periods of sitting. That would be enough for the return flight home. He checked into the Cologne Bonn Hotel 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 waiting for a murderous thief was a delightful change of scenery for his weary old bones.
  
  As the electronic door closed behind him, Marduk's mighty eyes saw a silhouette sitting in a chair. He didn't need much light, but his right hand slowly cupped the skull face underneath his coat. It was not difficult 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 desire is within my reach, Mr. Marduk. I am inclined to grant this wish immediately if you do not agree with my demands," said the figure.
  
  "For God's sake, let me hear your demands so I can get some sleep. I have not had peace since another treacherous breed of people stole it from my home," complained Marduk.
  
  "Sit down please. Rest. I can walk out of here without incident and let you sleep, or I can lighten your burden forever and still walk out of here with what I came for," said the intruder.
  
  "Oh, you think so?" The old man chuckled.
  
  "I assure it," another told him flatly.
  
  "My friend, you know as much as everyone else who comes for the Babylon Mask. And it's nothing. You are so blinded by your greed, your desires, your vengeance...whatever else you wish for using someone else's face. Blind! You all!" He sighed as he plopped down comfortably on the bed in the darkness.
  
  "So that"s why the mask blinds the Disguiser?" - the question of the stranger followed.
  
  "Yes, I believe her creator put some form of metaphorical message into her," Marduk replied, kicking off his shoes.
  
  "What about madness?" - the uninvited guest asked again.
  
  "Son, you can ask for as much information about this relic as you want before you kill me and take it, but you won"t get anywhere with it. It will kill you or whoever you trick into wearing it, but the fate of the Disguiser cannot be changed," advised Marduk.
  
  "That is, not without skin," the attacker explained.
  
  "Not skinless," agreed Marduk in slow words that bordered on dying. "It's right. And if I die, you'll never know where to find the Skin. Besides, it doesn't work on its own, so just drop it, son. Go your own way and leave the mask to cowards and charlatans."
  
  "Would you sell it?"
  
  Marduk could not believe what he was hearing. He burst into a delightful roar of laughter that filled the room like the anguished cries of a tortured victim. The silhouette did not move, it also did not take any action and did not admit defeat. He just waited.
  
  The old Iraqi sat down and switched on the bedside lamps. Sitting in a chair was a tall, thin man with white hair and light blue eyes. In his left hand he held a .44 Magnum firmly, pointing straight at the old man's heart.
  
  "Now we all know that using skin from the donor's face changes the face of the masker," Purdue said. "But I happen to know..." He leaned forward to speak in a softer, 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 person who had ever revealed the secret of the Babylon Mask. Frozen in place, he stared at the European with a large pistol, sitting in quiet patience.
  
  "What is the price?" Perdue asked.
  
  "You can't buy a mask, and you certainly can't buy my skin!" Marduk exclaimed in horror.
  
  "Do not buy. For rent," Purdue corrected him, properly confusing the old man.
  
  "Are you out of your mind?" Marduk frowned. It was an honest question to a man whose motives he really 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 suggested.
  
  Marduk was puzzled. Lost the gift of speech. He wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the sentence and ridicule the man's idiotic principles, but the more he ran the sentence over in his mind, the more it made sense.
  
  "Why a week?" he asked.
  
  "I want to study its scientific properties," Purdue replied.
  
  "The Nazis also tried to do it. They have failed miserably!" - scoffed the old man.
  
  Perdue shook his head. "My motive is pure curiosity. As a relic collector and scientist, 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 the first day?" asked the old man, more surprised.
  
  "Tomorrow, a very dear friend needs to take on an important face. That she's willing to risk it is of historic importance in establishing a temporary peace between two long-time warring enemies," Purdue explained, lowering the barrel of his gun.
  
  "Dr. Nina Gould," Marduk realized, pronouncing her name with gentle reverence.
  
  Perdue, delighted that Marduk knew, continued: "If the world knew that Prof. Sloane was indeed murdered, they would never believe the truth: that she was murdered on the orders of a German high-ranking officer in order to frame Meso-Arabia. You know it. They will remain blind to the truth. They only see what their masks allow - tiny binocular images of the bigger picture. Mr. Marduk, I am absolutely serious in my proposal."
  
  After some thought, the old man sighed. "But I'm coming with you."
  
  "I wouldn't want it to be any other way," Perdue smiled. "Here".
  
  He tossed a written agreement on the table setting out the terms and timeframe for the "item" that is never mentioned in order to make sure no one ever finds 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 goddamn rest. At least for now.
  
  
  Chapter 33 - Reunion of Judas
  
  
  Sam and Nina were sitting in a heavily guarded room, just an hour before meeting the Sultan. She didn't look very well, but Sam refrained from curiosity. However, according to staff in Mannheim, Nina's exposure was not the cause of the fatal condition. Her breath hissed as she tried to inhale, and her eyes remained a little milky, but her skin was completely healed by now. Sam wasn't a doctor, but he could see that something was wrong, both in Nina's state of health and in her continence.
  
  "You probably can"t handle my breathing next to you, hey?" he played.
  
  "Why do you ask?" she frowned as she adjusted the velvet choker to match the photographs of Sloan provided by Lisa Gordon. They were accompanied by a grotesque specimen that Gordon did not want to know about, even when Sloane's funeral director was ordered to provide 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 inquired.
  
  "No," she replied, "just annoying words that come out with such a breath."
  
  "Professor Sloane?" A heavily accented female voice called from the other side of the door. Sam nudged Nina painfully, forgetting how fragile she was. He held out his hands apologetically. "I am so sorry!"
  
  "Yes?" Nina asked.
  
  "Your retinue should be here in less than an hour," the woman said.
  
  "Oh, um, thanks," Nina replied. She whispered to Sam. "My retinue. It must be the representatives of Sloan."
  
  "Yes".
  
  "Besides, there are two gentlemen here who say they are from your bodyguard along with Mr. Cleve," the woman said. "Are you expecting Mr. Marduk and Mr. Kilt?"
  
  Sam burst out laughing, but held it back, covering his mouth with his hand, "Kilt, Nina. It must be Perdue, for reasons I refuse to share."
  
  "I shudder at the thought," she replied, and turned to the woman: "That's right, Yasmin. I expected them. In fact..."
  
  The two entered the room, pushing aside the burly Arab guards to get inside.
  
  "... they were late!"
  
  The door closed behind them. There were no formalities, as Nina had not forgotten the shock she received in the Heidelberg hospital, and Sam had not forgotten that Marduk had betrayed their trust. Perdue picked it up and immediately cut it off.
  
  "Come on, kids. We can band together after we change history and we manage to avoid arrest, okay?"
  
  They reluctantly agreed. Nina averted her eyes from Purdue, not giving him a chance to make amends.
  
  "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 a 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, running after whoever takes it. No one was supposed to know about this, but a Nazi researcher studying the Babylonian Talmud came across older texts from Mesopotamia and the Mask became known." Marduk took out the mask and held it up to the light between them. "I would like to just get rid of her once and for all."
  
  A sympathetic expression appeared on Nina's face, aggravating her already tired look. It was easy to tell that she was far from recovering, but they tried to keep their worries to themselves.
  
  "I called her at the hotel. She didn't come back or check out," Sam fumed. "If anything happens to her, Marduk, I swear by Christ, I personally..."
  
  "We have to do it. Now!" Nina snapped them out of their reverie with a stern statement, "Before I lost my temper."
  
  "She needs to transform in front of Dr. Gordon and the rest of the professors. Sloan's people are coming, so how do we do that?" Sam asked the old man. In response, Marduk simply handed Nina the mask. She was impatient to touch it, and she took it from him. All she remembered was that she had to do this in order to save the peace treaty. She was dying anyway, so if the deletion didn't work, her sentence would just be pushed back a few months.
  
  Looking at the inside of the mask, Nina grimaced through the tears that filled 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 that they didn't know about the cancer, but Sam's choice of words was unintentionally obtrusive. With a deadpan, determined expression on her face, Nina picked up the container of Sloan's photographs and removed the grotesque contents from inside with tweezers. They all forced their task to overshadow the heinous act by watching a piece of skin tissue from Martha Sloan's body get inside the mask.
  
  Curious to the extreme, Sam and Purdue huddled together to see what would happen. Marduk simply looked at the clock on the wall. Inside the mask, the tissue sample instantly disintegrated, and over the normal bone-colored surface, the mask took on a dark red hue that seemed to come to life. Small ripples ran across the surface.
  
  "Don't waste time or it will run out," Marduk warned.
  
  Nina held her breath. "Happy Halloween," she said, and hid her face in a mask with a painful grimace.
  
  Perdue and Sam were anxious to see the infernal contortion of the facial muscles, the violent protrusion of the glands and the wrinkling of the skin, but they were disappointed in their expectations. Nina squealed slightly as her hands released the mask and it remained on her face. Nothing really happened, other than her reaction.
  
  "Oh my God, this is creepy! This drives me crazy!" she panicked, but Marduk came over and sat next to her for some emotional support.
  
  "Relax. What you feel is cell fusion, Nina. I believe it will sting a little from the stimulation of the nerve endings, but you have to let it take shape," he urged.
  
  As Sam and Purdue watched, the thin mask simply shuffled its composition to match Nina's face until it submerged gracefully under her skin. The barely visible features of Nina's face morphed into those of Martha until the woman in front of them was an exact copy of the one in the photograph.
  
  "Fucking is not real," Sam admired as he watched. Purdue's mind was overwhelmed by the molecular structure of all transformation on a chemical and biological level.
  
  "This is better than science fiction," Perdue muttered, leaning over to take a closer look at Nina's face. "It's mesmerizing."
  
  "Both gross and creepy. Don't forget that," Nina said carefully, unsure of her ability to speak, putting on another woman's face.
  
  "It's Halloween after all, love," Sam smiled. "Just pretend you're really, really good in a Martha Sloan outfit." Perdue nodded with a slight smirk, but he was too engrossed 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."
  
  Purdue had to answer her, whether or not they observed public radio silence.
  
  "I have skin, Nina. Do not worry about it. Once the treaty is signed..." he trailed off, allowing her to fill in the blanks.
  
  Shortly thereafter Prof. Sloane's people have arrived. Dr. Lisa Gordon was on edge, but she hid it well under her professional demeanor. She informed Sloane's next of kin that she was ill and shared the same news with her staff. Due to the condition affecting her lungs and throat, she will not be able to deliver her speech, but will still be present to seal the deal with Mesoarabia.
  
  Leading a small group of press agents, lawyers and bodyguards, she headed straight for the section labeled "VIPs on private visit" with a knot in her stomach. With only minutes left before the start of the historic symposium, she had to make sure everything went according to plan. Entering the room where Nina was waiting 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 Sloane. Nina just smiled. As requested by Lisa, she was not allowed to speak; she had to match the charade in front of Sloane's people.
  
  "Leave us alone for a minute, okay?" Lisa told her team. As soon as they closed the door, her whole mood changed. Her jaw dropped at the face of the woman she could have sworn was her friend and colleague. "Damn it, Mr. Perdue, you're not kidding!"
  
  Perdue smiled heartily. "Always good to see you, Dr. Gordon."
  
  Lisa told Nina the basics of what was needed, how to accept ads, and so on. Then came the part that worried Lisa the most.
  
  "Dr. Gould, I take it you practiced forging her signature?" Lisa asked very quietly.
  
  "I have. I think I managed it, but due to illness my hands are a little less stable than usual," Nina replied.
  
  "This is wonderful. We made sure everyone knew that Marta was very ill and that she was shaking a little during her treatment," Lisa replied. "That would help explain any deviation in the signature so that, with God's help, we could pull it off without incident."
  
  Representatives of the press departments of all major broadcasters were present in the media room in Susa, especially since all satellite systems and stations were miraculously restored from 2:15 am that day.
  
  When Prof. Sloan stepped out of the hallway to enter the meeting room with the Sultan as the cameras panned to her at the same time. High-definition telephoto cameras flashed bright flashes of light on the faces and clothing of the leaders being escorted. Tense, the three men responsible for Nina's well-being stood watching everything that was happening on the monitor in the locker room.
  
  "She'll be all right," Sam said. "She even practiced Sloan's accent in case she had to answer any questions." He looked at Marduk. "And as soon as this is over, you and I will go looking for 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 will not be able to restore her image or save her life for a long time."
  
  Perdue nudged Sam to repeat the call for friendliness. Sam's phone rang, disturbing the atmosphere in the room.
  
  "It's 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 Cleave, I presume?" Schmidt hissed, lowering his voice. Sam immediately put the call on speakerphone so everyone else could hear.
  
  "Yes, where is Margaret?" Sam asked, wasting no time on the obvious nature of the call.
  
  "That's none of your concern right now. You're worried about where she'll be if you don't comply," Schmidt said. "Tell that sultan impostor bitch to give up her errand, otherwise tomorrow you can pick up another impostor bitch with a shovel."
  
  Marduk looked shocked. He never imagined that his actions would lead to the death of a beautiful lady, but now it has become 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 provoked Schmidt. "Because if you happen to be anywhere within my reach, I won't give you the pleasure of putting a bullet in your fat Nazi skull."
  
  Schmidt laughed with arrogant enthusiasm. "What are you going to do, paper boy? Write an article in which you express your dissatisfaction, slandering the Luftwaffe.
  
  "Close," Sam replied. His dark eyes met Purdue's. Without a single word, the billionaire understood. Tablet in hand, he silently keyed in the security code and continued to check Margaret's phone's global positioning system as Sam battled the commander. "I will do what I do best. I will expose you. More than anyone else, you will be stripped of the depraved, power-hungry wannabe that you are. You'll never be Meyer, mate. The lieutenant general is the leader of the Luftwaffe and his reputation will help the world to have a high opinion of the German armed forces and not some impotent who thinks he can manipulate the world."
  
  Perdue smiled. Sam knew he had found a heartless commander.
  
  "Sloan is signing this treaty as we speak, so your efforts are pointless. Even if you killed everyone you hold, it would not change the entry into force of the decree even before you raise your gun, "Sam pestered Schmidt, secretly praying to God that Margaret would not pay for his insolence.
  
  
  Chapter 34 - Margaret's Risky Sensation
  
  
  Horrified, Margaret watched as her friend Sam Cleave infuriated her captor. She was tied to a chair and still dizzy from the drugs he had used to subdue her. Margaret had no idea where she was, but from what she understood a little German, she wasn't the only hostage being held there. Next to her was a pile of technological devices that Schmidt had confiscated from his other hostages. While the corrupt commander jumped around and argued, Margaret put her childish tricks into play.
  
  When she was a little girl in Glasgow, she used to frighten other children by dislocating her fingers and shoulders for their amusement. Since then, of course, she had suffered a bit from arthritis in her major joints, but she was pretty sure she could still control her finger joints. Minutes before he called Sam Cleve, Schmidt sent Himmelfarb to check on the suitcase they had brought with them. They took her from the air base bunker, which was almost destroyed by intruders. He did not see Margaret's left hand slip from the handcuff and reach for a mobile phone that had belonged to Werner while he was a prisoner at Büchel Air Base.
  
  Craning her neck to get a better view, she reached out to grab her phone, but it was just out of reach. Trying not to miss her one opportunity to communicate, Margaret pushed her chair every time Schmidt laughed. Soon she was so close that her fingertips were almost touching the plastic and rubber of the phone's cover.
  
  Schmidt had finished issuing his ultimatum to Sam, and now all he had to do was watch the current performances before signing the deal. He glanced at his watch, seemingly unconcerned about Margaret, now that she was presented as leverage.
  
  "Himmelfarb!" Schmidt shouted. "Bring people. We have little time".
  
  The six pilots, dressed and ready to go, silently entered the room. Schmidt's monitors displayed the same topographical maps as before, but with the destruction of Marduk left in the bunker, Schmidt had to make do with bare necessities.
  
  "Mister!" Himmelfarb and the other pilots exclaimed as they stepped between Schmidt and Margaret.
  
  "We have practically no time to blow up the German air bases marked here," Schmidt said. "The signing of the treaty seems inevitable, but we will see how long they will stick to their agreement when our squadron, as part of Operation Leo 2, simultaneously blows up the WBO headquarters in Baghdad and the palace in Susa."
  
  He nodded to Himmelfarb, who took out defective World War II duplicate masks from a chest. One by one, he gave each of the men a mask.
  
  "So, here, on this tray, we have the preserved tissues of the failed pilot Olaf Löwenhagen. Place one sample per person inside each mask," he ordered. Like machines, the identically dressed pilots did as he said. Schmidt checked how each person performed their duties before issuing the next order. "Now remember that your fellow pilots from B & #252; chel have already begun their mission in Iraq, so the first phase of Operation Leo 2 is complete. Your duty is to complete the second phase."
  
  He flipped 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 order. 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 an order and activate phase 2 - the destruction of the air bases Büchel, Norvenich and Schleswig. You all know your intended goals."
  
  "Yes, sir!" they answered in unison.
  
  "Good good. The next time I set out to kill an overconfident lecher like Sloan, I'll have to do it myself. Today's so-called snipers are a disgrace," Schmidt complained as he watched the pilots leave the room. They were heading for a makeshift hangar where they hid decommissioned aircraft from various air bases run by Schmidt.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Outside the hangar, a figure huddled under the shady rooftops of a car park located outside a gigantic abandoned factory yard on the outskirts of Berlin. He quickly moved from one building to another, disappearing into each one to see if anyone was there. He had reached the penultimate working levels of the dilapidated steelworks when he saw several pilots making their way towards the only structure that stood out against the rusty steel and old red-brown brick walls. It looked strange and out of place thanks to the silvery shimmer of the new steel material it was made from.
  
  Lieutenant Werner held his breath as half a dozen of Löwenhagen's men discussed among themselves the mission that was due to begin in a few minutes. He knew that Schmidt had chosen him for this mission, a suicide mission in the vein of the Leonidas Squadron of World War II. When they mentioned others marching on Baghdad, Werner's heart stopped. He rushed to where he hoped no one could hear him and called, all the while checking his surroundings.
  
  "Hello Sam?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  In the office, Margaret pretended to be asleep, trying to find out if the contract had already been signed. She had to because, according to previous miraculously escaped criminals and experience with the military during her career, she learned that as soon as a deal was made somewhere, people begin to die. 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 warlord with her hand tied behind her back-literally.
  
  Schmidt was seething with anger, constantly tapping his boot, anxiously waiting for it to explode. He raised his watch again. At his last count, another ten minutes. He thought how brilliant it would be if he could see the palace explode in front of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights and the Sultan of Mesoarabia, just before sending his local imps to carry out an alleged enemy bombing of Luftwaffe airbases in retaliation. The captain watched the scene, breathing heavily and expressing his contempt every moment.
  
  "Look at that bitch!" he chuckled as Sloane was shown retracting his speech as the same message slid from right to left across the CNN screen. "I want my mask! The moment I get her back, I will be you, Meyer!" Margaret looked around for the 16th Inspector or 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 sharply as she recognized the lieutenant. He motioned for her to shut up and continue acting like a possum. Schmidt had something to say about every image he saw on the live news broadcast.
  
  "Enjoy your last moments. Once Meyer takes credit for the Iraqi bombings, I'll drop his likeness. Then let's see what you can do with that wet ink dream of yours!" he giggled. As he ranted, he paid no attention to the lieutenant making his way inside to overpower him. Werner crept along the wall, where there was still shadow, but he had to walk a good six meters in white fluorescent light before he could reach Schmidt.
  
  Margaret decided to lend a helping hand. Pushing hard to the side, she suddenly tipped over and hit her arm and thigh hard. She let out a terrifying scream that made Schmidt seriously flinch.
  
  "Jesus! What are you doing?" he yelled at Margaret, about to put his boot on her chest. But he wasn't fast enough to dodge the body flying at him and crashing into the table behind him. Werner pounced on the captain, instantly slamming his fist into Schmidt's Adam's apple. The evil commander tried to stay consistent, but Werner didn't want to take any chances given how tough the veteran officer was.
  
  Another quick blow with the butt of the pistol to the temple 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 breathed heavily as he released her. "Marlene is in the men's room, tied to a radiator. They drugged her with chloroform so she couldn't run with us."
  
  "Really?" his face lit up. "Is she alive and is she all right?"
  
  Margaret nodded.
  
  Werner looked around. "After we tie up this pig, 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 that Schmidt can no longer send his stings," he replied. "They are just waiting for orders. But without fighters, they can do absolutely shitty things, can't they?"
  
  Margaret smiled. "If we survive this, can I quote you for the Edinburgh Post?"
  
  "If you help me, you'll get an exclusive interview about this whole fiasco," he smirked.
  
  
  Chapter 35 - Trick
  
  
  As Nina placed her damp hand on the decree, it occurred to her what impression her scribbles would make on that piece of modest paper. Her heart skipped a beat as she took one last look at the Sultan before putting her autograph on the line. In a split second, meeting his black eyes, she felt his genuine friendliness and sincere kindness.
  
  "Go on, Professor," he encouraged her, blinking slowly in confirmation.
  
  Nina had to pretend that she was just working out the signature again, otherwise she would be too nervous to do it right. As the ballpoint pen slid under her direction, Nina felt her heart race. They were just waiting for her. The whole world held its breath, waiting for her to finish signing. There would never have been a greater honor for her in the world, even if this moment had been born of deceit.
  
  The moment she gracefully placed the tip of the pen on the last dot of the autograph, the world applauded. The audience applauded and rose to their feet. At the same time, millions of people watching the live broadcast were praying that nothing bad would happen. Nina looked up at the sixty-three-year-old sultan. He gently shook her hand, looking deep 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 an exquisite smile, although she was actually horrified at being exposed. "I'm Professor Sloan."
  
  "No, you are not like that. Professor Sloan had very dark blue eyes. But you have beautiful Arabic eyes, like the onyx in my royal ring. It's like someone caught a pair of tiger eyes and put them on your face." Wrinkles formed around his eyes, and his beard couldn't hide his smile.
  
  "Please, Your Grace..." she pleaded, maintaining her posture for the sake of the audience.
  
  "Whoever you are," he spoke over her, "the mask you wear doesn't matter to me. We are not defined by our masks, but by what we do with them. What matters to me is what you did here, you know?"
  
  Nina swallowed hard. She wanted to cry, but that would tarnish Sloan's image. The Sultan led her to the podium and whispered in her ear: "Remember, my dear, what matters most is what we represent, not what we look like."
  
  During the standing ovation, which lasted more than ten minutes, Nina struggled to stay on her feet, holding tightly to the hand of the Sultan. She walked over to the microphone where she had previously refused to speak, and it gradually faded to sporadic cheers or applause. Until she started talking. Nina tried to keep her voice husky enough to remain mysterious, but she had to make an announcement. It occurred to her that she only had a few hours to put on 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 makes my voice and speech difficult, so I will do it quickly. Due to my worsening health problems, I would like to publicly resign..."
  
  In the makeshift hall in the palace of Susa, there was a tremendous commotion from the astonished spectators, but they all respected the decision of the leader. She has led her organization, and much of the modern world, into an age of greater technology, efficiency, and discipline without stripping her of personality or common sense. She was revered for this, no matter what she chose to do with her career.
  
  "... but I am confident that all my efforts will be flawlessly advanced by my successor and new commissioner of the World Health Organization, Dr. Lisa Gordon. It was a pleasure to serve the people..." Nina continued to finish the announcement while Marduk was waiting for her in the locker room.
  
  "My God, Dr. Gould, you are a true diplomat yourself," he remarked as he watched her. Sam and Perdue left in a hurry after receiving a desperate phone call from Werner.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Werner sent Sam a message with details of the incoming threat. With Perdue at their tail, they rushed to the King's Guard and showed their identification cards to speak with the commander of the Meso-Arab wing, Lieutenant Jenebel Abdi.
  
  "Madam, we have urgent information from your friend, Lieutenant Dieter Werner," Sam said to a spectacular woman in her late thirties.
  
  "Oh Ditty," she nodded lazily, not looking overly impressed by the two crazy Scots.
  
  "He asked me to give you this code. The unauthorized deployment of German fighters is based about twenty kilometers from the city of Susa and fifty kilometers from Baghdad!" Sam blurted it out like an impatient schoolboy with an urgent message for the headmaster. "They are on a suicide mission to destroy the 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 a hidden compound in the desert to prepare for an air attack. She checked the code Werner sent and nodded in acknowledgement of his warning. "Schmidt, huh?" she chuckled. "I hate this fucking Fritz. I hope Werner rips his balls off." She shook hands with Purdue and Sam, "I need to get my suits on. Thank you for alerting us."
  
  "Wait," Perdue frowned, "are you in aerial combat yourself?"
  
  The lieutenant smiled and winked. "Certainly! If you see old Dieter again, ask him why they called me 'Jenny Jihad' at the flight academy."
  
  "Ha!" Sam chuckled as she ran with her team to arm herself and intercept any approaching threat with extreme prejudice. The code provided by Werner directed them to the two respective nests from where the Leo 2 squadrons were to take off.
  
  "We missed signing with Nina," Sam lamented.
  
  "Everything is fine. It'll be on every damn news channel you can think of soon," Perdue soothed, patting Sam on the back. "I don't want to sound paranoid, but I have to get Nina and Marduk to Reichtisusis within," he glanced at his watch and quickly counted the hours, travel time, and elapsed time, "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 Jihadist Jenny?"
  
  
  Chapter 36 - Confrontation
  
  
  After they freed the unconscious Marlene and quickly and quietly carried her over the broken fence to the car, Margaret felt uneasy as she crept through the hangar with Lieutenant Werner. In the distance, they could hear the pilots getting restless as they waited for Schmidt's command.
  
  "How are we supposed to neutralize 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 played too much American video games." She shrugged in confusion as he handed her a large steel tool.
  
  "Without tires they can't fly, Frau Crosby," Werner advised. "Please damage the tires enough to cause a good blowout as soon as they cross that line over there. I have a backup plan, long distance."
  
  In the office, Captain Schmidt awoke from a blunt-force blackout. He was tied to the same chair Margaret sat in and the door was locked, keeping him in his own holding area. The monitors were left on for him to watch, effectively driving him into a frenzy. Schmidt's wild 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 swift action by the Mesoarabic Air Force.
  
  "Jesus Christ! No! You couldn't know! How could they know? he whimpered like a child, almost dislocating his knees, trying to kick the chair in blind fury. His bloodshot eyes froze through his bloodstained forehead. Werner!
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  At the hangar, Werner used his mobile phone as a GPS satellite pointer to locate the hangar. Margaret did her best to puncture the plane's tires.
  
  "I feel really stupid doing this old school thing Lieutenant," she whispered.
  
  "Then you should stop doing this," Schmidt told her from the hangar entrance, pointing a gun at her. He couldn't see Werner crouching in front of one of the Typhoons, typing into his phone. Margaret raised her hands in surrender, but Schmidt fired two bullets at her and she fell to the ground.
  
  Shouting their orders, Schmidt finally began the second phase of his plan of attack, if only for revenge. Wearing inoperative masks, his men boarded their planes. Werner appeared in front of one of the cars, holding his cell phone in his hand. Schmidt stood behind the plane, moving slowly as he fired at the unarmed Werner. But he did not consider Werner's position, nor where he was leading Schmidt. Bullets ricocheted off the chassis. When the pilot started the jet engine, the afterburner activated by him released an infernal tongue of flame right into the face of Captain Schmidt.
  
  Looking down at what was left of the exposed flesh and teeth on Schmidt's face, Werner spat on 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, Purdue picked up the signal and launched a satellite beam to aim at the targeting device, quickly raising the temperature inside the hangar. The result was fast and hot.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  On Halloween night, the world was celebrating with no idea how appropriate their dressing up and use of masks really was. Purdue's private jet took off from Sousa with special clearance and a military escort outside their airspace to ensure their safety. On board, Nina, Sam, Marduk and Perdue gulped down their dinner as they headed for Edinburgh. A small specialized team was waiting there to skin Nina as soon as possible.
  
  The flat screen TV kept them informed as the news unfolded.
  
  "A strange accident at an abandoned steel plant near Berlin claimed the lives of several German Air Force pilots, including Deputy Commander Captain Gerhard Schmidt and Commander-in-Chief of the German Luftwaffe, Lieutenant General Harold Meyer. It is not yet clear what the suspicious circumstances were..."
  
  Sam, Nina and Marduk wondered where Werner was and whether he managed to get out with Marlene and Margaret in time.
  
  "Calling Werner would be useless. This man rummages through cell phones like underwear," Sam remarked. "We'll have to wait to see if he contacts us, right Perdue?"
  
  But Perdue wasn't listening. He was lying on his back in a reclining chair, his head cocked to one side, his trusty tablet resting on his belly, his hands folded on it.
  
  Sam smiled, "Look at this. The man who never sleeps finally rests."
  
  On the tablet, Sam could see that Perdue was talking to Werner while answering Sam's question earlier that evening. He shook his head. "Genius".
  
  
  Chapter 37
  
  
  Two days later, Nina got her face back, recuperating at the same cozy Kirkwall place she had been before. The derma from Marduk's face had to be removed and applied to the image of the professor. Sloan, dissolving the fusion particles until the Babylon Mask is (very) old again. As macabre as the procedure was, Nina was glad to have her own face back. Still heavily sedated from a cancer secret she had shared with the medical staff, she fell asleep when Sam moved away for coffee.
  
  The old man also recovered well, taking a bed in the same hallway as Nina. In this hospital, he did not have to sleep on bloody sheets and tarps, for which he was eternally grateful.
  
  "You look good, Peter," smiled Perdue, looking at Marduk's progress. "Soon you will be able to return home."
  
  "With my mask," Marduk reminded him.
  
  Perdue chuckled, "Of course. With your mask."
  
  Sam came by to say hello. "I was just with Nina. She's still reeling from the weather, but she's excited to be herself again. Makes you think, doesn't it? Sometimes, to achieve the best, the best face to wear is your own."
  
  "Very philosophical," teased Marduk. "But I am arrogant now that I can smile and taunt with full range of motion."
  
  Their laughter filled the small section of the exclusive medical practice.
  
  "So all this time you were a true collector who had the Babylon Mask stolen from him?" Sam asked, fascinated by the realization that Peter Marduk was a millionaire relic collector from whom Neumand stole the Babylon Mask.
  
  "This is so strange?" he asked Sam.
  
  "A little. Usually wealthy collectors send private detectives and recovery teams to get their stuff back."
  
  "But then more people would know what this cursed artifact actually does. I can't take that risk. You saw what happened when only two men found out about her powers. Imagine what would happen if the world knew the truth about these ancient items. Some things are best kept private...with masks, if you will."
  
  "I can't help but agree," Perdue admitted. This referred to his secret feelings about Nina's aloofness, but he decided to hide it away from the outside world.
  
  "I am glad to hear that dear Margaret survived her gunshot wounds," said Marduk.
  
  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 remarked with perfect sincerity.
  
  "No, not this time. She recorded all this on Werner's confiscated mobile phone! Starting with the part where Schmidt explained the orders to his men, and ending with the part where he admits that he planned the assassination of Sloan, although at that time he was not sure if she really died. 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 so that no mention of a vile relic or pilots turned suicidal lunatics would disturb the water, you know? "
  
  "I'm grateful that she decided to keep it a secret after I dumped her there. My God, what was I thinking?" Marduk groaned.
  
  "I'm sure being a big reporter makes up for it, Peter," Sam comforted him. "After all, if you hadn"t left her there, she would never have got all the shots that now made her famous."
  
  "However, I owe her and the lieutenant some compensation," Marduk replied. "Next All Saints' Eve, in memory of our adventure, I will host a grand event and they will be the guests of honor. But she should be out of my collection...just in case."
  
  "Fabulous!" Perdue exclaimed. "We can pick her up at my estate. What will be the theme?
  
  Marduk thought for a moment and then smiled with his new mouth.
  
  "Well, a masquerade ball, of course."
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Preston W. Child
  Mystery of the Amber Room
  
  
  PROLOGUE
  
  
  
  Åland Islands, Baltic Sea - February
  
  
  Teemu Koivusaari had a lot of dealings with the illegal goods he was trying to smuggle, but once he managed to find a buyer, it was all worth the effort. It has been six months since he left Helsinki to join two of his colleagues in the Åland Islands, where they ran a lucrative counterfeit gem business. They passed off everything from cubic zirconia to blue glass as diamonds and tanzanite, sometimes passing off - quite skillfully - base metals for silver and platinum to unsuspecting amateurs.
  
  "What do you mean by saying that this is not all?" Teemu asked his assistant, a corrupt African silversmith named Mula.
  
  "I need another kilo to complete the Minsk order, Teemu. I told you about it 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.
  
  Grimacing, Mula rose from the table, still wearing his thick cutting goggles. "Who cares where you are from?" The glasses enlarged his eyes into a ridiculous fish-eye shape, the fin of which squealed with laughter. "Back off, dude. Bring me more amber, I need more raw materials for emeralds. This buyer will be here by the weekend, so move your ass!"
  
  Laughing out loud, skinny Teemu walked out of the hidden makeshift factory they were running.
  
  "Hey! Tomi! We need to get to the coast for another catch, mate," he told their third colleague, who was busy talking to two Latvian girls on vacation.
  
  "Now?" Tommy cried. "Not now!"
  
  "Where are you going?" asked the more extroverted girl.
  
  "Uh, we should," he hesitated, looking at his friend with a pitiful expression. "Something needs to be done."
  
  "Really? What kind of work are you doing?" she asked, licking a spilled Coke off her finger meaningfully. Tomi looked at Teemu again with eyes rolling in lust, secretly begging him to quit his job for now so they could both score. Teemu smiled at the girls.
  
  "We are jewelers," he boasted. The girls were instantly intrigued and excitedly spoke in their own language. They joined 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!"
  
  "Let's! They cannot be older than seventeen. Show them some of our diamonds and they will give us whatever we want!" Tommy growled in his friend's ear.
  
  Teemu looked at the gorgeous little kittens and it only took him two seconds to reply, "Okay, let's go."
  
  With cheers, Tomy and the girls slipped into the back seat of an old Fiat and the two of them drove around the island to avoid being seen while transporting stolen gems, amber and chemicals to produce their counterfeit treasures. There was a small business in the local harbor that supplied imported silver nitrate and gold dust, among other things.
  
  The dishonest owner, an obsessed old sailor from Estonia, used to help the three crooks reach their quotas and introduce them to potential customers for a generous share of the profits. As they jumped out of the small car, they saw him rush past them, yelling fervently, "Go boys! It's here! It's here and right now!"
  
  "Oh my God, he's in one of his crazy moods again today," Tomi sighed.
  
  "What is here?" asked the quieter girl.
  
  The old man quickly looked around: "Ghost ship!"
  
  "Oh god, not that again!" Teemu groaned. "Listen! We need to discuss some business with you!"
  
  "Business is not going anywhere!" shouted the old man, heading for the edge of the docks. "But the ship will disappear."
  
  They ran after him, amazed at his swift movements. When they drew level with him, everyone stopped to catch their breath. It was an overcast day, and the icy ocean breeze cut them to the bone as the storm approached. From time to time, lightning flashed across the sky, accompanying the distant rumble of thunder. Every time lightning cut through the clouds, the young people recoiled a little, but their curiosity got the better of them.
  
  "Listen, now. Look, - the old man said with glee, pointing to the shallows by the bay on the left.
  
  "What? Look what?" Teemu said shaking his head.
  
  "No one knows about this ghost ship but me," the retired sailor told the young women with old-world charm and a gleam in his eye. They seemed interested, so he told them about the appearance. "I can see it on my radar, but sometimes it disappears, it just disappears," he said in a mysterious voice, "it just disappears!"
  
  "I can't see anything," Tommy said. "Let's go, let's go back."
  
  The old man looked at his watch. "Soon! Soon! Don't leave. Just wait."
  
  Thunder rumbled, causing the girls to flinch and find themselves in the arms of two young men, which immediately turned it into a very welcome thunderstorm. The girls, hugging each other, watched in amazement as a red-hot magnetic charge suddenly appeared above the waves. From it appeared the bow of the sunken ship, barely visible above the surface of the water.
  
  "See?" cried the old man. "See? The tide is low now, so this time you can finally see this godforsaken ship!"
  
  The young men behind him stood in awe of what they saw. Tomy took out his phone to take a picture of the phenomenon, but a particularly strong lightning struck from the clouds, causing them all to cringe. Not only did he not capture the scene, but they also did not see the lightning collide with the electromagnetic field around the ship, which caused a hell of a roar that almost burst their eardrums.
  
  "Jesus Christ! Did you hear that? Teemu screamed at the cold gust of wind. "Let's get out of here before we get killed!"
  
  "What is this?" exclaimed the extroverted girl and pointed to the water.
  
  The old man crept closer to the edge of the pier to investigate. "This is a man! Come on, help me get him out, boys!"
  
  "He looks dead," Tommy said with a frightened expression.
  
  "Nonsense," the old man disagreed. "He swims face up and his cheeks are red. Help me, slackers!"
  
  Young people helped him pull the man's limp body out of the breaking waves to prevent him from crashing against the pier or drowning. They took it back to the old man's workshop and placed it on a workbench in the back, where the old man melted some amber to shape it. After they were convinced that the stranger was really alive, the old man covered him with a blanket and left him until he finished his business with the two young people. The back room was delightfully warm from the melting process. Finally, they went to their little 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 spiers grew pale, and the weak sun bathed everything around in a yellow glow. Like a scene through the looking-glass of a harbinger of evil omen, the animals seemed restless, and the children fell silent. Sam wandered aimlessly among the silk and cotton bedspreads hanging from somewhere he couldn't identify. Even when he raised his eyes and looked up, he couldn't see the whipping point, the railing, the thread, or the wooden supports. They seemed to hang on an invisible hook in the air, swayed by a wind that only he could feel.
  
  No one else who passed him down the street seemed to be affected by the dusty gusts that carried the desert sand. Their dresses and the hems of their long skirts swayed only from the movement of their legs as they walked, and not from the wind, which at times choked his breath and threw his disheveled dark hair into his face. His throat was dry and his stomach burned from days without food. He was heading to the well in the center of the town square, where all the townspeople gathered on market days and to learn the news of the past week.
  
  "God, I hate these Sundays," 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 over his left shoulder.
  
  "Because I wasn't thirsty then, Nina. There is no point in coming here to drink if you are not thirsty," he explained. "People won"t find water in a well until they need it, didn"t you know?"
  
  "I didn't do it. Sorry. But it's weird, don't you think?" she remarked.
  
  "What?" he frowned as the crumbling sand stung his eyes and dried up 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 are dry. There is no water here."
  
  "There is no water for you here. For others, that's enough," she chuckled.
  
  Sam was furious that Nina was so indifferent to his suffering. To strengthen the blow, she continued to evoke his fury. "Maybe it's because you don't belong here, Sam. You always interfere with everything and end up drawing the shortest straw, which is fine if you weren't such an insufferable whiner."
  
  "Listen! You have..." he began his reply, only to find that Nina had left him. "Nina! Nina! Disappearing won't help you win this argument!"
  
  By this time, Sam had reached the salty well, pushed by the people who had gathered there. No one else was thirsty, but they all stood like a wall, blocking the gaping hole through which Sam could hear the splashing of water in the darkness below.
  
  "I'm sorry," he muttered, pushing them aside one by one to peer over the edge. Deep inside the well, the water was deep blue, even though the depth was black. The light from above refracted into sparkling white stars on the rippled surface as Sam wanted to eat a bite.
  
  "Please, could you give me a drink?" he did not address anyone in particular. "Please! I'm so fucking thirsty! The water is right there, and yet I can't reach it."
  
  Sam extended his hand as far as he could, but with every inch his hand moved forward, the water seemed to recede deeper, keeping its distance, eventually being lower than before.
  
  "Oh my gosh!" he shouted furiously. "Are you kidding me?" He resumed his posture and looked around at the strangers, who were still undisturbed by the incessant sandstorm and its dry onslaught. "I need a rope. Does anyone have a rope?"
  
  The sky was getting brighter. Sam looked up at the flash of light that came from the sun, barely breaking the perfect roundness of the star.
  
  "A flash in the sun," he muttered, puzzled. "No wonder I'm so damn hot and thirsty. How can you people not feel the unbearable heat?"
  
  His throat was so dry that the last two words didn't budge, and they sounded like inarticulate grunts. Sam hoped the stormy sun wouldn't dry up the well, at least not until he was drunk. In the darkness of his despair, he resorted to violence. If no one paid attention to a polite person, perhaps they would pay attention to his plight if he behaved inappropriately.
  
  Throwing urns wildly and breaking pottery as he went, Sam yelled for a cup and rope; anything that could help him get water. In his stomach, the lack of fluid felt like acid. Sam felt a searing pain pierce his entire body, as if every organ in his body had been blistered by the sun. He fell to his knees, yelling like a banshee in agony, gripping the loose yellow sand with crooked fingers as the acid gushed down his throat.
  
  He grabbed their ankles, but they only casually kicked him on the arm, not paying much attention to him. Sam howled in pain. Through narrowed eyes, still somehow filled with sand, he looked up at the sky. There was no sun or clouds. All he could see was a glass dome from horizon to horizon. All the people with him stood in awe in front of the dome, frozen in admiration before a loud bang blinded them all-everyone except Sam.
  
  A wave of invisible death pulsed from the sky below the dome and reduced all other citizens to ash.
  
  "God, no!" Sam wept at the sight of their terrible demise. He wanted to take his hands away from his eyes, but they didn't move. "Let go of my hands! Let me be blind! Let me be blind!"
  
  "Three..."
  
  "Two..."
  
  "One".
  
  Another pop, like an impulse of destruction, echoed in Sam's ears as his eyes flew open. His heart was pounding uncontrollably as he surveyed his surroundings with wide, terrified eyes. There was a thin pillow under his head, and his hands were softly tied, testing the strength of the light rope.
  
  "Great, now I have a rope," Sam remarked as he looked down at his wrists.
  
  "I believe that the call to the rope was due to your subconscious mind reminding you of the limitations," the doctor suggested.
  
  "No, I needed a rope to draw water from the well," Sam objected to the theory when the psychologist freed his hands.
  
  "I know. You told me everything along the way, Mr. Cleve."
  
  Dr. Simon Helberg was a forty-year veteran of science, with a special affinity for reason and its deceptions. Parapsychology, psychiatry, neuroscience, and, strangely enough, special powers of extrasensory perception ruled the old man's boat. Considered by most to be a charlatan and a disgrace to the scientific community, Dr. Helberg has not allowed his tarnished reputation to affect his work in any way. An anti-social scientist and reclusive theorist, Helberg thrived only on information and the practice of theories usually perceived as myth.
  
  "Sam, why do you think you didn't die in 'pulse' while everyone else died? What made you different from others?" he asked Sam as he sat down on the coffee table in front of the sofa where the reporter was still lying.
  
  Sam gave him an almost childish sneer. "Well, that's pretty obvious, isn't it? They were all of similar race, culture and country. I was a complete outsider."
  
  "Yes, Sam, but that shouldn't relieve you of the suffering of an atmospheric disaster, should it?" Dr. Helberg reasoned. Like a wise old owl, the stout, bald man stared at Sam with his huge light blue eyes. His glasses sat so low on the bridge of his nose that Sam felt compelled to push them back up before they fell off the tip of the doctor's nose. But he restrained his impulses to consider the points laid out by the old man.
  
  "Yes, I know," he admitted. Sam's big 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 the stage. They were part of the story I was watching," he frowned, unsure of his own theory.
  
  "I guess that makes sense. However, they were there for a reason. Otherwise you wouldn't see anyone else there. Perhaps you needed them to understand the consequences 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 people disintegrating and just watching an explosion?"
  
  "Simple," the doctor replied. "The difference lies in the human element. If I had not witnessed the brutality of their deaths, it would have been just an explosion. It would be nothing more than an event. However, the presence, and ultimately the loss of human life, is meant to impress upon you the emotional or moral element of your vision. You must perceive destruction as a loss of life, and not just as a catastrophe without casualties."
  
  "I'm too sober for this," Sam groaned, shaking his head.
  
  Dr. Helberg laughed and slapped his leg. He put his hands on his knees and struggled to his feet, still chuckling, as he went to turn off his tape recorder. Sam agreed to record his sessions in the interest of the doctor's research into the psychosomatic manifestations of traumatic experiences-experiences that come from paranormal or supernatural sources, however ridiculous that may sound.
  
  "At Poncho"s or at Olmega"s?" Dr. Helberg grinned as he opened his cleverly hidden drinks bar.
  
  Sam was surprised. "I never thought you were a tequila drinker, doc."
  
  "I fell in love with her when I was in Guatemala a few years too long. Sometime in the seventies, I gave my heart to South America, and do you know why? Dr. Helberg smiled as he poured 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 should have known what caused this mass hysteria, which people usually call religion, son. Such a powerful ideology, subduing so many people for so many ages, yet providing no concrete justification for existence other than the power of people over others, was indeed a good reason to explore."
  
  "Killed!" Sam said, raising his glass to meet the eyes of his psychiatrist. "I myself was privy to this kind of observation. Not just religion, but unorthodox methods 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 better word," Sam said as he finished his shot and winced at the unpleasant bitterness of the clear drink. "Are you sure it"s tequila?" he stuttered, catching his breath.
  
  Ignoring Sam's trivial question, Dr. Helberg did not deviate from the topic. "Esoteric topics cover the phenomena you speak of, son. The supernatural is just esoteric theosophy. Perhaps you are referring to your recent visions as one of those confusing mysteries?"
  
  "Hardly. I see them as dreams, nothing more. They hardly represent mass manipulation, as religion does. Look, I'm all for spiritual faith, or some sort of trust in higher intelligence," Sam explained. "I'm just not sure these deities can be propitiated or persuaded by prayer to give people what they desire. Everything will be as it will be. Hardly anything in all time has come about through the pity of a man pleading with a god."
  
  "So, do you believe that what will happen will happen regardless of any spiritual interference?" the doctor asked Sam, secretly pressing the record button. "So you're saying our fate is already set."
  
  "Yes," Sam nodded. "And we're covered."
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  Berlin is finally calm again after the recent murders. Several high commissioners, members of the Bundesrat and various well-known financiers were the victims of assassinations that have so far not been solved by any organization or individual. It was a conundrum the country had never faced before, as the reasons behind the attacks were beyond speculation. The attacked men and women had little in common other than being wealthy or well known, although mostly in the political arena or in the German business and financial sectors.
  
  The press releases did not confirm anything, and journalists from all over the world flocked to Germany to find some kind of secret report somewhere in the city of Berlin.
  
  "We believe this was the work of the organisation," ministry spokeswoman Gabi Holzer told the press during an official statement released by the Bundestag, Germany's parliament. "The reason we believe this is because there was more than one person in the deaths."
  
  "Why is this? Why are you so sure that this is not the work of one person, Frau Holzer?" one reporter asked.
  
  She hesitated, sighing nervously. "Of course, this is just a guess. However, we believe that many are involved because of the various methods used to kill these elite citizens.
  
  "Elite?"
  
  "Wow, elite, she says!"
  
  The exclamations of several reporters and onlookers irritatedly echoed her ill-chosen words, while Gaby Holzer tried to correct her wording.
  
  "Please! Please let me explain..." She tried to paraphrase, but the crowd outside was already roaring in outrage. The headlines were meant to portray the nasty comment in a worse light than intended. When she finally managed to calm the journalists in front of her, she explained her choice of words as eloquently as she could, with difficulty, as her knowledge of English was not particularly strong.
  
  "Ladies and gentlemen of the international media, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I'm afraid I misspoke - my English is, well... M-my apologies," she stuttered slightly and took a deep breath to calm herself. "As you all know, these terrible acts were committed against very influential and prominent people in this country. Although these targets seemed to have nothing in common and did not even move in the same circles, we have reason to believe that their financial and political status had something to do with the motives of the attackers."
  
  It was almost a month ago. It's been a tough few weeks since Gaby Holzer has had to deal with the press and their vulture mentality, but she still felt sick to her stomach when she thought about press conferences. Since that week the attacks had ceased, but a gloomy, uncertain peace 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, looking out of her bedroom window. Gaby was undressing for a long hot shower. "But what no one understands outside of my work 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 shady club of evil landowners who are just waiting to overthrow the German government", can I? She frowned as she tried to unfasten her bra.
  
  Her husband came to her rescue and opened it by taking it off and then unzipping her beige pencil skirt. It landed at her feet on the thick, soft carpet, and she stepped out of it, still wearing her Gucci platform shoes. Her husband kissed her on the neck and rested his chin on her shoulder as they watched the city lights float in a sea of darkness. "Is this what is really happening?" he asked in hushed words as his lips explored her collarbone.
  
  "I think yes. My superiors are very concerned. I guess it's because they all think the same way. There is information that we have not released to the press about the victims. These are disturbing facts that tell us that this is not the work of one man," she said.
  
  "What are the facts? What are they hiding from the public? he asked, cupping her breasts. Gaby turned and looked at Detlef with a stern look.
  
  "What are you looking at? Who do you work for, Herr Holzer? Are you really trying to seduce me for information?" she barked at him, playfully pushing him back. Her blond curls danced across her bare back as she followed him every step of the way as he retreated.
  
  "No, no, I'm just taking an interest in your work, dear," he protested meekly, and fell back on their bed. The powerfully built Detlef had a personality quite the opposite of his physique. "I didn't mean to interrogate you."
  
  Gaby stopped dead in her tracks and rolled her eyes. "Um Gottes willen!"
  
  "What I've done?" he asked apologetically.
  
  "Detlef, I know you are not a spy! You should have played along. Say something like "I'm here to get information from you at any cost" or "if you don't tell me everything, I'll beat it out of you!" or anything else that comes into your mind. Why are you so damn cute ?" - she wailed, hitting the bed with a sharp heel right between his legs.
  
  He gasped in the immediate vicinity of his family jewels, frozen in place.
  
  "Ugh!" Gaby chuckled and removed her foot. "Light me a cigarette, please."
  
  "Of course, dear," he replied ruefully.
  
  Gaby turned on the shower taps to make the water hot in the meantime. She took off her panties and went to the bedroom for a cigarette. Detlef sat down again, looking at his amazing wife. She wasn't very tall, but towering over him in those heels, a curly-haired goddess with Karelia glowing between her full red lips.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The casino was the epitome of extravagant luxury and allowed only the most privileged, wealthy and influential visitors into its sinfully violent embrace. The MGM Grand towered majestically in its azure façade that reminded Dave Purdue of the surface of the Caribbean, but it was not the billionaire inventor's final destination. He looked back at the concierge and staff, who waved goodbye while tightly clutching their $500 tip. An unmarked black limousine picked him up and drove him to a nearby airstrip, where the crew of Purdue's plane were waiting for him to arrive.
  
  "Where to this time, Mr. Perdue?" - asked the senior stewardess, escorting him to the place. "Moon? Maybe Orion's Belt?
  
  Perdue laughed along with her.
  
  "Denmark Prime, please, James," Perdue commanded.
  
  "Right now, chief," she saluted. She had something that he greatly appreciated in his employees - a sense of humor. His genius and inexhaustible wealth never changed the fact that Dave Purdue was above all a fun and daring man. Since most of the time he was working on something somewhere for some reason, he decided to use his free time to travel. In fact, he was on his way to Copenhagen for some Danish extravagance.
  
  Perdue was exhausted. He hasn't been up for more than 36 straight hours since he built a laser generator with a group of friends from the British Institute of Engineering and Technology. As his private jet took off, he sat back and decided to get some well-deserved sleep after Las Vegas and its crazy nightlife.
  
  As always when he traveled alone, Purdue left the flatscreen on to calm him down and sleep the boredom he was broadcasting. Sometimes it was golf, sometimes cricket; sometimes a nature documentary, but he always chose something unimportant to give his mind some breathing room. The clock above the screen showed half past five when the flight attendant served him an early supper so he could go to bed with a full stomach.
  
  Through his drowsiness, Purdue could hear the monotonous voice of a news reporter and the ensuing debate about the murders that haunted the political realm. While they were arguing on the TV screen at low volume, Perdue fell blissfully asleep, not caring about the dumbfounded Germans in the studio. From time to time the excitement brought his mind back to consciousness, but soon he fell asleep 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 when Purdue was awakened by the gentle coaxing of the flight attendant.
  
  "Mr Perdue? Sir, we have a little problem," she cooed. At the sound of that word, his eyes widened.
  
  "What is this? What's the matter?" he asked, still incoherent in his daze.
  
  "We were denied permission to enter Danish or German airspace, sir. Maybe we should be redirected to Helsinki?" she asked.
  
  "Why were we here..." he muttered, rubbing his face. "Okay, I'll deal with this. Thank you dear ". With these words, Perdue rushed to the pilots to find 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 clearance and it was granted, but now we are being told we cannot land."
  
  "Blacklisted for what?" Perdue frowned.
  
  "That sounds like total bullshit 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 take care of the preparations."
  
  "We still have fuel, sir, but not enough to take too many risks," the pilot reported.
  
  "Try Billord. If they don't let us in, head north. We can land in Sweden until we sort this out," he ordered his pilots.
  
  "Understood, sir."
  
  "Air traffic control again, sir," the co-pilot said suddenly. "Listen".
  
  "They're directing us to Berlin, Mr. Perdue. What should we do?" the pilot asked.
  
  "What else can we do? Guess we'll have to stick with it for now," Perdue calculated. He called the flight attendant over and asked for a double iced rum, his favorite drink when things didn't go his way.
  
  Landing on Dietrich's private airstrip on the outskirts of Berlin, Purdue prepared for a formal complaint he wanted to file against the authorities in Copenhagen. His legal team would not be able to travel to the German city anytime soon, so he called the British embassy to set up an official meeting with a government official.
  
  Not being a man of hot temperament, Perdue was furious at the sudden so-called blacklisting of his private jet. For the life of me, he could not understand why he could be blacklisted. It was funny.
  
  The next day he entered the United Kingdom embassy.
  
  "Hi, my name is David Purdue. I have an appointment with Mr. Ben Carrington," Purdue told a secretary in the rapidly changing embassy on Wilhelmstrasse.
  
  "Good morning, Mr. Perdue," she smiled heartily. "Let me take you to his office right away. He was looking forward to meeting you."
  
  "Thank you," Perdue replied, too embarrassed and irritated to even force himself to smile at his secretary.
  
  The doors to the British representative's office were opened as the receptionist escorted Purdue inside. A woman was sitting at a table with her back to the door chatting with Carrington.
  
  "Mr. Perdue, I presume," Carrington smiled as he rose from his seat to greet his Scottish guest.
  
  "That's right," Purdue confirmed. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Carrington."
  
  Carrington pointed to the seated woman. "I contacted a representative of the German international press bureau to help us."
  
  "Mr. Perdue," the amazing woman smiled, "I hope I can help you. Gaby Holzer. Nice to meet you".
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  Gaby Holzer, Ben Carrington, and Dave Perdue discussed the unexpected boarding ban over tea in the office.
  
  "I must assure you, Herr Perdue, that this is unprecedented. Our legal department, as well as Mr. Carrington's people, have carefully checked your background for anything that could form the basis for such a claim, but we have not found anything in your records that could explain the denial of entry to Denmark and Germany", Gabi said.
  
  "Thank God for Chaim and Todd!" thought Purdue when Gaby mentioned checking his background. "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 freelance computer security experts he hired. Although they were responsible for the Sam, Nina, and Purdue exemplary files, Haim and Todd were never involved in any financial fraud. Perdue's own wealth was more than adequate. Besides, they were not greedy people. Just as with Sam Cleve and Nina Gould, Perdue surrounded himself with honest and decent people. They often acted outside the law, yes, but they were far from ordinary criminals, and this was something that most authorities and moralists simply could not understand.
  
  In the pale morning sun shining through the shutters of Carrington's office, Perdue was stirring a second cup of Earl Grey. The blonde beauty of the German was electrifying, but she didn't have her charisma or looks as he expected. On the contrary, she seemed to really want to get to the bottom of things.
  
  "Tell me, Mr. Perdue, have you ever had any dealings with Danish politicians or financial institutions?" Gaby asked him.
  
  "Yes, I have done extensive business deals in Denmark. But I don't move in political circles. I am more inclined towards academic pursuits. Museums, research, investment in higher education, 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 does not 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 is not based on a crime, then it must be due to his reputation as a businessman. We are both aware of his financial situation and his reputation as something of a celebrity."
  
  "Understood," Carrington said. "In other words, the fact that he has been on countless expeditions and is well known as a philanthropist makes him a threat to your government?" Carrington laughed. "This is absurd, madam."
  
  "Wait, are you saying that my investments in certain countries may have caused other countries to distrust my intentions?" Perdue frowned.
  
  "No," she answered calmly. "Not countries, Mr Perdue. institutions."
  
  "I'm lost," Carrington shook his head.
  
  Perdue nodded in agreement.
  
  "Let me explain. I am in no way claiming that this applies to my country or any other. Like you, I'm just speculating, and I'm thinking that you, Mr. Perdue, might have been unwittingly drawn into an argument between..." she paused to find the right English word, "...certain organs?
  
  "Bodies? Do you like organizations? Perdue asked.
  
  "Yes, that's right," she said. "Perhaps your financial position in various international organizations has caused you hostility from the bodies that oppose those with whom you are involved. Issues like this can easily spread globally, resulting in you being banned from entering certain countries; not by the governments of these countries, but by someone with influence over the infrastructure of these countries."
  
  Purdue seriously thought about it. The German lady was right. In fact, she was more right than she could ever have known. Previously, he was captured by companies that felt that his inventions and patents could be of great value to them, but feared that their opposition might offer better offers. This sentiment often culminated in industrial espionage and trade boycotts that prevented him from doing business with his international affiliates.
  
  "I must admit, Mr Perdue. It makes a lot of sense when you consider your presence in the powerful science industry conglomerates," agreed Carrington. "But as far as you know, Mrs. Holzer, this is not an official travel ban, then? This is not from the German government, right?"
  
  "That's right," she confirmed. "Mr Perdue is by no means in trouble with the German government ... or Denmark, I would assume. I guess it's more covert, uh, under-" she struggled to find the right word.
  
  "You mean a secret? Secret organizations? - Pushed Perdue, hoping he misinterpreted her incorrect English.
  
  "It's right. Underground groups that want you to stay away from them. Is there anything you are currently participating in that could be a threat to the competition?" she asked Perdue.
  
  "No," he quickly replied. "Actually, I took a little vacation. I'm actually on vacation right now."
  
  "This is so disturbing!" exclaimed Carrington, shaking his head amusingly.
  
  "Hence the disappointment, Mr. Carrington," Perdue smiled. "Well, at least I know I don't have any problems with the law. I will deal with this with my people."
  
  "Fine. We then discussed everything we could with what little information we have about this unusual occurrence," Carrington concluded. "But off the record, Mrs. Holzer," he addressed the attractive German envoy.
  
  "Yes, Mr. Carrington," she smiled.
  
  "The other day on CNN, you officially represented the chancellor in connection with the assassinations, but did not disclose the reason for this," he asked in a very interested tone. "Is there something wrong that the press should not 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 very confidential information."
  
  "In other words, yes," Perdue inquired. He approached Gaby Holzer with care and gentle respect and sat down right next to her. "Madam, perhaps this has something to do with the recent attacks on the political and social elite?"
  
  There was that word again.
  
  Carrington looked completely mesmerized as he waited for her answer. With trembling hands, he poured more tea, concentrating all his attention on the German contact.
  
  "I suppose everyone has their own theory, but as an official, I have no right to express my own views, Mr. Perdue. You know it. How can you think that I could discuss this with a civilian?" She sighed.
  
  "Because I'm worried when secrets are circulated at the government level, my dear," Perdue replied.
  
  "This is a German affair," she said bluntly. Gaby glanced at Carrington. "Can I smoke on your balcony?"
  
  "Of course," he agreed, and stood up to unlock the beautiful glass doors that led from his office to a beautiful balcony overlooking the Wilhelmstrasse.
  
  "I can see the whole city from here," she remarked, lighting her long, thin cigarette. "Here one could speak freely, away from walls that might have ears. Something is brewing, gentlemen," she told Carrington and Purdue as they flanked her to enjoy the view. "And this is an ancient demon that has woken up; a long-forgotten rivalry... No, not a rivalry. It's more like a conflict between factions that were thought to be dead for a long time, but they are awake and ready to strike."
  
  Perdue and Carrington exchanged quick glances before taking note of the rest of Gaby's message. She never looked at them, but spoke, puffing thin smoke between her fingers. "Our chancellor was captured before the killings even started."
  
  Both men gasped at the bomb Gaby had just dropped on them. Not only did she share sensitive information, but she just admitted that the head of the German government was missing. It smelled like a coup, but it sounded like something much darker was behind the kidnapping.
  
  "But that was over a month ago, maybe more!" Carrington exclaimed.
  
  Gaby nodded.
  
  "And why wasn't it made public?" Perdue asked. "Undoubtedly, it would be very useful to warn all neighboring countries before such an insidious conspiracy spreads to the rest of Europe."
  
  "No, it must be kept secret, Mr. Perdue," she disagreed. She turned to face the billionaire with eyes that emphasized the seriousness of her words. "Why do you think these people, these elite members of society, were killed? It was all part of the ultimatum. The people behind it all threatened to kill powerful German citizens until they got what they wanted. The only reason our chancellor is still alive is because we are still complying with their ultimatum," she informed them. "But when we get close to that date, and the Federal Intelligence Service doesn't deliver what they demand, our country will be...," she laughed bitterly, "...under new leadership."
  
  "Good God!" Carrington said under his breath. "We need to get MI6 involved, and - "
  
  "No," Perdue interrupted. "You can't risk making this a huge public show, Mr. Carrington. If this leaks out, the chancellor will die before nightfall. What we need to do is assign someone to investigate the origin of the attacks."
  
  "What do they want from Germany?" Carrington was fishing.
  
  "That part I don't know," Gabi lamented, puffing smoke into the air. "What I know for sure is that this is a very wealthy organization with virtually unlimited resources and what they want is nothing short of world domination."
  
  "And what do you think we should do about it?" Carrington asked, leaning on the railing to look at Purdue and Gaby at the same time. The wind tousled his thinning straight gray hair as he waited for an offer. "We cannot let anyone know about this. If this becomes public knowledge, hysteria will spread throughout Europe, and I am almost certain that this would be a death sentence for your chancellor."
  
  From the doorway, Carrington's secretary beckoned him to sign the visa non-compliance statement, leaving Purdue and Gaby in awkward silence. Everyone thought about their role in this matter, although it was none of their business. They were just two good citizens of the world, seeking to help in the fight against dark souls who cruelly ended innocent lives in the pursuit of greed and power.
  
  "Mr. Perdue, I hate to admit it," she said, looking around quickly to see if their master was still busy. "But I was the one who arranged for your flight to be rerouted."
  
  "What?" Perdue spoke. His pale blue eyes were full of questions as he stared at the woman in amazement. "Why do you do it?"
  
  "I know who you are," she said. "I knew that you would not tolerate being kicked out of Danish airspace, and I asked some - let's call them helpers - to hack into the air traffic control system to send you to Berlin. I knew that I would be the person Mr. Carrington would call on this matter. I was supposed to meet you in an official capacity. People are watching, you see."
  
  "Oh my God, Mrs. Holzer," Purdue frowned, looking at her with great concern. "You certainly went through great hardships 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 Cleave," she repeated, relieved that he understood who she meant. "He should investigate kidnappings and attacks on the rich and powerful. He should be able to figure out what the hell they want. I am not in a position to expose them."
  
  "But you know what's going on," he said. She nodded as Carrington rejoined them.
  
  "So," Carrington said, "did you tell anyone else in your office about your ideas, Mrs. Holzer?"
  
  "I archived some information, of course, but, you know," she shrugged.
  
  "Clever," Carrington remarked, sounding deeply impressed.
  
  Gaby added with conviction. "You know, I shouldn't know anything at all, but I'm awake. I tend to do things like this, things that would affect the welfare of the German people and everyone else, for that matter, my business."
  
  "That's very patriotic of you, Mrs. Holzer," Carrington said.
  
  He pressed the silencer to her jaw and blew her brains out before Perdue could blink. When Gaby's mutilated body tumbled over the railing from which Carrington threw her, Perdue was quickly overpowered by two embassy bodyguards, who rendered him unconscious.
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  Nina bit down on the mouthpiece of her pipe, fearful of bad breath. Sam insisted that there was no such thing as wrong breathing, that she could only breathe in the wrong place, like underwater. The clear and 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 that was having a bad day.
  
  Beneath her, twisted corals adorned the pale and barren ocean floor, enlivening it with bright and beautiful colors in hues Nina didn't even know existed. A variety of fish species joined her in her exploration, rushing across her path and making quick movements that made her a little nervous.
  
  'What if something is hiding among those damn schools and throws itself at me?' Nina got scared herself, "What if right now I'm being chased by a kraken or something, and all the fish are actually rushing like that because they want to get away from it?"
  
  Thanks to a surge of adrenaline from her overactive imagination, Nina kicked faster, hugged her arms tightly to her sides, and speared her way past the last of the 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 shot out from the upper end of her tube.
  
  Nina broke through to the surface just as she felt her chest and legs begin to burn. With her wet hair slicked back, her brown eyes seemed particularly 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. Grimacing, she struggled with the current, goggles in hand.
  
  The tide was rising behind her, and this is a very dangerous time to be in the water here. Fortunately, the sun was hidden behind the gathering clouds, but it was too late. Nina was in the world's tropical climate for the first time, and she was already suffering because of it. Pain in her shoulders punished her every time the water hit her red skin. Her nose had already begun to peel from the sunburn the day before.
  
  "Oh God, can I get to the shallows already!" she chuckled in desperation at the constant onslaught of waves and sea spray that covered her reddened body like a salty surf. When the water reached her knees, she hurried to find the nearest shelter, which turned out to be a beach bar.
  
  Every boy and man that crossed her path turned to watch the petite beauty step solemnly on the loose sand. Nina's dark brows, perfectly shaped over large dark eyes, only accentuated her marbled skin, even if she was blushing now. All eyes immediately fell on three emerald green triangles that barely covered the parts of her body that men desired the most. Nina's physique was by no means perfect, but it was the way she carried herself that made others admire her and desire her.
  
  "Did you see the man who was with me this morning?" she asked the young bartender, who was sporting an unbuttoned flowered shirt.
  
  "A man with intrusive lenses?" he asked her. Nina had to smile and nod.
  
  "Yes. That would be exactly what I'm looking for," she winked. She took her white cotton tunic from the corner chair where she'd left it and pulled it over her head.
  
  "Long time no see, ma'am. The last time I saw him, he was on his way to meet with the elders of the neighboring village to learn about their culture or something," the bartender added. "Drink?"
  
  "Um, can you transfer the bill for me?" she charmed.
  
  "Certainly! What will it be?" he smiled.
  
  Sherry, Nina decided. She doubted they had any liquor. "Ta."
  
  The day gave way to a smoky chill as the tide brought with it a salt mist that settled on the beach. Nina sipped her drink, clutching her glasses as her eyes scanned her surroundings. Most of the patrons dispersed, except for a group of Italian students who made a drunken brawl on the other side of the bar, and two strangers who calmly bent over their drinks at the bar.
  
  As she finished her sherry, Nina realized that the sea was getting closer and the sun was setting fast.
  
  "Is there a storm coming or something like that?" she asked the bartender.
  
  "I don't think so. There aren't enough clouds for that," he replied, leaning forward to look up from under the thatched roof. "But I think the cold will come 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?"
  
  "Oh!" - he laughed. "I see! That's why you sound like Billy Connelly! And why did you," he frowned sympathetically, paying special attention to her red skin, "lost the battle with the sun on your first day here.
  
  "Yes," Nina agreed, pouting in defeat as she took another look at her hands. 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. "At the expense of the institution, compliments from Bali."
  
  "Thank you," Nina smiled.
  
  Her newfound relaxation was no doubt good for her. She hadn't lost her temper since she and Sam had arrived two days ago, except, of course, when she cursed the sun that was beating her. Far from Scotland, far from her home in Oban, she felt that the deeper questions just couldn't reach her. Especially here, where the Equator was to the north of her rather than to the south, this time she felt out of reach of any kind of mundane or serious business.
  
  Bali kept her well hidden. Nina enjoyed the strangeness, how different the islands were from Europe, even if she hated the sun and the relentless heat waves that turned her throat into a desert and made her tongue stick to the sky. Not that she had anything specific to hide from, but Nina needed a change of scenery for her own good. Only then will she be at her best when she returns home.
  
  Upon learning that Sam was alive and seeing him again, the cocky 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, stepped out of the shadows into Dave Perdue's estate taught her to appreciate the present and nothing else. When she thought he was dead, she understood the meaning of finality and regret, and vowed never to experience that pain of not knowing again. His absence from her life convinced Nina that she loved Sam, even if she couldn't imagine being 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 that trapped his very being in its own bizarre web of unholy physics. How long he was tossed from wormhole to wormhole was not clear, but one thing was clear - it changed the world famous journalist's view of the unbelievable.
  
  Nina listened to the fading conversation of the patrons, wondering what Sam was up to. Having a camera with him only convinced her that he would be away for a while, probably lost in the beauty of the islands and not keeping track of the time.
  
  "Last drink," the bartender smiled and offered her another drink.
  
  "Oh no, thanks. On an empty stomach, this substance is similar to Rohypnol," she chuckled. "I think I'll wrap up on that."
  
  She hopped off her bar stool, gathered up her recreational diving gear, and slung it over her shoulder as she waved goodbye to the bar staff. There was no sign of him in the room she shared with Sam yet, which was to be expected, but Nina couldn't help but feel uneasy about Sam leaving. She made herself a cup of tea and waited, looking out through the wide glass sliding door, where thin white curtains swayed in the sea breeze.
  
  "I can't," she moaned. "How can people just sit there doing nothing? God, I'm going crazy."
  
  Nina closed the windows, put on khaki cargo pants, hiking boots, and stuffed a jackknife, a compass, a towel, and a bottle of fresh water into her small bag. Determined, she went to the densely wooded area behind the resort, where a hiking trail led to the local village. At first, an overgrown sandy path meandered through a magnificent cathedral of jungle trees, full of colorful birds and invigorating clear streams. For several minutes, the bird calls were almost deafening, but eventually the chirping subsided, as if they were limited to the neighborhood she had just emerged from.
  
  In front of her the path went 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 in heated arguments, echoing across the flat terrain that stretched from the edge of the hill where she stood. Down in the small village, the women wailed and cowered while the men of the tribe defended themselves by shouting at each other. In the middle of all this, one man was sitting on the sand - an uninvited guest.
  
  "Sam!" Nina gasped. "Sam?"
  
  She began to descend the hill towards the settlement. The distinct smell of fire and meat filled the air as she stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Sam. He sat cross-legged with his right hand on the top of another man's head, repeating one word over and over again in a foreign language. The disturbing sight frightened Nina, but Sam was her friend and she hoped to assess the situation before the crowd became violent.
  
  "Hello!" - she said, leaving the central clearing. The villagers reacted with undisguised hostility, immediately yelling at Nina and waving their arms wildly to drive her away. With her arms outstretched, she tried to show that she was not an enemy.
  
  "I'm not here to cause any harm. This," she pointed to Sam, "is my friend. I'll take it, okay? Fine?" Nina dropped to her knees, displaying submissive body language as she moved towards Sam.
  
  "Sam," she said, holding out her hand to him. "My God! Sam, what's wrong with your eyes?"
  
  His eyes rolled back into their sockets as he repeated the same word over and over.
  
  "Kalihasa! Kalihasa!"
  
  "Sam! Damn it, Sam, wake up, damn it! We will be killed because of you!" she screamed.
  
  "You can't wake him up," said the man who must have been the tribal leader to Nina.
  
  "Why not?" She frowned.
  
  "Because he's dead."
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  Nina felt her hair stand on end in the dry heat of the day. The sky above the village had turned a pale yellow, reminiscent of the pregnant sky of Atherton, where she had once been as a child during a thunderstorm.
  
  She frowned in disbelief, looking sternly at her boss. "He's not dead. He is alive and breathing... right here! What he says?"
  
  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 hand to die in his name."
  
  Another man next to Sam began to convulse, but the enraged onlookers did not move forward to help their comrade. Nina shook Sam hard, but the boss pushed her away in alarm.
  
  "What?" she screamed at him. "I will stop this! Let me go!"
  
  "The dead gods are talking. You must listen," he warned.
  
  "Are you all crazy?" she screamed, throwing her hands in the air. "Sam!" Nina was horrified, but 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 in front of Sam, the native screamed in agony, and Sam continued to repeat his lawless song. Blood oozed from Sam's nose and dripped onto his chest and thighs, causing the villagers to express horror in unison. The women were crying, and the children were squealing, bringing Nina to tears. Violently shaking her head, the Scottish historian screamed hysterically, gathering her strength. She rushed forward with all her might, escaping from the leader's grip.
  
  Filled with rage and fear, Nina rushed to Sam with a bottle of water in her hand, pursued by three villagers sent to stop her. But she was too fast. When she got to Sam, she poured water over his face and head. She dislocated her shoulder when the village men grabbed her, their momentum too strong for her small body.
  
  Sam's eyes closed as drops of water trickled down his forehead. His singing ceased instantly, and the native in front of him was spared his torment. Exhausted and weeping, he rolled on the sand, calling on his gods and thanking them for their mercy.
  
  "Leave me alone!" Nina screamed, hitting one of the men with her good arm. He hit her hard in the face, causing her to fall to 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 shook with shock and rage as she held his face in her hands. She clutched her injured arm painfully to her chest, trying to pull the dazed Sam to his feet. "Jesus Christ, Sam! Get up!"
  
  For the first time, Sam blinked. He frowned 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 girlfriend. She seemed to be shocked.
  
  "What is that bruise on your face? Nina. Hey! Did anyone..." he realized that they were in the middle of a rapidly growing crowd, "...did anyone hit you?"
  
  "Don't be macho now. Let's just get the fuck out of here. Now," she whispered with firm insistence.
  
  "Okay, okay," he muttered indistinctly, still completely stunned. His eyes darted from side to side as he looked around at the spitting spectators, who shouted insults and waved him and Nina away. "God, what is their problem?"
  
  "Doesn't matter. I'll explain everything if we make it out of here alive," Nina panted in agony and panic, dragging Sam's unsteady body with her 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 go on," she called out.
  
  "Absolutely not. Let me help you," he replied, clumsily feeling her belly.
  
  "What are you doing?" she frowned.
  
  "Trying to wrap my arms around your waist so I can pull you along, love," he snorted.
  
  "You didn't even come close. I'm right here in plain sight," she moaned, but then something came to her mind. Waving an open hand in front of Sam's face, Nina noticed that he followed the movement. "Sam? You see?"
  
  He blinked rapidly and looked upset. "A little. I see you, but it's hard to tell the distance. My depth perception is fucked up, Nina."
  
  "Okay, okay, let's just go back to the resort. Once we're safe in the room, we can figure out what the hell happened to you," she offered sympathetically. Nina took Sam's hand and accompanied them both all the way back to the hotel. Under the gaze of the guests and staff, Nina and Sam hurried to their room. When they went inside, she locked the door.
  
  "Go lie down, Sam," she said.
  
  "Not until we get you a doctor to treat that horrible bruise," he protested.
  
  "Then how can you see the bruise on my face?" she asked, looking up the number in the hotel phone book.
  
  "I see you, Nina," he sighed. "I just can't say how far all this is from me. I have to admit that this is much more annoying than not being able to see if you can believe it."
  
  "Oh yeah. Of course, - she answered, dialing the number of the taxi service. She booked a car 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 insert this back into the rotator cuff."
  
  "Your shoulder is out of joint?" Sam asked.
  
  "Yes," she replied. "Burst when they grabbed me to keep me away from you."
  
  "Why? What were you going to do that they wanted to protect me from you? He smiled slightly in pleasure, but he could tell that Nina was hiding the details from him.
  
  "I was just going to wake you up and they didn't seem to want me to, that's all," she shrugged.
  
  "That's what I want to know. I was asleep? Was I passed out?" he asked sincerely, turning to face her.
  
  "I don't know, Sam," she said lamely.
  
  "Nina," he tried to ferret out.
  
  "You've got less," she glanced at the clock by the bed, "twenty minutes to shower and get ready for our taxi."
  
  "Okay," Sam surrendered, getting up to take a shower, slowly groping his way along the edge of the bed and the table. "But it's not over yet. When we return, you will tell me everything, including what you are hiding from me."
  
  At the hospital, the medical staff on duty took care of Nina's shoulder.
  
  "Would you like something to eat?" asked the shrewd Indonesian doctor. He reminded Nina of one of those up-and-coming young Hollywood hipster directors with his dark-skinned features and witty personality.
  
  "Perhaps your nurse?" Sam intervened, leaving the unsuspecting nurse stunned.
  
  "Pay no attention to him. He can't do anything about it." Nina winked at the surprised nurse, who was barely in her twenties. The girl forced a smile as she cast an uncertain glance at the handsome man who had come to the emergency room with Nina. "And I only bite men."
  
  "Good to know," smiled the charming doctor. "How did you do this? And don't say you've been doing hard work."
  
  "I fell while walking," Nina replied without flinching.
  
  "Okay, let's go. Ready?" the doctor asked.
  
  "No," she whimpered for a split second before the doctor pulled her arm in a powerful grip that made her muscles cramp. Nina screamed in agony as the burning ligaments and stretched muscle fibers caused a devastating burst of pain in her shoulder. Sam jumped up to go to her, but the nurse gently pushed him away.
  
  "Everything is over! It's done," the doctor reassured her. "Everything is back in place, okay? It will burn for another day or two, but then it will get better. Keep it tied up. Not too much traffic for the next month, so no hiking."
  
  "God! For a moment I thought you were ripping off my fucking arm!" Nina frowned. Her forehead was glistening with sweat and her clammy skin was cold to the touch when Sam came over to take her hand.
  
  "Are you okay?" he asked.
  
  "Yes, I am golden," she said, but her face told a different story. "Now we have to check your eyesight."
  
  "What's wrong with your eyes, sir?" asked the charismatic doctor.
  
  "Well, that's the whole point. I have no idea. I...," he looked suspiciously at Nina for a moment, "you know, I fell asleep on the street when I was sunbathing. And when I woke up, I was having trouble focusing on the distance to objects."
  
  The Doctor stared at Sam, his eyes never leaving Sam's, as if he didn't believe a word of what the hiker had just said. He dug in his coat pocket for a flashlight pen and nodded. "You say you fell asleep sunbathing. Do you sunbathe in a shirt? You don"t have a tan line on your chest, and unless you reflect the sunlight with your pale skin, my Scottish friend, there is little to indicate that your story is true."
  
  "I don't think it matters why he was sleeping, doc," Nina defended herself.
  
  He looked at the small fireworks with large dark eyes. "Actually, that makes all the difference, ma'am. Only if I know where he was and for how long, what he was exposed to and so on, can I determine what might have caused the problem."
  
  "Where did you study?" Sam asked, completely off topic.
  
  "Graduated from Cornell University and four years from Peking University, sir. I was working on a master's program at Stanford but I had to cut it short to come and help with the 2014 floods in Brunei," he explained, looking into Sam's eyes.
  
  "And you are hidden in a small place like this? I'd say almost sorry," Sam remarked.
  
  "My family is here, and I think that is where my skills are most needed," said the young doctor, trying to be easy and personal, because he wanted to establish a close relationship with the Scot, especially since he suspected something was wrong. 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 in private," 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 to a small room next to the short hallway of the ward. Nina looked at Sam, but he seemed calm. In a sterile environment, Nina felt sick. The Doctor closed the door and gave them both a long, hard look.
  
  "Perhaps you have been to the village next to the beach?" he asked them.
  
  "Yes," Sam said. "Is this a local infection?"
  
  "Is that where you got hurt, ma'am?" He turned to Nina with a hint of apprehension. She acknowledged with a nod, looking somewhat embarrassed for her clumsy lie earlier.
  
  "Is it a disease or something, Doctor?" Sam insisted on an answer. "Do these people have some kind of disease...?"
  
  The Doctor took a deep breath. "Mr. Cleave, do you believe in the supernatural?"
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  Perdue woke up in what looked like a freezer or a coffin made to contain a corpse. His eyes couldn't see anything in front of him. The darkness and silence was like a cold atmosphere that burned his bare skin. His left hand reached for his right wrist, but he found that his watch had been removed. Each breath was a wheeze of anguish as he choked on the cold air coming in from somewhere in the darkness. It was then that Perdue discovered that he was completely naked.
  
  "Oh my God! Please don't tell me I'm lying on a slab in some mortuary. Please don't tell me I've been mistaken for dead!" pleaded with his inner voice. 'Keep calm, David. Just stay calm until you know what's going on. Don't panic prematurely. Panic only clouds the mind. Panic only clouds the mind.
  
  He carefully lowered his hands down his body and ran them over his sides to feel what was under him.
  
  "Atlas".
  
  'Maybe this is a coffin?' he thought, but he thought the coffin would be anything but cold. At the very least, that meant he wasn't locked up in a coffin or a mortuary freezer, but knowing that didn't bring him comfort, the cold was unbearable, even worse than the dense darkness around him.
  
  Suddenly the silence was broken by approaching footsteps.
  
  "Is this my salvation?" Or my death?
  
  Perdue listened intently, fighting the urge to breathe rapidly. No voices filled the room, only incessant footsteps. His heart was beating wildly with many thoughts of what it could be - where he could be. A switch flipped and a white light blinded Purdue, pinching his eyes.
  
  "Here he is," he heard a high-pitched male voice that reminded him of Liberace. "My Lord and Savior."
  
  Perdue couldn't open his eyes. Even through his closed eyelids, the light penetrated his skull.
  
  "Take your time, Herr Perdue," advised a voice with a thick Berlin accent. "Your eyes have to adjust first, or you will go blind, dear. And we don't want that. You are just too precious."
  
  Uncharacteristically for Dave Perdue, he chose to respond with a clearly pronounced "Fuck you."
  
  The man chuckled at his profanity, which sounded rather funny. Clapping reached Perdue's ears, and he flinched.
  
  "Why am I naked? I don't swing like that, buddy," Perdue managed to say.
  
  "Oh, you will rock no matter how we push you, my dear. You'll see. Resistance is very unhealthy. Cooperation is as important as oxygen, as you will soon realize. I am your master, Klaus, and you are naked for the simple reason that naked men are easy to spot when they run away. You see, there is no need to restrain you when you are 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 ideas that crossed his mind as he lay in the dark, the cell where he was held captive was large and luxurious. It reminded him of the decor in the chapel of Glamis Castle in his home country, Scotland. The ceilings and walls were decorated with Renaissance-style paintings painted with bright oil paints in gilded frames. Gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and stained-glass windows adorned the panes that peeked out from behind rich deep purple drapes.
  
  At last his eyes found the man he had heard only a voice about until that moment, and he looked almost exactly as Perdue had imagined him to be. Not very tall, slender and elegantly dressed, Klaus stood attentively, his hands folded neatly in front of him. When he smiled, his cheeks were deeply dimpled, and his dark, beady eyes seemed to sometimes glow under bright light. Perdue noticed that Klaus styled 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 sign 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' eyes studied Purdue's tall, lean frame with shameless delight, "aesthetic purposes."
  
  "Without clothes, I will 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 order for your convenience. We cooled the room just to wake you up."
  
  "Could you just wake me up the old fashioned way?" Perdue chuckled.
  
  "What is the old fashioned way? Do I call you by name? Throw water on you? Sending your favorite cat to pat your face? Please. This is the temple of the wicked gods, my dear man. We are certainly not for kindness and pampering," Klaus said in a cold voice that did not match his smiling face and burning eyes.
  
  Perdue's legs trembled and his nipples hardened from the cold as he stood next to the silk-covered table that had been his bed since he was brought here. His hands covered his manhood, showing his dropping body temperature with purple nails and lips.
  
  "Heizung!" Klaus ordered. He changed to a softer tone, "You'll be much more comfortable in a few minutes, I promise."
  
  "Thanks," Purdue muttered, stuttering through chattering teeth.
  
  "You can sit down if you want, but you won't be allowed to leave this room until you are taken out - or carried out - depending on the degree of your cooperation," Klaus informed him.
  
  "Something like that," Perdue said. "Where I am? Temple? And what do you need from me?"
  
  "Slowly!" Klaus exclaimed with a wide smile, clapping his hands. "You just want to get into the details. Relax."
  
  Perdue felt his frustration growing. "Look, Klaus, I'm not a fucking tourist! I'm not here to visit, and certainly not to entertain you. I want to know the details so we can complete our unfortunate business and I can go home! You seem to be suggesting that it suits me to be here in my goddamn party costume, jumping through your hoops like a circus animal!"
  
  Klaus' smile quickly faded. After Perdue finished his tirade, the thin man looked at him without moving. Perdue hoped his point had reached the obnoxious idiot who had been playing games with him on one of his not-so-good days.
  
  "Are you done, David?" Klaus asked in a low, sinister voice that was barely audible. His dark eyes stared straight into Purdue's as he lowered his chin and clasped his fingers. "Let me clarify something for you. You are not a guest here, you are right; you are not the master either. Here you do not have any power because here you are naked, which means that you do not have access to a computer, gadgets or credit cards to perform your magic tricks."
  
  Klaus slowly approached Purdue, continuing his explanation. "Here you will not have permission to ask questions or have an opinion. Will you submit or die and you will do it without question, did I make myself clear?"
  
  "Crystal clear," Purdue replied.
  
  "The only reason I have any respect for you at all is because you were once a Renatus of the Order of the Black Sun," he said to Purdue as he walked around him. Klaus showed a distinct expression of extreme contempt for his prisoner. "Even though you were a bad king, a treacherous defector who chose to destroy the Black Sun instead of using them to rule the new Babylon."
  
  "I never applied for this position!" he defended his case, but Klaus kept talking as if Perdue's words were just creaks in the wood paneling of the room.
  
  "You had the most powerful beast in the world at your errand, Renatus, and you decided to shit on him, sodomize him, and almost caused the complete collapse of centuries of power and wisdom," Klaus preached. "If this had been your plan from the start, I would have commended you. This shows a talent for deceit. But if you did it because you were afraid of power, my friend, you are worth nothing."
  
  "Why are you defending the Order of the Black Sun? Are you one of their henchmen? Did they promise you a place in their throne room after they destroy the world? If you trust them, then you are a fool of a special degree," Perdue retorted. He felt his skin relax under the gentle warmth of the changing temperature in the room.
  
  Klaus chuckled, smiling bitterly as he stood in front of Purdue.
  
  "I guess the nickname fool depends on the purpose of the game, don't you think? To you, I am a fool who seeks power by any means necessary. You are a fool to me for throwing this away," he said.
  
  "Listen, what do you want?" Perdue seethed.
  
  He went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Behind a curtain, set flush in a wooden frame, was a keyboard. Before using it, Klaus looked back at Perdue.
  
  "You were brought here to be programmed so that you could serve a purpose again," he said. "We need a special relic, David, and you will find it for us. And you want to know the most interesting part?"
  
  Now he was smiling as before. Perdue didn't say anything. He preferred to bide his time and use his observational skills to find a way out once the madman was gone. For now, he didn't want to entertain Klaus anymore, but instead just agreed.
  
  "The best part is that you'll want to serve us," Klaus chuckled.
  
  "What is this relic?" Perdue asked, pretending to be interested to know.
  
  "Oh, something really 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 by the most sinister force that spread across Eastern Europe like a crimson plague. Because of their intervention, she is lost to us and we want her back. We want every piece of it that has survived to be reassembled and restored to its former beauty 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.
  
  "Are you seriously hoping to discover the Amber Room?" - Surprised asked Perdue. "She was destroyed by British air raids and never went beyond Königsberg! She no longer exists. Only its fragments are scattered all over the bottom of the ocean and under the foundations of the old ruins destroyed in 1944. This is a stupid idea!"
  
  "Well, let's see if we can change your mind about this," Klaus smiled.
  
  He turned to enter the code on the keypad. There was a loud buzz, but Purdue couldn't see anything out of the ordinary until the exquisite paintings on the ceiling and walls had turned into canvases. Perdue realized that it was all an optical illusion.
  
  The surfaces inside the frames were covered with LED screens capable of turning scenes like windows into a cyberverse. Even windows were just images on flat screens. Suddenly, the dreaded Black Sun symbol appeared on all monitors before switching to one giant image that spread across all screens. Nothing remains of the original room. Purdue was no longer in the splendid drawing room of the castle. He stood inside the Cave of Fire, and although he knew it was just a projection, he couldn't deny the discomfort of the rising temperature.
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  The blue light from the television made the room even darker. On the walls of the room, the traffic in the news casts many forms and shadows in black and blue, flashing like lightning and only momentarily illuminating the decorations on the tables. Nothing was where it should have been. Where glasses and plates had once stood on the glass shelves of the cupboard, there was only a gaping frame with nothing inside. On the floor in front of her, as well as on the top of the drawer, were scattered large, jagged shards of broken crockery.
  
  Bloodstains stained some of the slivers and tiles on the floor, turning black in the TV light. The people on the screen didn't seem to be addressing anyone in particular. There were no spectators in the room for them, although someone was present. On the sofa, a slumbering mountain of man filled all three seats, as well as the armrests. His blankets fell to the floor, leaving him defenseless against the chill of the night, but he didn't care.
  
  Since his wife was killed, Detlef has not felt anything. Not only did his emotions leave him, but his feelings became numb. Detlef didn't want to feel anything but sadness and mourning. His skin was cold, so cold it burned, but the widower felt only numbness as his blankets slipped off and piled on the carpet.
  
  Her shoes were still on the edge of the bed, where she'd thrown them the day before. Detlef couldn't bear it if he took them, because then she would really leave. Gaby's fingerprints were still on the leather strap, the mud from her soles was still there, and when he touched the shoes he could feel it. If he had put them away in the closet, traces of his last moments with Gaby would have been lost forever.
  
  The skin had peeled off his broken knuckles, and a coating now covered his raw flesh. Detlef didn't feel it either. He felt only the cold, which dulled the pain from his rampage and the lacerations left by the jagged edges. Of course, he knew that he would feel burning wounds the next day, but now he only wanted to sleep. When he slept, he saw her in his dreams. He wouldn't have to face reality. In the dream, he could hide from the reality of his wife's death.
  
  "This is Holly Darryl from the scene of the heinous incident that took place this morning at the British Embassy in Berlin," murmured an American TV reporter. 'It was here that Ben Carrington of the British Embassy witnessed the horrific suicide of Gaby Holzer, a spokesman for the German Federal Chancellor's office. You may remember Mrs. Holzer as the spokesperson for the press in connection with the recent murders of politicians and financiers in Berlin, which the media has now dubbed the Midas Offensive. Sources say there is still no clarity as to Mrs Holzer's motive for taking her own life after helping to investigate these murders. It remains to be seen if she was a possible target of the same killers, or perhaps she was even connected to them."
  
  Detlef growled half asleep at the audacity of the media, 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 alleged suicide or the absurd misrepresentation of her involvement. Concerned about the unfair conjectures of know-it-all journalists, Detlef felt a growing hatred for those who denigrated his wife in the eyes of the whole world.
  
  Detlef Holzer was no coward, but he was a serious loner. Perhaps it was his upbringing, or perhaps just his personality, but he always suffered among people. Self-doubt has always been his cross, even as a child. He could not imagine that he was important enough to have his own opinion, and even as a man of about thirty-five, married to a stunning woman known throughout Germany, Detlef was still inclined to withdraw himself.
  
  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, which led to protests and boycotts of candidates' speeches in certain places throughout Germany. Gaby, among others, played it safe by hiring bodyguards. When she first met her bodyguard, she instantly fell in love with him. How could she not love such a soft-hearted, gentle giant as Detlef?
  
  He never understood what she saw in him, but it was all part of his low self-esteem, so Gaby learned to take his modesty lightly. She never forced him to appear in public with her after his contract as her bodyguard ended. His wife respected his unintentional slip of the tongue, even in the bedroom. They were completely opposite in terms of restraint, but they found a comfortable middle ground.
  
  Now she's gone and he's all alone. Longing for her crippled his heart, and he wept ceaselessly in the sanctuary of the divan. Duality prevailed in his thoughts. He was going to do whatever was necessary to find out who killed his wife, but first he had to overcome the obstacles he had set for himself. This was the hardest part, but Gaby 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 all that they had witnessed during their joint adventures, they had to admit that inexplicable phenomena exist. While much of what they experienced could be attributed to complex physics and undiscovered scientific principles, they were open to other explanations as well.
  
  "Why do you ask?" Sam asked.
  
  "I need to be sure that neither you nor the ladies here will think me some kind of superstitious idiot in what I am 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 if he could trust strangers enough to explain such an apparently far-fetched theory to them.
  
  "We are very open-minded when it comes to such things, Doctor," Nina assured him. "You can tell us. To be honest, we ourselves have seen some strange things. Sam and I still have little to surprise us."
  
  "Same thing," Sam added with a childish chuckle.
  
  It took the Doctor a while to figure out how to get his theory across to Sam. His face showed concern. Clearing his throat, he shared what he thought Sam needed to know.
  
  "People in the village you visited had a very strange encounter several hundred years ago. This is a story that has been passed down orally for centuries, so I'm not sure how much of the original story is left in today's legend," he relayed. "They talk about a gem that was picked up by a little boy and brought to the village to give to the chief. But because the stone looked so unusual, the elders thought it was the eye of a god, so they covered it for fear that they would be watched. In short, everyone in the village died three days later because they blinded the god and he poured out 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. Trust me, I know how it sounds, but hear me out," the young man insisted. "What I think is a little less medical and more leaning towards... um... that sort of..."
  
  "Strange side?" Nina asked. There was skepticism in her tone.
  
  "Wait now," Sam said. "Continue. What does this have to do with my vision?"
  
  "I think something happened to you there, Mr. Cleave; something you can't remember," the doctor suggested. "I'll tell you why. Since the ancestors of this tribe blinded the god, only the person harboring the god could become blind in their village."
  
  An overwhelming silence enveloped the three as Sam and Nina stared at the doctor with the most incomprehensible looks he had ever seen. He had no idea how to explain what he was trying to say, especially since it was so ridiculous and quixotic.
  
  "In other words," Nina slowly began to make sure she got it right, "you want to tell us that you believe in the old wives story, right? So, this has nothing to do with the decision. You just wanted to let us know that you bought into this crazy shit."
  
  "Nina," Sam frowned, not too pleased that she was being so blunt.
  
  "Sam, this guy is practically telling you that there is a god inside you. Now I'm completely ego driven and can even handle a little narcissism here and there, but for Christ's sake, you can't believe that crap! " she admonished him. "Oh my God, that"s like saying that if your ear hurts in the Amazon, then you are half a unicorn."
  
  The ridicule of the foreigner was too strong and rude, which forced the young doctor to reveal his diagnosis. Once face to face with Sam, he turned his back on Nina to ignore her in response to her disdain for his intelligence. "Look, I know how it sounds. But you, Mr. Cleve, sent a frightening amount of concentrated heat through your organonvisus in a short time, and although this should have caused your head to explode, the result was only minor damage to the lens and retina!
  
  He looked at Nina. "That was the basis of my diagnostic conclusion. Do with it what you will, but it's too weird to brush off anything but the supernatural."
  
  Sam was dumbfounded.
  
  So that's the reason for my crazy vision, Sam said to himself.
  
  "Excessive heat has caused small cataracts, but any ophthalmologist can remove them as soon as you get home," the doctor said.
  
  Remarkably, it was Nina who prompted him to dwell on 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 point of view. Reluctant at first to answer her question, he agreed to share with Nina his view of the specifics of what had happened.
  
  "All I can say is that Mr. Cleave's eyes were exposed to lightning-like temperatures and came out with minimal damage. One is unnerving. But when you know the stories of villagers like me, you remember things, especially things like the angry blind god who killed the whole village with heavenly fire," the doctor said.
  
  "Lightning," said Nina. "So that's why they insisted that Sam was dead while 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 by-product 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 that I was hot, half-blind, and extremely confused," Sam admitted, furrowing his brow in puzzlement. "I know even less now than I did before you told me all this, doc."
  
  "None of this was supposed to be the solution to your problem, Mr. Cleve. But it was nothing short of a miracle, so I should have at least given 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. Cleve, but if I were you, I would keep it a secret and seek help from 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 saw Sam do when she found him.
  
  "So, I am possessed by an ancient god? Oh sweet Jesus!" Sam laughed.
  
  The doctor and Nina exchanged glances, and there was a silent agreement between them.
  
  "You must remember, Sam, that in ancient times the forces of nature, which today can be explained by science, were called gods. I think that's what the doctor is trying to make clear here. Call it what you will, but there is no doubt that something extremely strange is happening to you. First the visions, and now this," Nina explained.
  
  "I know, love," Sam reassured her with a chuckle. "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 at Sam's mention of time travel, but she just shook her head dismissively and brushed it off. As much as the doctor believed in the strange and the miraculous, she could hardly explain to him that his male patient had been the unwitting captain of a teleporting Nazi ship that had defied all the laws of physics just a short time ago, for several nightmarish months. Some things just weren't meant to be shared.
  
  "Well, doctor, thank you very much for the medical-and mystical-help," Nina smiled. "Ultimately, you have been of far greater help than you ever think."
  
  "Thank you, Miss Gould," smiled the young doctor, "for finally believing me. Welcome to both of you. Please take care of yourself, okay?"
  
  "Yes, we are cooler than a prostitute..."
  
  "Sam!" Nina interrupted him. "I think you need to get some rest." She raised an eyebrow at the amusement of both men who laughed at this as they said goodbye and left the doctor's office.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Late in the evening, after a well-deserved shower and treatment for their injuries, the two Scots went to bed. In the dark, they listened to the sound of the ocean nearby as Sam pulled Nina closer.
  
  "Sam! No! she protested.
  
  "What I've done?" - he asked.
  
  "My hand! I can't lie on my side, remember? It burns like hell, and it feels like a bone is rattling in the eye socket," she complained.
  
  He was silent for a moment as she struggled into her place on the bed.
  
  "You can still lie on your back, right?" he flirted playfully.
  
  "Yes," Nina replied, "but my arm is tied around my chest, so I'm sorry, Jack."
  
  "Just your boobs, 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 short pause, his tone became much more serious, but relaxed.
  
  "Nina, what was I doing when you found me?" he asked.
  
  "I told you," she defended herself.
  
  "No, you gave me a brief overview," he denied her answer. "I saw how you held back in the hospital when you told the doctor what condition you found me in. Come on, I may be stupid sometimes, but I'm still the best investigative reporter in the world. I got past the rebel stalemate in Kazakhstan and followed the trail leading to a terrorist organization's hideout during the bitter wars in Bogotá, baby. I know body language and I know when sources are hiding something from me."
  
  She sighed. "What use is it to you to know the details? 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 contrived shit you can take, Sam."
  
  "I understand it. I know, but this is about me, so I need to know. No, I have a right to know," he protested. "You must tell me so that I have the full picture, love. Then I can put two and two together, you know? Only then will I know what to do. If there's one thing I've learned as a journalist, it's that half of the information...but even 99% of the information is sometimes not enough to convict a criminal. Every detail is needed; every fact must be evaluated before drawing a conclusion."
  
  "Okay, okay, already," she interrupted him. "I understand. I just don't want you to have to deal with too much so soon after you get back, you know? You've been through so much and miraculously endured it all no matter what, sweetheart. All I'm trying to do is spare you some of the bad shit until you're better equipped to deal with it."
  
  Sam rested his head on Nina's dainty 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 thigh and slipped his hand under the small of her back. She smelled of roses and felt like satin to the touch. He felt Nina's free hand on his thick dark hair as she held him there, and she began to speak.
  
  For more than twenty minutes, Sam listened to Nina recount everything that had happened, leaving out no detail. When she told him about the native and the strange voice in which Sam spoke words in an incomprehensible language, she felt his fingertips twitch against her skin. Other than that, Sam did a pretty good job of talking about his frightening condition, but neither of them slept until sunrise.
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  The incessant knocking on the front door drove Detlef Holtzer to a state of despair and rage. It has been three days since his wife was killed, but contrary to what he had hoped, his feelings only got worse. Every time a reporter knocked on his door, he cringed. Shadows of his childhood crawled out of his memories; those dark times of abandonment that disgusted him at the sound of someone knocking on the door.
  
  "Leave me alone!" he shouted, ignoring the caller.
  
  "Mr. Holzer, this is Hein Muller from the funeral home. Your wife's insurance company has contacted me to sort things out with you before they can proceed..."
  
  "Are you deaf? I said get out!" spat the unfortunate widower. His voice trembled with alcohol. He was on the verge of a complete breakdown. "I want an autopsy! She was killed! I'm telling you, she was killed! I won't bury her until they investigate it!"
  
  No matter who showed up at his door, Detlef denied them entry. Inside the house, the reclusive man was inexpressibly reduced to almost nothing. He stopped eating and barely moved away from the couch, where Gaby's shoes riveted him to her presence.
  
  "I'll find him, Gaby. Don't worry, honey. I will find him and throw his corpse off the cliff," he snarled softly, swaying, his eye fixed in place. Detlef could no longer cope with his grief. He got up and paced the house, heading for the darkened windows. With his forefinger, he tore off a corner of the garbage bags he had 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 broke out on his forehead and ran into his burning eyes, red from lack of sleep. His massive body had shrunk by a few pounds since he stopped eating, but he was still a real man. Barefoot, in trousers and a wrinkled long-sleeved shirt dangling loosely from his belt, he stood waiting for someone to appear at the cars. "I know you are here. I know you are at my door, little mice," he grimaced as he sang those 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, although he still didn't trust the calmness. He was afraid of this knock, which sounded like a battering ram to his ears. As a teenager, his father, an alcoholic gambler, left him at home alone when he ran away from loan sharks and bookmakers. Young Detlef hid inside, drawing the curtains while the wolves were at the door. The knock on the door was synonymous with an all-out assault on the little boy, and his heart was pounding inside him, terrified of what would happen if they entered.
  
  In addition to knocking, angry men shouted threats and cursed at him.
  
  I know you're there, you little asshole! Open the door or I'll burn your house to the ground!" they shouted. Someone threw bricks at the windows while the teenager sat huddled in the corner of his bedroom with his ears covered. When his father got home quite late, he would son in tears, but he only laughed and called the boy a weakling.
  
  To this day, Detlef felt his heart skip a beat when someone knocked on his door, even though he knew the callers were harmless and had no ill intentions. But now? Now they were knocking again. They wanted him. They were like the angry men outside in his teenage years, urging him to come out. Detlef felt driven out. He felt threatened. It didn't matter why they came. The fact is that they tried to force him out of his hiding place, and this was an act of war on the sensitive emotions of the widower.
  
  For no apparent reason, he went to the kitchen and took the paring knife from the drawer. He was well aware of what he was doing, but he lost control. Tears filled his eyes as he plunged the blade into his skin, not too deep, but deep enough. He had no idea what prompted him to do it, but he knew he had to. At some command from the dark voice in his head, Detlef ran the blade a few inches from one side of his forearm to the other. It burned like a giant paper cut, but it was bearable. As he raised the knife, he watched the blood ooze silently from the line he had drawn. As the little red streak turned into a trickle on his white skin, he took a deep breath.
  
  For the first time since Gaby died, Detlef felt at peace. His heart slowed to a calm rhythm, and his anxieties were out of reach-for the moment. The calmness of release fascinated him, making him grateful for the knife. For a while, he looked at what he had done, but despite the protests of his moral compass, he did not feel guilty about it. In fact, he felt fulfilled.
  
  "I love you, Gaby," he whispered. "I love you. This is a blood oath for you, my baby."
  
  He wrapped his hand in a washcloth and washed the knife, but instead of putting it back he slipped it into his pocket.
  
  "You just stay where you are," he whispered to the knife. "Be there when I need you. You are safe. With you I feel safe." A crooked smile played on Detlef's face as he enjoyed the sudden calmness that came over him. It was as if the act of cutting himself had cleared his mind, enough that he felt confident enough to put some effort into finding his wife's killer with some sort of proactive investigation.
  
  Detlef walked over the broken glass of the sideboard, not bothering to bother. The pain was just another layer of agony, layered on top of what he was already experiencing, making it somehow trivial.
  
  Since he had just learned not to cut himself to feel better, he also knew that he had to find his dead wife's notebook. Gaby was old fashioned in that regard. She believed in physical notes and calendars. Even though she used her phone to remind her of appointments, she also wrote everything down, which has become a much-desired habit now that it could help point out her possible killers.
  
  Rummaging through her drawers, he knew exactly what he was looking for.
  
  "Oh God, I hope it wasn't in your purse, baby," he muttered as he frantically searched. "Because they have your purse and they won"t give it back to me until I walk out that door to talk to them, you know?" He continued to talk to Gaby as if she were listening, the privilege of being single to keep them from going crazy, something he had learned from watching his mother being abused as she endured the hell she was in when she got married.
  
  "Gaby, I need your help, baby," Detlef groaned. He sank into a chair in the small room Gaby used as her office. I look at the books scattered all over the place and her old cigarette box on the second shelf of the wooden cabinet she used for her folders. Detlef took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "Where would you put a business diary?" he asked in a low voice as his mind ran through all the possibilities.
  
  "It must be some place where you could easily access it," he frowned, deep in thought. He stood up and pretended that this 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 suppose you wouldn't write it here because it's not for the public to see," he remarked as he fingered objects on the tabletop.
  
  In a china cup with the logo of her old rowing team, she held pens and a letter opener. The flatter bowl contained several flash drives and knick-knacks such as hair ties, a marble ball, and two rings that she never wore because they were too big. To the left, next to the leg of her desk lamp, was an open pack of throat lozenges. There is no diary.
  
  Detlef felt grief overwhelm him again, distraught at not finding the book bound in black leather. Gaby's piano was at the far right of the room, but the books only contained sheet music. Outside, he heard the rain falling, which suited his mood.
  
  "Gaby, is there anything I can help you with?" he sighed. The phone in Gaby's filing cabinet rang and scared him half to death. He knew better than to take it into his own hands. It was them. They were hunters, accusers. These were the same people who saw his wife as some kind of suicidal weakling. "No!" he shouted, trembling with rage. Detlef grabbed an iron book stand from a shelf and threw it at the phone. A heavy book stand knocked the phone off the cabinet with tremendous force, leaving it smashed on the floor. His reddened, watery eyes looked longingly at the broken device, then moved to the cabinet he had damaged with a heavy bookend.
  
  Detlef smiled.
  
  On the closet, he found Gaby's black diary. All this time he was lying under the phone, hidden from prying eyes. He went to pick up the book, laughing maniacally. "Baby, you are the best! It was you? A? he muttered softly as he opened the book. "Did you just call me? You wanted me to see the book? I know you did it."
  
  He leafed through it impatiently, looking for the appointments she had made for the date of her death two days ago.
  
  "Whom did you see? Who saw you last but that British fool? Let's get a look".
  
  With dried blood under his nail, he ran his forefinger up and down, carefully going through each entry.
  
  "I just need to see who you were with before you..." He swallowed hard. "They say you died in the morning."
  
  
  8.00 - Meeting with intelligence representatives
  
  9.30 - Margot Flowers, CJ Plot
  
  10:00 a.m. - David Purdue Ben Carrington's office in connection with Milla's flight
  
  11.00 - Consulate remembers Kirill
  
  12.00 - Make an appointment with the dentist Detlef
  
  
  Detlef's hand went to his mouth. "The toothache is gone, you know, Gaby?" His tears clouded the words he was trying to read, and he slammed the book shut, held it tightly to his chest, and collapsed into a heap of grief, sobbing uncontrollably. Through the darkened windows he could see flashes of lightning. Gaby's little office was almost completely dark now. He just sat there and cried until his eyes were dry. The sadness was overwhelming, but he had to pull himself together.
  
  Carrington's office, he thought. The last place she visited was Carrington's office. He told the media that he was there when she died. 'Something pushed him. There was something else in this entry. He quickly opened the book and flipped the switch on the desk lamp to get a better view. Detlef gasped, "Who is Milla?" he thought aloud. "And who is David Purdue?"
  
  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 the web address of one of Purdue's businesses. Detlef immediately went online to see who Purdue was. After reading the About section, Detlef clicked on the 'Contacts' tab and smiled.
  
  "Gotcha!"
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  Purdue closed his eyes. Resisting the urge to see what the screens were showing, he kept his eyes closed and ignored the sounds of screams coming from the four loudspeakers in the corners. What he could not ignore was the elevated temperature, which gradually increased. His body was sweaty from the onslaught of heat, but he tried his best to follow his mother's rule of not panicking. She always said that Zen is the answer.
  
  Once you panic, you will belong to them. As soon as you panic, your mind will believe it, and all emergency reactions will take effect. Stay calm or you're done," he told himself over and over again, standing still. In other words, Perdue had played a good old trick on himself that he hoped his brain would buy into. He was afraid that even moving would raise his temperature even more. his body, and he didn't need it.
  
  The surround sound tricked his mind into believing it was all real. Only by keeping himself from looking at the screens could Perdue prevent his brain from consolidating perceptions and turning them into reality. During his study of NLP basics in the summer of 2007, he learned little tricks of the mind to influence understanding and reasoning. He never thought that his life would depend on it.
  
  For several hours, a deafening sound was heard from all sides. The screams of the abused children gave way to a chorus of gunshots before becoming a constant rhythmic clang of steel on steel. The pounding of the hammer on the anvil gradually turned into rhythmic sexual moans before being drowned out by the squeals of the slaughtered baby seals. The recordings played in an endless loop for so long that Purdue could predict which sound would follow the current one.
  
  To his horror, the billionaire soon realized that the terrible sounds no longer disgusted him. Instead, he realized that certain fragments excite him, while others provoke his hatred. Because he refused to sit down, his legs began to ache, and his lower back was killing him, but the floor also began to heat up. Remembering the table that could be a hiding place, Purdue opened his eyes to find it, but while he kept his eyes closed, they removed it, leaving him no way to go.
  
  "Are you already trying to kill me?" he shouted, jumping from one foot to the other to give his feet a break from the scalding hot surface of the floor. "What do you want from me?"
  
  But no one answered him. After six hours, Perdue was exhausted. The floor didn't heat up at all, but it was enough to burn his legs if he dared to lower them for more than a second at a time. What was worse than the heat and the need to constantly move was that the audio clip kept playing non-stop. From time to time, he couldn't help but open his eyes to see what had changed since then. After the table disappeared, nothing else changed. For him, this fact was more unnerving than the other way around.
  
  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 stop this! Please! I will do what you want!" he shouted. Trying not to lose it was no longer an option. Otherwise, they would never have bought into the fact that he suffered enough to believe in the success of their mission. "Klaus! Klaus, for God's sake, please tell them to stop!"
  
  But Klaus did not answer and did not stop the torment. The disgusting audio clip looped endlessly until Perdue screamed over it. Even just the sound of his own words provided some relief compared to repeated sounds. It wasn't long before the voice failed him.
  
  "You're doing well, idiot!" he spoke in nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Now you can't call for help and you don't even have the voice to give up." His legs buckled under his weight, but he was afraid of falling to the floor. Soon he won't be able to take another step. Crying like a baby, Perdue pleaded. "Mercy. Please."
  
  Suddenly, the screens went blank, leaving Purdue in pitch darkness again. The sound stopped instantly, leaving his ears ringing in the sudden silence. The floor was still hot, but cooled down after a few seconds, allowing him to finally sit up. His feet throbbed in excruciating pain, and every muscle in his body twitched and cramped.
  
  "Oh, thank God," he whispered, grateful that the torture was over. He wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and didn't even notice that the sweat burned his eyes. The silence was majestic. He was finally able to hear his own heartbeat, which quickened with exertion. Perdue breathed a deep sigh of relief, enjoying the blessing of oblivion.
  
  But Klaus didn't mean oblivion for Perdue.
  
  Exactly five minutes later, the screens turned on again, and the first scream came from the speakers. Perdue felt his soul shattered. He shook his head in disbelief, feeling the floor warm again and his eyes filled with desperation.
  
  "Why?" he grumbled, punishing his throat with attempts to scream. "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 gone unheeded because Klaus wasn't there. In fact, there was no one there. The torture machine was set on a timer to shut off just as long as Purdue had his hopes up, a fine Nazi-era technique for enhancing psychological torture.
  
  Never trust hope. It's as fleeting as it is cruel.
  
  When Purdue woke up, he was back in the castle's luxurious room with oil paintings and stained glass windows. For a moment he thought it was all a nightmare, but then he felt the excruciating pain of bursting blisters. He couldn't see well since they had taken his glasses along with his clothes, but his eyesight was good enough to see the details of the ceiling - not paintings, but frames.
  
  His eyes were dry from the desperate tears he had shed, but that was nothing compared to the splitting headache he suffered from the acoustic overload. Trying to move his limbs, he found that his muscles could withstand the load better than he expected. Finally, Perdue looked down at his feet, afraid of what he might see. As expected, his toes and sides were covered in broken blisters and gore.
  
  "Don't worry about it, Herr Perdue. I promise you won't be forced to stand on them for at least one more day," a snide voice floated through the air from the direction of the door. "You slept like a log, but it's time to wake up. Three hours of sleep is enough."
  
  "Klaus," Perdue chuckled.
  
  A thin man sauntered over to the table where Purdue lay with two cups of coffee in his hands. Tempted to throw it into the German's mouse mug, Perdue decided not to give in to the urge to quench his terrible thirst. He sat down and snatched the cup from his tormentor, only to find it was empty. Furious, Perdue threw the cup on the floor, where it shattered.
  
  "You really should watch your temper, Herr Perdue," Klaus advised in his cheerful voice that sounded more mocking than surprised.
  
  "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 representative side of the German. "What would you do in my place? Tell me. I guarantee you would do the same."
  
  "Oh! What happened to your voice? Would you like some water?" Klaus asked cordially.
  
  "So that you can refuse me again?" Perdue asked.
  
  "May be. But maybe not. Why don't you try?" he replied.
  
  "Mind Games." Perdue knew the rules of the game all too well. Sow confusion and leave your opponent in the dark about whether to expect punishment or reward.
  
  "Can I have some water, please," Pardew tried. After all, he had nothing to lose.
  
  "Wasser!" Klaus screamed. He gave Purdue a warm, lipless corpse-like smile as the woman brought a sturdy vessel of pure, pure water. If Perdue could stand on his feet, he would have run to meet her halfway, but he had to wait for her. Klaus placed the empty mug he was holding next to Perdue and poured some water.
  
  "I'm glad you bought two cups," Perdue rasped.
  
  "I brought two mugs for two reasons. I assumed you were going to smash one of them. So, I knew you'd need a second one to drink the water you'd be asking for," he explained while Perdue grabbed the bottle to get to the water.
  
  Ignoring the cup at first, he clamped the neck of the bottle between his lips with such force that the heavy container hit him in the teeth. But Klaus took her away and offered Perdue the bowl. Only after he had drunk two cups did Perdue catch his breath.
  
  "Another one? Please," he pleaded with Klaus.
  
  "One more, but then we'll talk," he said to his captive, and refilled his goblet.
  
  "Klaus," breathed Perdue, downing his 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 returned the bottle to the woman and she left the room.
  
  "How can I not? At least let me know what I'm being tortured for," Perdue pleaded.
  
  "You're not being tortured," Klaus insisted. "You are being restored. When you first contacted the Order, it was to tempt us with your Sacred Spear that you and your friends found, remember? You invited all the high-ranking members of Black Sun to a secret meeting at Deep Sea One to showcase your relic, right?"
  
  Perdue nodded. It was true. He used the relic as leverage to ingratiate himself with the Order for possible business.
  
  "When you played with us that time, our members were in a very dangerous situation. But I'm sure you had good intentions, even after you walked away with the relic like a coward, leaving them to fend for themselves when the water gushed in," Klaus instructed fervently. "We want you to be that person again; for you to work with us to get what we need so we can all thrive. 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," Pardew offered, and he meant every word.
  
  "Gott im Himmel! David, weren't you listening?" Klaus exclaimed with youthful frustration. "We can get whatever we want! We want you to come back to us, but you're offering a deal and want to make a deal. This is not a business deal. This is an introductory lesson and only after we make sure you are ready will you be allowed to leave this room."
  
  Klaus looked at his watch. He got up to leave, but Perdue tried to hold him back with a banality.
  
  "Um, can I have some more water, please?" he croaked.
  
  Without stopping or looking back, Klaus called out, "Vasser!"
  
  As he closed the door behind him, a huge cylinder, almost the size of a room, descended from the ceiling.
  
  "Oh God, what now?" Perdue screamed in complete panic as she hit the floor. The central panel of the ceiling slid to the side and began to shoot water into the cylinder, flooding Purdue's inflamed naked body and drowning out his screams.
  
  What horrified 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 last shower. They were due to arrive at the airstrip in an hour, bound for Edinburgh.
  
  "Are you done yet, Sam?" Nina asked loudly as she left the bathroom.
  
  "Yeah, just whipped some foam up my ass again. I'm going out now!" 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.
  
  "That's her. Who am I talking to? she frowned. She was addressed by her title, which meant that she was a businessman or some kind of insurance agent.
  
  "My name is Detlef," the man introduced himself in a thick German accent. "Your number was given to me by one of Mr. David Perdue's assistants. I'm actually trying to get through to 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. It didn't make any sense. Perdue never left his assistant's field of vision. Perhaps his other employees, but never his assistant. The key, especially with his impulsive and adventurous nature, was that one of his men always knew where he was going in case something 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 back right away, okay? Give me your number, please."
  
  Nina did not trust the caller. Perdue couldn't just disappear like that, so she assumed it was a shady businessman trying to get Purdue's personal number by tricking her. He gave her his number and she hung up. When she called Purdue's mansion, his assistant answered.
  
  "Oh, hi, Nina," the woman greeted her, hearing the familiar voice of the pretty little historian Perdue always kept company with.
  
  "Listen, did a stranger just call you to talk to Dave?" Nina asked. The answer took her by surprise.
  
  "Yes, he called a few minutes ago asking for Mr. Purdue. But to be honest, I haven't heard anything from him today. Maybe he went away for the weekend? she mused.
  
  "He didn"t check with you if he was going anywhere?" Nina pushed. This worried her.
  
  "The last time I had him was in Las Vegas for a while, but on Wednesday he was going to go to Copenhagen. There was a posh hotel he wanted to visit, but that's all I know," she said. "Should we be worried?"
  
  Nina took a deep breath. "I don"t want to spread panic, but just to be sure, you know?"
  
  "Yes".
  
  "He traveled in his own plane?" Nina wanted to know. This would give her the opportunity to begin her search. After receiving confirmation from the assistant, Nina thanked her and ended the call to try calling Purdue on her cell phone. Nothing. She rushed to the bathroom door and stormed in, finding Sam just wrapping a towel around his waist.
  
  "Hey! If you wanted to play, you should have said so before I cleaned myself up," he smirked.
  
  Ignoring his joke, Nina muttered, "I think Perdue might be in trouble. I'm not sure if this is a Hangover 2 type problem or a real problem, but something is 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 guessed.
  
  "He never turns off his phone. You know, he has a funny voicemail that takes physics jokes or replies to, but it's never just dead, right? " - she said. "When I called him, there was nothing."
  
  "It's very strange," he agreed. "But let"s go home first, and then we can find out everything. This hotel he went to in Norway..."
  
  "Denmark," she corrected him.
  
  "Doesn't matter. Maybe he just really enjoys 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 like that," he shrugged.
  
  "Something doesn't feel right. I'm just going to call his pilot and get to the bottom of it," she announced.
  
  "Wonderful. But we can't miss our own flight, so pack your bags and let's go," he said, patting her on the shoulder.
  
  Nina forgot about the man who pointed out Purdue's disappearance to her, primarily because she was trying to figure out where her former lover might be. When they boarded the plane, they both turned off their phones.
  
  When Detlef tried to contact Nina again, he ran into another stalemate, which infuriated him and he immediately thought he was being played. If Perdue's female partner wanted to protect him by slipping away from the widow of the woman Perdue had killed, Detlef thought, he would have to resort to what he was trying to avoid.
  
  From somewhere in Gaby's small office, he heard a hissing sound. At first, Detlef dismissed it as an extraneous noise, but soon after, it turned into a static crackle. The widower listened to determine the source of the sound. It sounded like someone was changing channels on a radio, and from time to time a squeaky voice could be heard, muttering unintelligibly, but no music. Detlef quietly moved towards the place where the white noise was getting louder.
  
  Finally, he looked down at an air vent just above the floor of the room. It was half hidden by curtains, but there was no doubt that the sound was coming from there. Feeling the need to solve the mystery, Detlef went to get his toolbox.
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  On the way back to Edinburgh, Sam found it difficult to calm Nina down. She was worried about Purdue, especially because she couldn't use her phone during the long flight. Unable to call his crew to confirm his whereabouts, she was extremely restless for most of the flight.
  
  "There's nothing we can do right now, Nina," Sam said. "Just take a nap or whatever until we land. Time flies when you sleep," he winked.
  
  She gave him one of her looks-the one 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 that something was wrong.
  
  "You know I can never sleep. When I'm worried, I can't function properly until I'm done," she grumbled, folding her arms, leaning back and closing her eyes so she didn't have to deal with Sam. In turn, he rummaged through his hand luggage, looking for something to do.
  
  "Nuts! Shh, don't tell the flight attendants," he whispered to Nina, but she ignored his attempts at humor, held up a small bag of peanuts, and shook it. When her eyes were closed, he decided it would be best to leave her alone. "Yeah, maybe you should get some rest."
  
  She didn't say anything. 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 that were the case, Purdue would certainly have something to talk about along the way. She didn't like worrying about things that might turn out to be trivial, especially with her tendency to overanalyze. From time to time the turbulence of the flight tore her out of her light sleep. Nina did not realize how long she dozed off and on. It seemed like minutes had passed, but it stretched out for more than an hour.
  
  Sam slapped her arm where her fingers rested on the edge of the armrest. Instantly angry, Nina opened her eyes to grin at her companion, but this time he wasn't stupid. There were also no shocks to frighten him. But then Nina was shocked to see Sam tensing up, like the seizure she had witnessed in the village a few days ago.
  
  "God! Sam!" she said under her breath, trying not to draw attention yet. She grabbed his wrist with her other hand, trying to free him, but he was too strong. "Sam!" she squeezed out. "Sam, wake up!" She tried to speak softly, but his convulsions were beginning 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 friendly as she could. His eyes flew open, again cloudy and absent. "Oh God, no!" This time, she moaned a little louder as despair washed over her, afraid of what might happen. Nina remembered what happened to the man he had touched during his last seizure.
  
  "Sorry, ma'am," the flight attendant interrupted Nina's struggle. "Something wrong?" But when she asked, the stewardess saw Sam's creepy eyes staring up at the ceiling. "Oh shit," she muttered in alarm before going to the intercom to ask if there was a doctor among the passengers. Everywhere people turned to see what was causing the commotion; some screamed while others muffled their conversations.
  
  As Nina watched, Sam's mouth opened and closed rhythmically. "Oh my God! Do not speak. Please don't talk, she pleaded as she watched him. "Sam! You must wake up!"
  
  Through the clouds of his mind, Sam could hear her voice pleading from somewhere far away. She walked beside him to the well again, but this time the world was red. The sky was maroon and the ground was a dark orange, like brick dust under his feet. He could not see Nina, although he knew in his vision that she was present.
  
  When Sam got to the well, he didn't ask for a cup, but there was an empty cup on the crumbling wall. He leaned forward again to peer into the well. In front of him he saw a deep cylindrical interior, but this time the water was not deep below, in the shade. Beneath it was a well full of pure water.
  
  "Please, help! He's choking!" Sam heard Nina scream from somewhere far away.
  
  Down in the well, Sam saw Purdue reaching up.
  
  "Perdue?" Sam frowned. "What are you doing in the well?"
  
  Perdue gasped for air as his face barely surfaced. He approached Sam as the water rose higher and higher, looking scared. Ashen and desperate, his face twisted and his hands gripped the walls of the well. Perdue's lips were blue and he had dark circles under his eyes. Sam could see that his friend was naked in the churning water, but when he reached out to save Perdue, the water level dropped significantly.
  
  "He seems to be unable to 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 resembling a power plant. Black shadows dwelt behind four or five floors of empty window openings. No smoke rose from the towers, and large weeds sprouted in the walls through the cracks and crevices formed during the years of abandonment. From somewhere far away, from the depths of his being, he could hear an unceasing hum. The sound got louder, just a tiny bit, until he recognized it as some kind of generator.
  
  "We need to open his airway! Tilt his head back for me!" he heard the male voice again, but Sam tried to make out another sound, an approaching rumble that grew louder and louder, taking over the entire wasteland until the ground began to tremble.
  
  "Perdue!" he shouted, trying once more to save his friend. When he looked down the well again, it was empty except for a symbol painted on the wet, dirty floor at the bottom. He knew it too well. A black circle with clear rays, like stripes of lightning, silently lay at the bottom of the cylinder, like a spider in ambush. Sam gasped. "Order of the Black Sun".
  
  "Sam! Sam, can you hear me?" Nina insisted, her voice getting closer due to 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 else there to burn to the ground. Sam screamed as the pulsing waves approached him, forcing searing hot air into his nose and mouth. When she made contact with him, he was kidnapped at the very last moment.
  
  "Here he is!" came an approving male voice as Sam woke up on the floor in the aisle where he had been placed for emergency resuscitation. His face was cold and wet under Nina's gentle hand, and above him, smiling, was a middle-aged Indian.
  
  "Thank you very much, doctor!" Nina smiled at the Indian. She looked down at Sam. "Honey, how are you feeling?"
  
  "It's like I'm drowning," Sam managed to croak, feeling the warmth leave his eyeballs. "What's happened?"
  
  "Don"t worry about it now, okay?" she reassured him, looking very pleased and happy to see him. He rose to sit up, annoyed at the gazing audience, but he couldn't lash out at them for noticing such a sight, could he?
  
  "Oh my god, I feel like I swallowed a gallon of water in one go," he whimpered 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 help 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 yet. Nina's large dark eyes never left him, as if she was trying to figure out what he was thinking. And she, in fact, wondered exactly this question, but she gave him a few minutes to recover from the attack. What the other passengers heard him murmur to them was just the inarticulate gibberish of a man in the throes of a seizure, but Nina understood the words all too well. This unsettled her a lot, but she had to give Sam a moment before she began to ask if he even remembered what he saw while underwater.
  
  "Do you remember what you saw?" she asked involuntarily, a victim of her own impatience. Sam looked at her, looking surprised at first. After some thought, he opened his mouth to speak, but remained mute until he could articulate. In truth, this time he remembered every detail of the revelation much better than when Dr. Helberg had hypnotized him. Not wanting to cause Nina any more trouble, he softened his answer a bit.
  
  "I saw that well again. And this time the sky and the earth were not yellow, but red. Oh, and I wasn"t surrounded by people this time either," he reported in his most nonchalant tone.
  
  "This is all?" she asked, knowing he was leaving out most of it.
  
  "In principle, yes," he replied. After a long pause, he casually said to Nina, "I think we should follow your guess about Perdue."
  
  "Why?" she asked. Nina knew Sam had seen something because he had said Purdue's name when he was unconscious, but now she was playing dumb.
  
  "I just think you have a good reason to find out about his whereabouts. It all smells like trouble to me," he said.
  
  "Fine. I'm glad you finally understand the urgency. Maybe now you will stop trying to persuade me to relax, "she delivered her short sermon from the Gospel" I-told you so. Nina shifted in her seat just as the plane's intercom announced that they were about to land. It had been an unpleasant and long flight, and Sam hoped Perdue was still alive.
  
  Leaving the airport building, they decided to have an early dinner before heading back to Sam's apartment on the South Side.
  
  "I need to call Pilot Purdue. Just give me a minute before you hail a cab, okay?" Nina told Sam. He nodded and continued, pressing two cigarettes between his lips to light them up. Sam did an excellent job of hiding his concerns from Nina. She walked in circles around him, talking to the pilot, and he casually handed her one of the cigarettes as she passed in front of him.
  
  Sucking on a cigarette and pretending to look at the setting sun just above the Edinburgh skyline, Sam replayed the events of his vision, trying to find clues where Purdue might have been held. In the background, he could hear Nina's voice quivering with emotion with every bit of information she received on the phone. Depending on what they learn from Purdue's pilot, Sam intended to start at the very spot where Purdue was last seen.
  
  It was nice to smoke again after several hours of abstinence. Even the terrible sensation of drowning he had experienced earlier was not enough to keep him from inhaling the therapeutic poison. Nina tucked her phone into her bag, a cigarette between her lips. She looked completely flustered as she quickly approached him.
  
  "Get us a taxi," she said. "We need to get to the German consulate before they close."
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  Muscle spasms prevented Purdue from using his arms to keep himself afloat, threatening to sink him below the surface of the water. He swam for several hours in the cold water of a cylindrical tank, suffering from severe sleep deprivation and slow 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 out of self-pity, but rather accurate self-assessments. His body was starved, deprived of all nutrients and forced into self-preservation. Only one thing has changed since the room was lit two hours ago. The color of the water took on a sickening yellow that Purdue's overstressed senses perceived as urine.
  
  "Get me out!" he shouted several times during periods of absolute calm. His voice was hoarse and weak, trembling with cold that cut through him to the bone. Although the water had stopped flowing some time ago, he was still in danger of drowning if he stopped kicking his legs. Beneath his blistered feet lay at least 15 feet of a water-filled cylinder. He would not be able to stand if his limbs were too tired. He simply had no choice but to continue or he would surely die a horrific death.
  
  Through the water, Purdue noticed a ripple every minute. When this happened, his body twitched, but it didn't harm him, leading him to conclude that it was a low-current shock meant to keep his synapses active. Even in his delusional state, he found this rather unusual. If they wanted to electrocute him, they could easily have done it already. Perhaps, he thought, they wanted to torture him by running an electric current through the water, but misjudged the voltage.
  
  Distorted visions entered his weary mind. His brain was barely able to keep his limbs moving, tormented by lack of sleep and nutrition.
  
  "Don't stop swimming," he kept telling his brain, not sure if he was speaking out loud or if the voice he was hearing was coming from his mind. When he looked down, he saw with horror in the water below him a nest of writhing squid-like creatures. Screaming in fear at their appetite, he tried to pull himself up the slippery glass of the pool, but without something to grab onto, there was no escape.
  
  One tentacle reached out to him, causing a wave of hysteria in the billionaire. He felt the rubber appendage coil around his leg before pulling him into the depths of the cylindrical tank. Water filled his lungs, and his chest burned as he took one last look at the surface. Looking down at what awaited him was simply too scary.
  
  "Of all the deaths I've imagined for myself, I would never have thought I'd end up like this! Like an alpha fleece turns to ash," his confused mind struggled to think clearly. Lost and scared to death, Perdue gave up thinking, formulating, and even rowing. His heavy, limp body sank to the bottom of the tank while his open eyes saw nothing but yellow water as the 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 an infirmary. Everything from the walls to the linen was the same color as the hellish water he had just drowned in.
  
  "But if I drowned..." he tried to make sense of the strange happenings.
  
  "So you think you're ready to do your duty to the Order, Herr Perdue?" Klaus asked. He sat painfully neatly dressed in a gleaming brown double-breasted suit with an amber tie.
  
  For God's sake, just play along this time! Just play along, 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'm ready for any instructions," Purdue slurred. The drooping eyelids obscured his exploration of the room he was in as he combed the area with his eyes to determine where he was.
  
  "You don't sound particularly convincing," Klaus remarked dryly. His hands were tucked between his thighs, as if he was either warming them or speaking in high school girl body language. Perdue hated him and his disgusting German accent, delivered with the eloquence of a debutante, but he had to do his best 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 will pick her up from her final resting place and personally bring her back here."
  
  "You don't even know where you are here, my friend," Klaus smiled. "But I think you're trying to figure out where we are."
  
  "How else...?" It was Perdue who started, but his psyche quickly reminded him that he shouldn't ask questions. "I need to know where to put it."
  
  "They will tell you where to take it as soon as you pick it up. This will be your gift to the Black Sun," Klaus explained. "You understand, of course, that naturally you can never be Renat again because of your betrayal."
  
  "That's understandable," Purdue agreed.
  
  "But there is more to your task, my dear Herr Perdue. You are expected to eliminate your former colleagues Sam Cleave and that delightfully cocky Dr. Gould before you address the European Union Assembly," Klaus commanded.
  
  Perdue maintained a straight face and nodded.
  
  "Our representatives in the EU will organize an emergency meeting of the Council of the European Union in Brussels and will invite the international media, during which you will make a short announcement on our behalf," Klaus continued.
  
  "I suppose I'll get the information when the time is right," Perdue said, and Klaus nodded. "Right. I will pull the necessary strings to start searching in Königsberg right now."
  
  "Invite Gould and Clive to join you, okay?" Klaus growled. "Two birds, as they say."
  
  "Child's play," Perdue smiled, still under the influence of the hallucinogenic drugs he'd swallowed in water after a night out in the heat. "Give me... two months."
  
  Klaus threw his head back and cackled like an old woman, crowing with delight. He rocked back and forth until he regained his breath. "My dear, you will do it in two weeks."
  
  "This is impossible!" Perdue exclaimed, trying not to sound hostile. "Just organizing such a search requires weeks of planning."
  
  "This is true. I know. But we have a schedule that is significantly tightened due to all the delays we have had due to your unpleasant attitude," the German invader sighed. "And our opposition will no doubt figure out our game plan with each of our advances towards their hidden treasure."
  
  Purdue was curious to know who was behind this confrontation, but he didn't dare ask the question. He feared that this might provoke his captor into another round of barbaric torture.
  
  "Now let those legs heal first and we will make sure you go home in six days. There is no point in sending you on an errand as...?" Klaus chuckled, "What do you Englishmen call it? Is the cripple?"
  
  Perdue smiled resignedly, genuinely upset that he had to stay another hour, let alone a week. By now, he's learned to just deal with it so as not to provoke Klaus into throwing him into the octopus pit again. The German got up and left the room, shouting, "Enjoy your pudding!"
  
  Perdue looked at the delicious thick custard they served him when he was in the hospital bed, but it felt like eating a brick. Having lost several kilograms after several days of fasting in a torture chamber, Perdue could hardly resist 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 something that wasn't yellow or amber. It was hard for him to know if it was the effect of the sickly yellow water in which he had almost drowned, which made his eyes see everything in amber tones. That was the only explanation he had for why he saw these strange colors everywhere.
  
  Klaus walked down the long, arched corridor to where his security men were waiting for 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 who was raised on the ideology of the Black Sun organization. His grandfather was Hauptsturmführer Karl Kemper, commander of Panzergruppe Kleist during the Prague Offensive in 1945.
  
  From a young age, his father taught Klaus 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. On the example of his father, Klaus quickly realized that charisma can be as dangerous as a Molotov cocktail. Many times he saw how his father and grandfather intimidated independent and powerful people to the point that they would give up simply by addressing them with certain gestures and tone of voice.
  
  Klaus once wished he had such power, as his lean physique would never make him a good competitor in the more masculine arts. Since he had neither athleticism nor strength, it was only natural for him to immerse himself in vast knowledge of the world and verbal prowess. With this seemingly meager talent, the young Klaus managed to raise his position in the Order of the Black Sun from time to time after 1946, until he reached the prestigious status of the organization's chief reformer. Not only did Klaus Kemper garner huge 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 Black Sun covert operations.
  
  The particular project he has been busy with now, and for which he has brought in many notable collaborators in recent months, will be his crowning achievement. In fact, if everything had gone according to plan, Klaus might well have taken the highest seat in the Order - Renatus' seat - for himself. After that, he would become the architect of world domination, but in order for all this to come true, he needed the baroque beauty of the treasure that once adorned the palace of Tsar Peter the Great.
  
  Ignoring his colleagues' bewilderment about the treasure he wanted to find, Klaus knew that only the best explorer in the world could bring it back for him. David Purdue - a genius inventor, billionaire adventurer, and academic philanthropist - had all the resources and knowledge Kemper needed to find the little-known artifact. It was just so unfortunate that he hadn't been able to successfully force the Scot into submission, even if Perdue thought Kemper could be fooled by his sudden compliance.
  
  In the lobby, his henchmen respectfully greeted him as he left. Klaus shook his head in disappointment as he walked past them.
  
  "I'll be back tomorrow," he told them.
  
  "Minutes for David Perdue, sir?" - asked the head.
  
  Klaus stepped out into the barren wasteland surrounding their settlement in southern Kazakhstan and bluntly replied, "Kill him."
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  At the German Consulate, Sam and Nina contacted the British Embassy in Berlin. They found out that Perdue had an appointment with Ben Carrington and the late Gaby Holzer days before, but that was all they knew.
  
  They had to go home as it was closing time for today, but at least they had enough to do to continue. That was Sam Cleve's forte. As a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative reporter, he knew exactly how to get the information he needed without throwing rocks into a still pond.
  
  "I wonder why he would want to date this Gabi woman," Nina remarked, filling her mouth with cookies. She was going to eat them with hot chocolate, but she was starving and the kettle just took too long to heat up.
  
  "I'm going to check it out as soon as I turn on my laptop," Sam replied, tossing his bag on the couch before taking his luggage to the laundry. "Make me some hot chocolate too, please!"
  
  "Of course," she smiled, wiping the crumbs from her mouth. In temporary seclusion in the kitchen, Nina couldn't help remembering a frightening episode on board the plane flying home. If she could find a way to anticipate Sam's seizures, that would be a big help, lessening the chance of disaster the next time they might not be so lucky with a doctor nearby. What if it happened when they were alone?
  
  'What if it happens during sex?' Nina thought about the terrifying but hilarious possibilities. "Just imagine what he could do if he directed that energy not through his palm, but through something else?" She began to giggle at the funny images in her mind. 'That would justify yelling 'Oh my God!' wouldn't it? Playing all sorts of ridiculous scenarios in her head, Nina couldn't help but laugh. She knew it wasn't funny at all, but it just 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 brush it off, but she shook with laughter, snorting between giggles.
  
  "Nothing," she chuckled. "Just some cartoon in my head about a lightning rod. Forget it".
  
  "Good," he grinned. He liked it when Nina laughed. Not only did she have a musical laugh that people found contagious, but she was usually a little high-strung and temperamental. Unfortunately, it has become rare to see her laugh so sincerely.
  
  Sam positioned his laptop so that he could connect it to his fixed router for faster broadband speed than his wireless device.
  
  "After all, I had to let Purdue make me one of his wireless modems," he muttered. "These things predict the future."
  
  "Do you have any more cookies?" she called him from the kitchen as he could hear her opening and closing cabinet doors everywhere in her search.
  
  "No, but my neighbor made me some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Check them out, but I'm sure they're still good. Look in the jar on the fridge," he instructed.
  
  "Caught them! Ta!"
  
  Sam opened up a search for Gabi Holtzer and immediately found something that made him very suspicious.
  
  "Nina! You won't believe this," he exclaimed as he scanned countless news reports and articles about the death of a German ministry spokesman. "This woman worked for the German government some time ago doing these murders. Remember those murders in Berlin and Hamburg and a few other places just before we went on vacation?"
  
  "Yes, it's vague. So what about her?" Nina asked as she sat down on the arm of the sofa with her cup and biscuits.
  
  "She met Purdue at the British High Commission in Berlin, and understand this: the day she reportedly committed suicide," he emphasized the last two words in his confusion. "That was the same day Perdue met this Carrington guy."
  
  "That was the last time anyone saw him," Nina remarked. "So Perdue goes missing the same day he meets a woman who killed herself shortly after. This smacks of a conspiracy, doesn't it?"
  
  "Apparently the only person in the meeting who isn't dead or missing is Ben Carrington," Sam added. He looked at the photo of the Briton on the screen to memorize his face. "I would like to talk to you, son."
  
  "I take it we're heading south tomorrow," Nina suggested.
  
  "Yes, that is, as soon as we pay a visit to Reichtisusis," Sam said. "It doesn't hurt to make sure he hasn't come home yet."
  
  "I called him on his mobile over and over again. It's off, no vocal cords, nothing," she repeated.
  
  "How was this dead woman related to Purdue?" Sam asked.
  
  "The pilot said Purdue 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 this happened," Nina reported. "But that was all the captain knew. This was their last contact, so the flight crew is still in Berlin."
  
  "Jesus. I have to admit that I have a very bad feeling about this," admitted Sam.
  
  "Finally you admit it," she replied. "You mentioned something when you had that fit, Sam. And that something definitely means stuff for a shit storm."
  
  "What?" - he asked.
  
  She took another bite of the cookie. "Black Sun".
  
  A grim expression crossed Sam's face as his eyes stared at the floor. "Damn it, I forgot that part," he said quietly. "Now I remember."
  
  "Where did you see it?" she asked bluntly, aware of the terrible nature of the mark and its ability to turn conversations into ugly memories.
  
  "At the bottom of the well," he said. "I've been thinking. Maybe I should talk to Dr. Helberg about this vision. He will know how to interpret it."
  
  "While you are at it, ask him for his clinical opinion on visionary cataracts. I bet it's a new phenomenon that he can't explain," she said firmly.
  
  "You don't believe in psychology, do you?" Sam sighed.
  
  "No, Sam, I don't know. It cannot be that a certain set of behavioral patterns is enough 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 farts, and you continue to trust his not-so-successful attempts to formulate your own theories."
  
  "How can I know more than him?" he snapped back at her.
  
  "Because you live it, 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 in the world he can even begin to understand what we're dealing with!" Nina snapped. She was so disappointed with him and his naive trust in Dr. Helberg.
  
  "And what do you think we're dealing with, honey?" he asked sarcastically. "Is this something from one of your ancient history books? Oh yes, god. Now I remembered! You might believe it."
  
  "Helberg is a psychiatrist! All he knows is that a bunch of fucking psychopaths demonstrated in some study based on circumstances far from the level of weirdness that you experienced, my dear! Wake up, damn it! Whatever is wrong with you is not just psychosomatic. Something external controls your visions. Something intelligent is manipulating your cerebral cortex," she stated her point of view.
  
  "Because it speaks through me?" he smiled sardonically. "Please note that everything that is said here represents what I already know, what is already in my subconscious."
  
  "Then explain the thermal anomaly," she retorted quickly, momentarily baffling Sam.
  
  "Apparently my brain also controls my body temperature. The same, - he objected, 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 in Bali picked up, remember? Your eyes let through so much concentrated electricity that "your head should have exploded", remember?"
  
  Sam didn't answer.
  
  "And one more thing," she continued her verbal victory, "it is said that hypnosis causes increased levels of oscillatory electrical activity in certain brain neurons, genius! Whatever hypnotizes you sends an incredible amount of electrical energy through you, Sam. Can't you see that what is happening to you is categorically beyond the scope of simple psychology?
  
  "Then what do you suggest?" he shouted. "Shaman? Electroshock therapy? Paintball? Colonoscopy?
  
  "Oh my God!" She rolled her eyes. "No one talks to you. You know? Deal with this shit yourself. Go to that charlatan and let him touch your brain a little more until you become as ignorant as he is. It shouldn't be a long trip for you!"
  
  With that, she ran out of the room and slammed the door. If she had a car there, she would have gone straight home to Oban, but she got stuck for the night. Sam knew better than to mess with Nina when she got mad, so he spent the night on the couch.
  
  The annoying ringtone on her phone woke Nina up the next morning. She awoke from a deep dreamless sleep that was too short and sat up in bed. A phone was ringing somewhere in her purse, but she couldn't find it in time to answer.
  
  "Good, good, damn it," she muttered through the cotton wool of her awakening mind. Frantically fumbling with makeup, keys, and deodorant, she finally took out her cell phone, but the call had already ended.
  
  Nina frowned as she looked at her watch. It was already 11:30 am and Sam let her sleep.
  
  "Great. You're already annoying me today," she scolded Sam in his absence. "You'd better sleep by yourself." When she left the room, she realized that Sam had left. As she made her way to the teapot, she glanced at the screen on her phone. Her eyes could barely focus, but still she was sure she didn't know the number. She pressed redial.
  
  "Doctor Helberg's Office," the secretary replied.
  
  Oh my God, Nina thought. 'He went there.' But she kept her cool in case she made a mistake. "Hello, this is Dr. Gould. Did I just get a call from this number?"
  
  "Doctor Gould?" the lady repeated excitedly. "Yes! Yes, we tried to contact you. It's about Mr. Cleve. Is it possible...?"
  
  "He is OK?" Nina exclaimed.
  
  "Could you come to 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 replied hesitantly.
  
  "What the hell does that mean?" Nina seethed, her rage fueled by concern for Sam's well-being. She heard a noise in the background.
  
  "Well, ma'am, he seems to be... um... levitation."
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  Detlef dismantled the floorboards where the vent was, but when he inserted the head of a screwdriver into the second screw hole, the whole structure went into the wall where it was installed. A loud crack startled him, and he fell backwards, kicking off the wall with his feet. As he sat and watched, the wall began to move sideways like a sliding door.
  
  "What the...?" he goggled, leaning on his hands where he was still cringing on the floor. The doorway led into what he thought was their next apartment, but instead, the dark room turned out to be a secret room next to Gaby's office for a purpose he was soon to discover. He rose to his feet, dusting off his trousers and shirt. While the darkened doorway was waiting for him, he didn't want to just go inside, because his training had taught him not to rush into unknown places recklessly - at least not without a weapon.
  
  Detlef went to fetch his Glock and flashlight, in case the unknown room was rigged or alarmed. It was what he knew best-security breaches and anti-homicide protocol. With absolute precision, he aimed the muzzle into the darkness, adjusting his heart rate to deliver a precise shot when needed. But the steady pulse couldn't curb the thrill or the adrenaline rush. Detlef felt like he was back in the good old days again as he entered the room, assessing the perimeter and carefully scanning the interior for any signaling or triggering devices.
  
  But, to his disappointment, it was only a room, although what was inside was far from uninteresting.
  
  "Idiot," he scolded himself when he saw the standard light switch next to the door frame on the inside. He turned it on to give him a full view of the room. Gaby's radio room was lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. He knew it was hers because her cassis-colored lipstick stood at attention next to one of her cigarette cases. One of her cardigans was still draped over the back of a small office chair, and Detlef again had to overcome his sadness at the sight of his wife's things.
  
  He picked up the soft cashmere cardigan and inhaled her scent deeply before putting it back down to inspect the equipment. The room was furnished with four tables. One where her chair stood, two others on either side of it, and another by the door where she kept stacks of papers in what looked like folders he couldn't immediately identify. In the timid light of the light bulb, Detlef felt as if he had stepped back in time. A musty smell that reminded him of a museum filled the room with unpainted cement walls.
  
  "Wow, honey, I would think you of all people would hang up some wallpaper and a couple of mirrors," he said to his wife, looking around the radio room. "That's what you've always done; decorated everything."
  
  The place reminded him of a dungeon or an interrogation room in an old spy movie. On her desk was a contraption that looked like a CB radio, but it was somehow different. Being a complete layman in this kind of outdated radio communication, Detlef looked around for a switch. There was a protruding steel switch attached to the bottom right corner, so he tried it. Suddenly, two small gauges lit up, their needles going up and down as static hissed through the speaker.
  
  Detlef looked at the other devices. "They look too complex to understand without being a rocket scientist," he remarked. "What does it all mean, Gaby?" he asked, noticing a large corkboard set up above the table where stacks of papers lay. Pinned to the board, he saw several articles about the murders that Gaby had been investigating without the knowledge of her superiors. On the side, she scrawled 'MILLA' with a red felt-tip pen.
  
  "Who is Milla, baby?" he whispered. He remembered the entry in her diary of a certain Milla at the same time interval as the two men who were present at her death. "I need to know. It is important".
  
  But all he could hear was the hissing whisper of frequencies coming in waves over the radio. His eyes wandered further down the board, where something bright and shiny caught his attention. Two full-color photographs showed the palatial room in gilded splendor. "Wow," muttered Detlef, stunned by the details and intricate work that adorned the walls of the luxurious room. Amber and gold stucco formed beautiful emblems and forms, framed at the corners by small figures of cherubs and goddesses.
  
  "Estimated at $143 million? God, Gaby, do you know what that is?" he muttered as he read the details about the lost work of art 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 articles on the murders had notes that hinted at the possibility that the Amber Room had something to do with it. Under the word 'MILLA', Detlef found a map of Russia and its borders with Belarus, Ukraine, Kazakhstan, and Lithuania. Above the Kazakh Steppe area and Kharkov, Ukraine, there were numbers written in red pen, but they didn't have a familiar pattern, such as a telephone number or Coordinates Seemingly by accident, Gaby wrote these two-digit numbers on the maps she pinned to the wall.
  
  What caught his attention was an apparently valuable relic hanging from the corner of a cork board. On a purple ribbon with a dark blue stripe in the middle was attached a medal with an inscription in Russian. Detlef removed it carefully and pinned it to his waistcoat under his shirt.
  
  "What the hell are you getting yourself into, honey?" he whispered to his wife. He took several pictures 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 Perdue you dated, Gaby," he vowed. "And then I will find his friends who will tell me where he is, otherwise they will die."
  
  Suddenly, a cacophony of interference came from the makeshift radio on Gaby's desk, scaring Detlef half to death. He leaned back against the paper-strewn desk, pushing it with such force that some of the folders slid off and scattered all over the floor in a mess.
  
  "God! My fucking heart!" he yelled, clutching his chest. The red sensor arrows quickly jumped left and right. This reminded Detlef of old hi-fi systems, which in this way displayed the volume or clarity of the media played on them. Through the interference, he heard the voice come and go. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was not a broadcast, but a call. Detlef sat on his dead wife's chair and listened attentively. It was a female voice, speaking one word at a time. Frowning, he leaned over. His eyes immediately widened. There was a distinct word that he recognized.
  
  "Gaby!"
  
  He sat up warily, having no idea what to do. The woman continued to call his wife in Russian; he could tell, but did not speak the language. Determined to talk to her, Detlef hurried to open his phone's browser to look at the old radios and how they were controlled. In his frenzy, his thumbs constantly entered misspelled searches, which drove him into indescribable despair.
  
  "Crap! Not "communication with a member"! he complained as several pornographic results appeared on his phone screen. His face was glistening with sweat as he hurried to get help operating the old communications device. "Wait! Wait!" he called over the radio as a woman's voice called for Gaby to answer. "Wait for me! Ugh, damn it!"
  
  Enraged by the unsatisfactory results of his Google search, Detlef grabbed a thick, dusty book and threw it at the radio. The iron case wobbled slightly, and the pipe fell off the table, dangling from the cord. "Fuck you!" he squealed, filled with despair at not being able to control the device.
  
  There was a crackle on the radio, and a male voice with a thick Russian accent came from the speaker. "Fuck you too, bro."
  
  Detlef was amazed. He jumped up and walked over to where he had put the device. He grabbed the swinging microphone he had just attacked with the book and clumsily picked it up. There was no button on the device to turn on the broadcast, so Detlef just started talking.
  
  "Hello? Hey! Hello?" he called, his eyes darting about in the desperate hope that someone would answer him. His other hand rested softly on the transmitter. For a while, only static noise dominated. Then the creak of channel switching in various modulations filled the eerie little room as its only occupant waited in anticipation.
  
  In the end, Detlef had to admit defeat. Distraught, he shook his head. "Please speak?" he moaned in English, realizing that the Russian on the other end probably didn't speak German. "Please? I don't know how to work with this thing. I have to inform you that Gabi is my wife."
  
  A woman's voice creaked from the speaker. Detlef perked up. "Is that Milla? Are you Milla?
  
  With slow reluctance, the woman replied, "Where is Gaby?"
  
  "She's dead," he replied, then inquired aloud about the protocol. "Should I say "end"?"
  
  "No, it's an L-band covert transmission using AM as the carrier wave," she assured him in broken English, though she was fluent in the terminology of her trade.
  
  "What?" Detlef squealed in utter confusion at a subject in which he was completely unskilled.
  
  She sighed. "This conversation is like a phone call. You say. I speak. Don't say 'finished'."
  
  Detlef was relieved to hear this. "Sehr gut!"
  
  "Speak louder. I can barely hear you. Where is Gabi? she repeated, not clearly hearing his previous reply.
  
  It was difficult for Detlef to repeat this news. "My wife...Gaby is dead."
  
  For a long time there was no answer, only a distant crunch of static. Then the man reappeared. "You are lying".
  
  "No no. No! I am not lying. My wife was killed four days ago," he defended himself apprehensively. "Check the Internet! Check out CNN!"
  
  "Your name," the man said. "That's not your real name. Something that identifies you. Only between you and Milla."
  
  Detlef didn't even think about it. "Widower".
  
  crackling.
  
  Charm.
  
  Detlef hated the hollow sound of white noise and the dead air. He felt so empty, so alone and devastated by the emptiness of information - in a way that defined him.
  
  "Widower. Switch the transmitter to 1549 MHz. Wait for Metallica. Learn the numbers. Use your GPS and leave on Thursday," the man instructed.
  
  Click
  
  The click echoed in Detlef's ears like a gunshot, leaving him devastated and confused. Stopping in bewilderment, he froze with outstretched arms. "What the fuck?"
  
  He was suddenly spurred on by instructions he was about to forget.
  
  "Come back! Hello?" he shouted into the loudspeaker, but the Russians left. He threw his hands into the air, roaring in frustration. "Fifteen forty-nine," he said. "Fifteen forty-nine. Remember it!" He frantically searched for the approximate value of the number on the dial indicator. Slowly turning the knob, he found the indicated station.
  
  "So what now?" he whined. He had a pen and paper ready for the numbers, but he had no idea what it was like 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 started playing music. He recognized Metallica, but he didn't know the song. The sound gradually faded away as a woman's voice began to read out the numeric codes, and Detlef wrote them down. When the music started playing again, he concluded that the broadcast was over. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a long sigh of relief. He was intrigued, but his training also warned him that he couldn't trust anyone he didn't know.
  
  If his wife was murdered by people she was involved with, it could very well be Milla and her accomplice. Until he knew for sure, he couldn't just 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 ash-white. As if she knew Nina, she immediately pointed to the closed doors. Behind them she could hear a male voice speaking very thoughtfully and very calmly.
  
  "Please. Just come in," the secretary pointed to Nina, who was huddled against the wall in horror.
  
  "Where is the guard?" Nina asked softly.
  
  "He left when Mr. Cleave started levitating," she said. "Everyone ran out of here. On the other hand, with all the trauma it caused, we'll have a lot to do in the future," she shrugged.
  
  Nina entered the room, where she heard only the doctor's conversation. She was thankful she didn't hear "the other Sam" talking as she pushed the doorknob. She stepped carefully across the threshold into the room, which was lit only by the rare light of the midday sun filtering through the closed shutters. The psychologist saw her but kept talking while his patient hovered vertically, a few inches off the ground. It was a frightening sight, but Nina had to remain calm and evaluate the problem logically.
  
  Dr. Helberg urged Sam to come back from the session, but when he snapped his fingers to wake Sam up, nothing happened. He shook his head, looking at Nina, showing his confusion. She looked at Sam, whose head was thrown back and his milky white eyes were wide open.
  
  "I tried to get him out of there for almost half an hour," he whispered to Nina. "He told me that you have already seen him twice in this condition. Do you know what's going on?
  
  She shook her head slowly, but decided to take the opportunity. Nina took her mobile phone out of her jacket pocket and pressed the record button to film the action. She carefully lifted him up so that Sam's entire body was in frame before speaking.
  
  Gathering her courage, Nina took a deep breath and said, "Kalihasa."
  
  Dr. Helberg frowned, shrugging. "What is this?" he asked her with his lips alone.
  
  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 was so afraid of. The words came out of Sam, but it wasn't his voice or his lips speaking them. The psychologist and the historian watched in horror at the horrific episode.
  
  "Kalihasa!" said a voice of indeterminate gender in chorus. "The vessel is primitive. The vessel exists very rarely."
  
  Neither Nina nor Dr. Helberg knew what the statement was about 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, having no idea what to say. There was a slim chance that this item could be spoken to or reasoned with.
  
  "Kalihasa," Nina muttered timidly. "Who are you?"
  
  "Conscious," it replied.
  
  "What kind of creature are you?" she asked, paraphrasing what she thought was a misunderstanding on the part of the voice.
  
  "Consciousness," he replied. "Your mind is wrong."
  
  Dr. Helberg gasped excitedly as he discovered the creature's ability to communicate. Nina tried not to take it personally.
  
  "What do you want?" Nina asked a little more boldly.
  
  "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, getting the hang of formulating her questions.
  
  "The vessel is primitive."
  
  "You are a god?" she said without thinking.
  
  "You are a god?" it happened again.
  
  Nina sighed in annoyance. The doctor motioned for her to continue, but she was disappointed. Frowning and pursing her lips, she said to the doctor, "It's just a repetition of what I'm saying."
  
  "This is not an answer. He's asking," the voice replied, to her surprise.
  
  "I am not a god," she answered modestly.
  
  "That's why I exist," it quickly replied.
  
  Suddenly, Dr. Helberg fell to the floor and began to convulse, just like a local resident in the village. Nina panicked but continued to record both men.
  
  "No!" she screamed. "Stop! Stop it now!"
  
  "You are a god?" it asked.
  
  "No!" she screamed. "Stop killing him! Right now!"
  
  "You are a god?" she was asked again as the poor psychologist writhed in agony.
  
  She yelled sternly as a last resort before starting to look for the water pitcher again. "Yes! I'm God!"
  
  In the blink of an eye, Sam fell to the ground and Dr. Helberg stopped screaming. Nina rushed to visit them both.
  
  "Sorry!" she called to the receptionist. "Could you come over here and help me, please?"
  
  No one came. Assuming that the woman had left like the others, Nina opened the door to the waiting room. The secretary was sitting on the sofa in the waiting room with the guard's pistol in her hand. At her feet lay a dead security officer who had been 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 it another bout of insanity? This time I was half aware of it, you know?"
  
  "What do you have in mind?" she asked.
  
  "I was conscious throughout this and it was as if I was gaining control of the current that was going through me. That argument with you just now. Nina, it was me. These were my thoughts, which came out a little distorted and sounded like they were taken from a horror movie script! And you know what? he whispered with great insistence.
  
  "What?"
  
  "I still feel it coming through me," he admitted, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Doc?" Sam blurted out when he saw what his insane powers 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 to use that... other side... to manipulate someone's intentions?"
  
  "No, I don't think so," he suggested. "Why?"
  
  "Listen, Sam, you just manipulated Dr. Helberg's brain structures to induce a seizure," she insisted. "You did this to him. You did this by manipulating the electrical activity in his brain, so you should be able to do this with 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 okay, I'll try," Sam agreed and stumbled to his feet. He peered around the corner and saw a woman sitting on a couch smoking a cigarette, holding a security officer's pistol in her other hand. Sam looked back at Dr. Helberg, "What's her name?"
  
  "Elma," replied the doctor.
  
  Elma? When Sam called around the corner, something happened that he hadn't been aware of before. When she heard her name, her brain activity increased, instantly connecting with Sam. A weak electric current went through him like a wave, but it didn't hurt. Mentally, she felt as if Sam was attached to her by some invisible cables. He wasn't sure if he should speak to her out loud and tell 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. Just thinking of Elma, he sent her a command, feeling her slithering along the perceived thread to her mind. As it connected with her, Sam felt his thoughts merge with her consciousness.
  
  "What's happening?" Dr. Helberg asked Nina, but she pulled him away from Sam and whispered to him not to move and to wait. They both watched from a safe distance as Sam's eyes rolled back 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 star that she was right in her assumption.
  
  "Maybe that's why I couldn't get him out of it," Dr. Helberg told her. "After all, it was not a hypnotic state. It was his own mind, only expanded!"
  
  Nina had to agree that this was an exciting and logical conclusion on the part of a psychiatrist, for whom she had not previously had much professional respect.
  
  Elma stood up and tossed the weapon into the middle of the waiting room. She then entered the doctor's office with a cigarette in her hand. Nina and Dr. Helberg ducked at the sight of her, but all she did was smile at Sam and give him her cigarette.
  
  "May I offer you one too, Dr. Gould?" she smiled. "I have two more left in my backpack."
  
  "Uh, no thanks," Nina replied.
  
  Nina was amazed. Was the woman who had just murdered a man in cold blood really offering her a cigarette? Sam looked at Nina with a boastful smile, to which she just shook her head and sighed. Elma went to the front desk and called the police.
  
  "Hello, I want to report a murder in Dr. Helberg's office in Old Town..." she reported her act.
  
  "God damn it, Sam!" Nina gasped.
  
  "I know, right?" he smiled, but looked a little flustered by this revelation. "Doc, you're going to have to come up with a story to make sense to the police. I had no control over any of the shit 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 jail for a crime she didn't technically commit?"
  
  "I'm sure you can attest to her mental stability and perhaps find an explanation that proves she was in a trance or something," Nina suggested. Her phone rang and she went to the window to answer the call while Sam and Dr. Helberg watched Elma's actions to make sure she didn't run away.
  
  "In truth, whoever was controlling you, Sam, wanted to kill you, whether it was my assistant or me," Dr. Helberg warned. "Now that it is safe to assume that this power is your own consciousness, I implore you to be very careful about your intentions or attitude or you may end up killing the one you love."
  
  Nina suddenly caught her breath, so much so 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 showed up. They had no idea what the psychologist was going to tell the authorities, but now they needed to think about more important things.
  
  "Did he say where he was?" Sam asked as they made their way to 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 devices at Reichtisusis. Some kind of contraption that looks like an Enigma machine, she told him.
  
  "Do you know what it's like?" he asked as they drove to Purdue Manor.
  
  "Yes. It was widely used by the Nazis during World War II for communication. In fact, this is an electromechanical rotary cipher machine," explained Nina.
  
  "And you know how to work this thing?" Sam wanted to know because they knew he would be out of his depth trying to figure out complex codes. He once tried to write code for a software course and ended up inventing a program that did nothing but create umlauts and stationary bubbles.
  
  "Perdue gave me some numbers to put into the computer, he said that 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 dominated the winding road. "I hope he doesn't get discovered while he waits for us to get to him."
  
  "No, as long as he's safe. He told me that the guards had been ordered to kill him, but he managed to escape from the room they were holding him in. Now he is apparently hiding in the computer room and has hacked into their lines so he can call us," she explained.
  
  "Ha! Old school! Well done, old cock!" Sam chuckled at Perdue's resourcefulness.
  
  They turned into the driveway to Purdue's house. The guards knew their boss's closest friends and waved heartily at them as they opened the huge black gate. Purdue's assistant met them at the door.
  
  "Did you find Mr. Perdue?" she asked. "Oh, thank God!"
  
  "Yes, we need to get to his electronics room, please. This is very urgent," Sam asked, and they hurried to the basement, which Perdue had converted into one of his holy chapels of invention abundance. On one side he kept everything he was still working on, and on the other side was everything he had completed but had 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 this thing here?" Sam was worried. His hands ran over the sides of his head as he scanned the place for what Nina described as some kind of typewriter. "I don't see anything like that here."
  
  "Me too," she sighed. "Just help me look through the cabinets as well, please, Sam."
  
  "I hope you know how to handle this thing, otherwise Perdue will be history," he told her as he opened the doors of the first closet, ignoring any jokes he might make about the pun of his statement.
  
  "Given all my research for one of my graduate theses in 2004, I should be able to sort this out, don't worry," Nina said, rummaging through several cabinets that lined up in rows against 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. "This is it?"
  
  "Yes that's it!" - she exclaimed. "Okay, put it here."
  
  Nina cleared the small desk and pulled a chair away from another desk to sit in front of it. She took out a sheet of numbers that Purdue had given her and set to work. While Nina focused on the process, Sam reflected on the most recent events, trying to make sense of them. If he could actually get people to obey his orders, it would completely change his life, but something about his handy new set of talents is a whole bunch of red lights in his head.
  
  "Sorry, Dr. Gould," one of Purdue's housekeepers called from the door. "There's a gentleman here, wants to see you. He says he spoke to you on the phone a few days ago about Mr. Perdue."
  
  "Oh shit!" Nina was crying. "I completely forgot about this guy! Sam, the man who warned us that Perdue was missing? This must be him. Hell, he'll be upset."
  
  "Be that as it may, he seems very nice," the employee put in.
  
  "I'll go talk to him. What's his name?" Sam asked her.
  
  "Holzer," she replied. "Detlef Holzer".
  
  "Nina, Holzer is the last name of the woman who died at the consulate, isn"t it?" he asked. She nodded and suddenly remembered the name of the man on the phone, now that Sam had mentioned him.
  
  Sam left Nina to handle her case and got up to talk to 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, holding out his hand. "Sam Cleave. I am a friend of Dr. Gould and Mr. Perdue. How can I help you?"
  
  Detlef smiled heartily and shook hands with Sam. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cleve. Um, where's Dr. Gould? It seems like everyone I try to talk to disappears and someone else comes in to take their place."
  
  "She's just passionate about the project right now, but she's here. Oh, and she apologizes for not calling you back yet, but it looks like you were able to find Mr. Purdue's belongings pretty easily," Sam remarked as he sat down.
  
  "Have you managed to find him yet? I really need to talk to him about my wife," Detlef said as he played open cards with Sam. Sam looked at him, intrigued.
  
  "May I ask what relation Mr. Perdue had to your wife?" Were they business partners?" Sam knew full well that they had met in Carrington's office to talk about the landing ban, but first he wanted to meet a stranger.
  
  "No, actually, I wanted to ask him some questions about the circumstances of my wife's death. You see, Mr Cleave, I know she didn't commit suicide. Mr Perdue was there when she was killed. Do you understand what I'm getting at?" he asked Sam in a more stern tone.
  
  "You think Perdue killed your wife," Sam confirmed.
  
  "I believe," Detlef replied.
  
  "And you are here for revenge?" Sam asked.
  
  "Would it really be so far-fetched?" - objected the German giant. "He was the last person to see Gaby alive. What else would I be here for?"
  
  The atmosphere between them quickly became tense, but Sam tried to use common sense and act politely.
  
  "Mr. Holzer, I know Dave Purdue. He is by no means a killer. This man is an inventor and explorer who is only interested in historical relics. What benefit do you think he would get from the death of your wife?" Sam inquired about his journalistic skills.
  
  "I know that she was trying to expose the people behind these murders in Germany and that it had something to do with the elusive Amber Room, which was lost during World War II. She then went to meet David Perdue and died. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?" he confronted Sam.
  
  "I can understand how you came to that conclusion, Mr. Holzer, but right after Gaby's death, Perdue went missing..."
  
  "That's the point. Wouldn't the killer try to disappear so they wouldn't get caught?" Detlef interrupted him. Sam had to admit that the man had good reason to suspect Perdue of killing his wife.
  
  "Okay, I"ll tell you what," Sam offered diplomatically, "once we find..."
  
  "Sam! I can't get the damn thing to give me all the words. Perdue's last two sentences say something about the Amber Room and the Red Army!" Nina called out as she ran up the steps to the mezzanine.
  
  "This is Dr. Gould, right?" Detlef asked Sam. "I recognize her voice on the phone. Tell me, Mr. Cleave, what does she have to do with David Purdue?"
  
  "I am a colleague and friend. I advise him on historical matters during his expeditions, Mr. Holzer," she firmly answered his question.
  
  "Glad 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 that Dr. Gould just spoke about?" And they both happen to know David Purdue, so why don"t you tell me what should I think?
  
  Nina and Sam exchanged scowls. It seemed that their visitor was missing pieces in their own puzzle.
  
  "Mr. Holzer, what subjects are you talking about?" Sam asked. "If you could help us sort this out, we could probably find Purdue, and then I promise you, you can ask him whatever you want."
  
  "Without killing him, of course," Nina added, joining the two men on the velvet seats in the living room.
  
  "My wife investigated the murders of financiers and politicians in Berlin. But after her death, I found a room - a radio room, I think - and there I found articles about the murders and many documents about the Amber Room, which was once presented to Tsar Peter the Great by King Frederick William I of Prussia, "Detlef conveyed. "Gaby knew there was a connection between them, but I need to talk to David Perdue to find out what it is."
  
  "Well, there's a way you can talk to him, Mr. Holzer," Nina shrugged. "I think the information you need may be in his recent letter 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 save him from the people who kidnapped him," Nina explained to the nervous visitor. "If we can't decipher his message, I have no idea how to find him."
  
  "By the way, what was in the rest of the message that you managed to decipher?" Sam asked her curiously.
  
  She sighed, still baffled 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 other thing I got was a bunch of punctuation marks and asterisks. I'm not sure if his car is fine."
  
  Detlef considered this information. "Look at this," he said suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket. Sam took a defensive stance, but the stranger only pulled out his cell phone. He flipped through the photos and showed them the contents of the secret room. "One of my sources gave me the coordinates where I could find the people that Gaby threatened to expose. Do you see these numbers? Put them in your car and see what it does."
  
  They returned to the room in the basement of the old mansion where Nina was working on the Enigma machine. Detlef's photographs were clear and close enough to make out every combination. Over the next two hours, Nina entered the numbers one by one. Finally, she had a printout of the words that matched the ciphers.
  
  "Now it's not Purdue's message; this message is based on numbers from Gabi's cards," Nina explained before reading out the result. "First, it says 'Black vs. Red in the Kazakh Steppe', then 'Radiation Cage', and the last two combinations 'Mind Control' and 'Ancient Orgasm'."
  
  Sam raised an eyebrow. "Ancient orgasm?"
  
  "Ugh! I made a reservation. It's an 'ancient organism,'" she stuttered, much to the amusement of Detlef and Sam.
  
  Sam looked at Detlef. "So you came all the way from Germany to find Gaby's killer. How about a trip to the Kazakh steppe?"
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  
  Purdue's legs were still in terrible pain. Every step he took was 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 pulled the IV from his hand and began testing to see if his legs were strong enough to support his weight. In no way did he believe that they intended to court him for the next few days. He expected new tortures that would cripple his body and mind.
  
  Due to his penchant for technology, Purdue knew he could manipulate their communications devices, as well as any access control and security systems they used. The Order of the Black Sun was a sovereign organization using only the very best to protect their interests, but Dave Perdue was a genius they could only fear. He was able to improve any invention of his engineers without much effort.
  
  He sat up on the bed and then carefully slid off the side to slowly press down on his sore soles. Grimacing, Perdue tried to ignore the excruciating pain from his second-degree burns. He didn't want to be discovered when he still couldn't walk or run, otherwise he would have been finished.
  
  As Klaus briefed his men before leaving, their captive was already limping through the vast maze of corridors, making a mental map to plan his escape. On the third floor, where he was locked up, he crept along the north wall to find the end of the hallway, as he assumed there must be a flight of stairs. He wasn't too surprised to see that the entire fortress was actually round and that the outer walls were made of iron beams and truss elements reinforced with huge sheets of bolted steel.
  
  It looks like a goddamn spaceship, he thought to himself as he surveyed the architecture of the Kazakh Citadel of the Black Sun. In the center, the building was empty, a huge space where gigantic machines or planes could be stored or built. On all sides, the steel structure provided ten floors of offices, server stations, interrogation cells, dining and living quarters, boardrooms, and laboratories. Purdue was delighted with the building's power efficiency and scientific infrastructure, but he needed to keep moving.
  
  He made his way through the dark aisles of disabled furnaces and dusty workshops, looking for a way out, or at least some working communication device he could use to call for help. To his relief, he discovered an old air traffic control room that seemed to have been unused for decades.
  
  "Probably part of some Cold War launchers." He frowned as he surveyed the equipment in the rectangular room. Without taking his eyes off the old piece of mirror he had taken from the empty lab, he proceeded to plug in the only device he recognized. "Looks like an electronic version of a Morse code transmitter," he suggested as he crouched down to find a cable to connect to a socket in the wall. The machine was only meant to broadcast number sequences, so he had to try to remember the training he received long before his time at Wolfenstein years ago.
  
  Putting the machine into operation and pointing its antennas where he thought north was, Purdue found a transmitter 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 coding system. "Binary would be much faster," he fumed as the legacy device continued to lose results due to short, sporadic power outages due to power line voltage fluctuations.
  
  When Perdue finally provided Nina with the necessary clues to solve on his home Enigma machine, he hacked into the old system to establish a connection to the telecommunications channel. It wasn't easy trying to reach the phone number that way, but he had to try. It was the only way he could send the digit sequences to Nina with a 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 looking for him. His nerves were on edge, despite the fact that he managed to make an emergency call. He knew it would actually take days to be found, so he had agonizing hours ahead of him. Perdue feared that if they found him, the punishment would be one from which he would never recover.
  
  His body still ached, and he took refuge in an abandoned underground pool of water behind locked iron doors covered in cobwebs and corroded by rust. It was clearly visible that no one had entered it for years, making it the perfect hideout for a wounded fugitive.
  
  Perdue was so well hidden, waiting to be rescued, that he didn't even notice that 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 that Detlef had received from Milla after he tuned in to the numbers station. With this information, the two Scots damaged the complex's power supply and main communication system and caused interference on all devices such as laptops and cell phones within a two mile radius around Black Sun Fortress.
  
  Sam and Detlef sneaked in through the main entrance unnoticed, using a strategy they had prepared before taking off into the wilderness of the Kazakh Steppe by helicopter. They enlisted the support of Purdue Poland, PoleTech Air & Transit Services. As the men trespassed on the compound, Nina waited in the ship with a military-trained pilot, scanning the area with an infrared image for hostile movements.
  
  Detlef was armed with his Glock, two hunting knives and one of his two expandable clubs. He gave the other one to Sam. The journalist, in turn, took with him his own "Makarov" and four smoke bombs. They burst in through the main entrance, expecting a hail of bullets in the dark, but instead tripped over several bodies scattered 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 kill their own for promotion," Detlef replied quietly, pointing his flashlight at the dead on the floor. "There are about twenty of them. Listen!"
  
  Sam stopped and listened. They could hear the chaos caused by power outages on other floors of the building. They cautiously climbed the first flight of stairs. It was too dangerous to split up in a complex like this without knowing 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."
  
  "Yes," Sam said. They watched as the blinking lights of some of the passengers raced towards the generator room. "Oh shit! Detlef, they're going to turn on the generator!"
  
  "Move! Move!" Detlef ordered his assistant and grabbed him by the shirt. He dragged Sam along to intercept the security men before they could get to the generator room. Following the glowing orbs, Sam and Detlef cocked their weapons, preparing for the inevitable. As they fled, Detlef asked Sam, "Have you ever killed anyone?"
  
  "Yes, but never on purpose," Sam replied.
  
  "Okay, now you have to-with extreme prejudice!" - said the tall German. "No mercy. Or we will never get out of there alive."
  
  "Understood!" Sam promised as they came face to face with the first four men no more than three feet from the door. The men were unaware that the two figures approaching from the other side were intruders until the first bullet cracked open the first man's skull.
  
  Sam winced as he felt the hot spatter of brain matter and blood touch his face, but aimed at the second man in line, who unflinchingly pulled the trigger, hitting him to death. The dead man fell limply at Sam's feet as he crouched to raise his pistol. He took aim at the approaching men, who began shooting at them, wounding two more. Detlef took down six men with perfect center mass shots before continuing his attack on two of Sam's targets, taking a bullet through each of them in the skull.
  
  "Great job, Sam," the German smiled. "You smoke, right?"
  
  "I believe 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 set fire to the fuel tanks. On the way back, they disabled the engines with several well-placed bullets.
  
  Perdue heard the madness from his little hideout and headed for the main entrance, but only because it was the only exit he knew. Limping badly, leaning on the wall to orient himself in the darkness, Perdue slowly climbed the emergency stairs to the first floor lobby.
  
  The doors were wide open, and in the meager light that fell into the room, he stepped carefully over the bodies until he reached the welcoming breath of the warm, dry air of the desert landscape outside. Crying with gratitude and fear, Perdue ran towards the helicopter, waving his arms, praying to God that it did not belong to the enemy.
  
  Nina jumped out of the car and ran up to him. "Perdue! Perdue! Are you okay? Come here!" she yelled as she approached him. Perdue looked up at the beautiful little story. She yelled into her transmitter, telling Sam and Detlef that she had Perdue. As Perdue fell into her arms, he collapsed, dragging her with him onto the sand.
  
  "I couldn't wait to feel your touch again, Nina," he breathed. "You got through it."
  
  "I always do this," she smiled and held her emaciated friend in her arms until the others arrived. They boarded a helicopter and flew westward, where they had secured housing on the Aral Sea.
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  
  "We must find the Amber Room, or the Order will. It is imperative that we find her before they do, because this time they will overthrow the governments of the world and instigate genocidal violence," Perdue insisted.
  
  They huddled around a fire in the backyard of the house Sam rented in the Aral settlement. It was a three-bedroom semi-furnished shack that lacked half the amenities the group was used to in First World countries. But it was inconspicuous and quirky, and they could rest there, at least until Purdue 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 Gaby's death.
  
  "We'll get to it as soon as you feel better, Perdue," Sam said. "Now we just lay low and rest."
  
  Nina's braided hair tumbled out from under her knitted hat as she lit another cigarette. Purdue's warning, intended as an omen, didn't seem like much of a problem to her due to the way she's treated the world lately. It wasn't so much the verbal exchange with the godlike entity in Sam's soul that made her think indifferently. She was simply more aware of humanity's repeated mistakes and the ever-present inability to maintain balance throughout the world.
  
  Aral was a fishing port and a port city before the mighty Aral Sea almost completely dried up, leaving only a bare desert as a legacy. Nina was saddened that so many beautiful reservoirs dried up and disappeared due to human infection. Sometimes, when she felt particularly lethargic, she wondered if the world wouldn't be a better place if the human race didn't kill everything in it, including itself.
  
  People reminded her of babies left in the care of an anthill. They simply did not have the wisdom or humility to realize that they were part of the world and not responsible for it. In arrogance and irresponsibility, they bred like cockroaches, not thinking that instead of killing the planet to satisfy their numbers and needs, they should have curbed the growth of their own population. Nina was annoyed that people, as a collective, refused to see that creating a smaller population with higher intellectual abilities would lead to a much more efficient world without destroying all the beauty for the sake of their greed and reckless existence.
  
  Lost in thought, Nina was smoking a cigarette by the fireplace. Thoughts and ideologies that she shouldn't have entertained entered her mind, where it was safe to hide taboo topics. She reflected on the aims of the Nazis and discovered that some of these outwardly violent ideas were actually real solutions to many of the 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 structure and implementing birth control through sterilization after the birth of two children in the family was not so monstrous. This would reduce the number of people, therefore preserving forests and farmland instead of constantly clearing forests to build more human habitats.
  
  As she looked at the ground below during their flight to the Aral, Nina mentally mourned all these things. Magnificent landscapes, once full of life, wrinkled and withered under the feet of man.
  
  No, she did not condone the actions of the Third Reich, but her skill and order were undeniable. "If only today there were people with such strict discipline and exceptional drive, who want to change the world for the better," she sighed, finishing her last cigarette butt. 'Imagine a world where someone like this didn't oppress people, but stopped ruthless corporations. In which, instead of destroying cultures, they would destroy the brainwashing of the media and we would all be better off. And now there would be a fucking lake to feed the people."
  
  She flicked the cigarette into the fire. Her eyes caught Purdue's gaze, but she pretended not to be bothered by his attention. Perhaps it was the dancing shadows from the fire that gave his haggard face such a menacing look, but she didn't like that.
  
  "How do you know where to start looking?" Detlef asked. "I read that the Amber Room was destroyed during the war. Are these people expecting you to magically cause something to reappear that no longer exists?"
  
  Perdue seemed agitated, but the others speculated that it was because of his traumatic experience at the hands of Klaus Kemper. "They say it still exists. And if we do not get ahead of them in this, they will surely have the upper hand over us forever."
  
  "Why?" Nina asked. "What is so powerful about the Amber Room-if it still exists at all?"
  
  "I don't know, Nina. They didn't go into details, but they made it clear that she had undeniable power," Perdue said incoherently. "What it has or does, I have no idea. I just know that it is very dangerous - as is usually the case with things of perfect beauty.
  
  Sam could see that the phrase was directed at Nina, but Purdue's tone was not loving or sentimental. If he wasn't mistaken, it sounded almost hostile. Sam was wondering how Perdue really felt about Nina spending so much time with him, and that seemed to be a sore point for the usually cheerful billionaire.
  
  "Where was she last?" Detlef asked Nina. "You are a historian. Do you know where the Nazis could have taken her if she had not been destroyed?"
  
  "I only know what is 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 vocation.
  
  She sighed and shrugged, remembering the legend of the Amber Room dictated by her textbooks. "The Amber Room was made in Prussia in the early 1700s, Detlef. It was made of amber panels and gold inlays in the form of leaves and carvings with mirrors behind them to make it look even more magnificent when the light fell on it."
  
  "Who did she belong to?" he asked, biting into a dry crust of homemade bread.
  
  "Then King 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 king, it was actually expanded several times! Imagine the value even then!"
  
  "From the king?" Sam asked her.
  
  "Yes. It is said that when he finished expanding the chamber, it contained six tons of amber. So, as always, the Russians have earned their reputation for their predilection for size." she laughed. "But then it was looted by a Nazi unit during World War II."
  
  "Of course," Detlef complained.
  
  "And where did they keep it?" Sam wanted to know. Nina shook her head.
  
  "What was left was moved to Königsberg for restoration, and was subsequently put on public display there. But... that's not all," Nina continued, accepting a glass of red wine from Sam's hands. "It is believed that there it was destroyed 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 take it out of Königsberg."
  
  "And where did he go?" I asked. - Asked Perdue with keen interest. He already knew much of what Nina had passed on, but only up to the part where the Amber Room had been destroyed by Allied airstrikes.
  
  Nina shrugged. "No one knows. Some sources say that the ship was torpedoed by a Soviet submarine and the Amber Room was lost at sea. But the truth is, no one really knows."
  
  "If you had to guess," Sam challenged her cordially, "based on what you know about the general situation during the war. What do you think happened?"
  
  Nina had her own theory about what she did and did not believe in, according to the records. "I really don't know, Sam. I just don't believe in the torpedo story. This sounds too much like a cover story to stop everyone from looking for it. 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 in this way." She smiled awkwardly and shrugged again.
  
  Purdue's light blue eyes stared at the fire in front of him. He pondered the possible consequences of Nina's story, as well as what he had learned about what happened in the Gulf of Gdansk at the same time. He came out of his frozen state.
  
  "I think we should take it on faith," he announced. "I suggest starting from where the ship is supposed 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," Purdue confirmed.
  
  Detlef shook his head, "I don't dive. No thanks!"
  
  "Come on, old boy!" Sam smiled, slapping Detlef lightly on the back. "You can stumble upon a living fire, but you can"t swim with us?"
  
  "I hate water," the German admitted. "I can swim. I just do not know. The water makes me very uncomfortable."
  
  "Why? Have you had a bad experience?" Nina asked.
  
  "As far as I know, no, but maybe I forced myself to forget what made me despise swimming," he admitted.
  
  "It doesn't matter," Perdue interjected. "You can watch us as there is no way we can get the necessary permits to dive there. Can we count on you for this?"
  
  Detlef gave Perdue a long, hard look that made Sam and Nina start to get alarmed and ready to intervene, but he simply replied, "I can do that."
  
  It was shortly before midnight. They waited for the grilled meat and fish to be ready, and the soothing crackle of the fire lulled them to sleep, giving them a sense of respite from their troubles.
  
  "David, tell me about the affair you had with Gaby Holzer," Detlef insisted suddenly, finally doing the inevitable.
  
  Perdue frowned, puzzled by the odd request from a stranger he thought was a private security consultant. "What do you mean?" he asked the German.
  
  "Detlef," Sam warned gently, advising the widower to keep his cool. "You remember the deal, right?"
  
  Nina's heart jumped. She anxiously anticipated this all night. Detlef kept his 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 evasiveness.
  
  "Dave, this is Detlef Holzer," Sam said, hoping the performance would explain the German's insistence. "He - no, was - Gaby Holzer's husband, and he was looking for you so you could tell him what happened that day." Sam deliberately phrased his words in such a way as to remind Detlef that Perdue was entitled to the benefit of the doubt.
  
  "I am so sorry for your loss!" Perdue answered almost instantly. "Oh my God, that was terrible!" It was obvious that Perdue wasn't faking it. His eyes filled with tears as he relived those last moments before he was kidnapped.
  
  "The media is saying she killed herself," Detlef said. "I know my Gabi. She would never..."
  
  Perdue stared at the widower with wide eyes. "She didn't commit suicide, Detlef. She was killed right in front of my eyes!"
  
  "Who did it?" Detlef roared. He was emotional and unbalanced, being so close to the revelation he had been searching for 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. Not only is Perdue indebted to Detlef for discovering that Gaby's death was not her own fault, especially since Detlef still suspected Purdue's memory loss. Even Sam and Nina wondered if it was possible that Purdue was unconsciously responsible for the diplomat's death, but they couldn't judge something they didn't know about.
  
  Sam, for example, tried to get a better look with his new ability to see into the minds of others, but failed. He secretly hoped that he had lost the unwanted gift he had been given.
  
  They decided to follow their plan. The opening of the Amber Room would not only frustrate the efforts of the sinister "Black Sun", but would also bring considerable financial benefits. However, the urgency of finding a great room was a mystery to all of them. There was supposed to be more to the Amber Room than wealth or reputation. Of this, the "Black Sun" had enough of its own.
  
  Nina had a former university colleague who was now married to a wealthy businessman living in Warsaw.
  
  "One phone call guys," she boasted to the three men. "One! I secured for us a free four-day stay in Gdynia, and with it a reasonable fishing boat for our little not-quite-legitimate investigation."
  
  Sam ruffled her hair playfully. "You are a magnificent animal, Dr. Gould! Do they have whiskey?"
  
  "I confess, I could kill for some bourbon right now," Perdue smiled. "What do you poison yourself with, Mr. Holzer?"
  
  Detlef shrugged his shoulders: "Everything that can be used in surgery."
  
  "Good man! Sam, we should get some of this, mate. Can you make it happen?" Perdue asked impatiently. "I will ask my assistant to transfer 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 where we are staying," she replied.
  
  "Will he suspect what we are going to do there?" Sam was worried.
  
  "No. She says that he is an old diver, fisherman and shooter who moved to Gdynia right after World War II from Novosibirsk. Apparently, he never received a single gold star for good behavior," Nina laughed.
  
  "Fine! Then he will definitely fit in, "Perdue chuckled.
  
  After buying some food and a lot of alcohol to present to their hospitable host, the group drove to the place that Nina had received from her former colleague. Detlef visited a local hardware store and also purchased a small radio and some batteries for it. Such simple little radios were hard to come by in more modern cities, but he found one near a fish bait shop on the last street before they arrived at their temporary home.
  
  The yard was carelessly fenced in with barbed wire tied to rickety posts. The yard behind the fence consisted mostly of tall weeds and large neglected plants. From the creaking iron gates to the steps to the deck, the narrow path leading to the eerie little wooden hut was lined with vines. The old man was waiting for them on the porch, looking almost exactly as Nina had imagined him to be. Large dark eyes contrasted with the tousled gray hair and beard. He had a large belly and a scarred face that made him look intimidating, but he was friendly.
  
  "Hello!" he called as they passed through the gate.
  
  "God, I hope he speaks English," Purdue 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 happily.
  
  "I see we get along very well!" he shouted cheerfully.
  
  "Are you Mr. Marinesko?" she asked.
  
  "Kirill! Call me Cyril, please. And please come in. I don"t have a big house or better food, but it"s warm and cozy here," he apologized. After they introduced themselves, he served them the vegetable soup he had been making all day.
  
  "After dinner, I"ll take you to see the boat, okay?" Suggested by Cyril.
  
  "Fabulous!" Purdue answered. "I would like to see what you have in this boat house."
  
  He served the soup with freshly baked bread, which quickly became Sam's favorite. He gave himself slice after slice. "Did your wife bake it?" - he asked.
  
  "No, I did it. I'm a good baker, right?" Cyril laughed. "My wife taught me. Now she's dead."
  
  "Me too," Detlef muttered. "Happened very recently."
  
  "I'm sorry to hear that," Cyril 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 diving?" asked their host, changing the subject for his guest. He knew how much pain a person can endure when such a tragedy happens, and he also could not talk about it for a long time.
  
  "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 field?" Cyril inquired. It was his boat, and he installed them, so they couldn't refuse him the details.
  
  "In the area where Wilhelm Gustloff sank in 1945," Purdue said.
  
  Nina and Sam exchanged glances, hoping the old man wouldn't get suspicious. Detlef didn't care who knew. All he wanted to do was find out what role the Amber Room played in his wife's death and what was so important to these strange Nazis. There was a short, tense silence around the dinner table.
  
  Kirill looked through them all, one by one. His eyes pierced their defenses and intentions as he studied them closely with a smirk that could mean anything. He cleared his throat.
  
  "Why?"
  
  The question of one word unsettled them all. They expected an elaborate dissuade or some local reprimand, but the simplicity was almost impossible to comprehend. Nina looked at Perdue and shrugged, "Tell him."
  
  "We're looking for the remains of an artifact that was aboard the ship," Purdue told Cyril, 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 it doesn't exist?" Sam asked.
  
  "Tell me, Mr. Perdue, Mr. Cleve and my other friends here," Cyril smiled, "what do you want from the Amber Room, eh? Money? Glory? Go home. Some beautiful things just aren't worth a curse."
  
  Perdue and Nina looked at each other, struck by the similarity of wording between the old man's warning and Perdue's sentiment.
  
  "A curse?" Nina asked.
  
  "Why are you looking for this?" he asked again. "What are you up to?"
  
  "My wife was killed because of 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 that the murders were carried out by a secret organization looking for the Amber Room. But she was killed before she could complete her investigation," the widower told Kirill.
  
  Wringing his hands, their master took a deep breath. "So you don't want this for money or fame. Fine. Then I will tell you where Wilhelm Gustloff sank and you can see for yourself, but I hope that then you will stop this nonsense."
  
  Without further words or explanation, he got up and left the room.
  
  "What the hell was that?" Sam researched. "He knows more than he wants to admit. He's hiding something."
  
  "How did you know that?" Perdue asked.
  
  Sam looked a little embarrassed. "I just have a gut feeling." He glanced at Nina before rising from his seat to carry the bowl of soup into the kitchen. She knew what his look meant. He must have found something in the old man's mind.
  
  "Excuse me," she said to Purdue and Detlef and followed Sam. He stood in the doorway leading to the garden, watching Kirill go out into the boathouse to check the fuel. Nina put her hand on his shoulder. "Sam?"
  
  "Yes".
  
  "What you see?" - she fished with curiosity.
  
  "Nothing. He knows something very important, but it's just a journalistic instinct. I swear it has nothing to do with the new thing," he told her quietly. "I want to ask directly, but I don"t want to pressure him, you know?"
  
  "I know. That's why I'm going to ask him," she said confidently.
  
  "No! Nina! Come back here," he shouted, but she was adamant. Knowing Nina, Sam knew perfectly well that now he could not stop her. Instead, he decided to go back inside to stop Detlef from killing Perdue. Sam felt tense as he approached the dinner table, but found Perdue looking at photos on Detlef's phone.
  
  "They were digital codes," Detlef explained. "Now look at this."
  
  Both men squinted as Detlef zoomed in on the photograph he had taken from the diary page where he found Purdue's name. "My God!" Perdue said in amazement. "Sam, go look at this."
  
  During the meeting between Purdue and Carrington, an entry was made referring to 'Kirill'.
  
  "Am I just finding ghosts everywhere or could this all be one big conspiracy network?" Detlef asked Sam.
  
  "I can't tell you for sure, Detlef, but I also have a feeling that he knows about the Amber Room," Sam shared his suspicions with them as well. "Things we don't need to know."
  
  "Where is Nina?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Chatting with the old man. Just making friends in case we need to know more," Sam reassured him. "If Gaby's diary has his name, we need to know why."
  
  "I agree," Detlef agreed.
  
  Nina and Kirill entered the kitchen, laughing at some nonsense he was telling her. Her three colleagues perked up to see if she'd gotten any more information, but to their disappointment, Nina furtively 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 boobs."
  
  "If you give him Russian vodka, he won't get drunk, Sam," Detlef smiled. "It will only make him happy and noisy. What time is it now?"
  
  "Almost 9pm. What, do you have a date?" Sam teased.
  
  "Actually, I do," he replied proudly. "Her name is Milla."
  
  Intrigued by Detlef's response, Sam asked, "Do you want us to do it all three?"
  
  "Milla?" Kirill suddenly cried out, turning pale. "How do you know Milla?"
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  
  "Do you know Milla too?" Detlef gasped. "My wife communicated with her almost daily, and after my wife died, I found her radio room. It was there that Milla spoke to me and told me how to find her with 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 were listening, they poured out some wine and vodka and waited.
  
  "Who was your wife?" Cyril asked impatiently.
  
  "Gaby Holzer," Detlef replied, his voice still trembling as he spoke her name.
  
  "Gaby! Gabi was my friend from Berlin!" exclaimed the old man. "She has 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: "For 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 cannot describe how much he missed her, but his wet cheeks said it all. Even Cyril had bloodshot eyes as he paid tribute to a fallen ally. After several successive shots of vodka and some Purdue bourbon, the Russian felt nostalgic as he told the widower Gaby how his wife and the old Russian had met.
  
  Nina felt a warm compassion for both men as she watched them tell sweet stories about a special woman they both knew and adored. It made her wonder if Purdue and Sam would honor her memory so dearly when she was gone.
  
  "My friends," Kirill roared in sadness and intoxication, throwing back his chair as he stood up and slammed his hands on the table, spilling the remnants of Detlef"s soup, "I"ll 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 completed this strange statement with a series of unintelligible Russian war-cries that sounded distinctly malevolent.
  
  "Tell us," Kirill Purdue urged, raising his glass. "Tell us how the Amber Room is a threat to our freedom. Should we destroy her, or should we just root out those who want to get her for nefarious purposes?"
  
  "Leave it where it is!" Cyril screamed. "Ordinary people cannot get there! These panels - we knew how evil they were. Our fathers told us! Oh yeah! At the very beginning, they told us how this evil beauty forced them to kill their brothers, their friends. They told us how Mother Russia almost succumbed to the will of the Nazi dogs, and we vowed never to let it be found!"
  
  Sam began to worry about the Russian's mind, as he seemed to have collected several stories into one. He focused on the tingling power that flowed through his brain, gently calling it out, hoping it didn't take over as violently as it had before. On purpose, he tapped into 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 even a minute after he stopped talking, he sat up and folded his arms. "Operation Hannibal was to evacuate the German troops by sea to get away from the Red Army, which was soon to appear there to kick their Nazi asses," the old man chuckled. "They boarded the Wilhelm Gustloff right here in Gdynia and headed for Kiel. They were told to load panels from that damn amber room, too. Well, what's left of her. But!" he shouted, his torso swaying slightly as he continued, "But they secretly loaded this onto Gustloff's escort vessel, the torpedo boat Löwe. You know why?"
  
  The group sat spellbound, only responding when asked to. "No, why?"
  
  Cyril laughed merrily. "Because some of the "Germans" in the port of Gdynia were Russians, as well as the crew of the escort torpedo boat! They disguised themselves as Nazi soldiers and took over the Amber Room. But it gets even better!" He looked flustered with every detail he told, while Sam kept him on that brain leash for as long as he could. "Did you know that the Wilhelm Gustloff received a radio message when their idiot captain took them out into the open waters?"
  
  "What was written there?" Nina asked.
  
  "This informed them that another German convoy was approaching, so the captain of the Gustloff turned on the ship's navigation lights to avoid any collision," he said.
  
  "And that would make them visible to enemy ships," Detlef concluded.
  
  The old man pointed to the German and smiled. "Right! The Soviet submarine S-13 torpedoed the ship and sank it - without the Amber Room."
  
  "How did you know that? You're not old enough to be there, Kirill. Maybe you read some scoop story someone wrote," Perdue refuted. Nina frowned, giving Purdue 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 as she was in the presence of a man who knew the secrets of the location of the Amber Room firsthand. It was a special moment for her to be in the company of history. But Cyril was far from over. "He wouldn"t have seen the ship so easily if it wasn"t for this inexplicable radio message telling the captain that a German convoy was approaching, right?"
  
  "But who sent this message? Did they ever know? Detlef asked.
  
  "No one 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."
  
  "This is impossible!" Detlef rejected the revelation, which threw them all into a stupor. "I was talking to Milla on the radio the night I found my wife's radio room. It can't be possible that someone who was active during World War II is still alive, let alone broadcasting that numbers radio station."
  
  "You are right, Detlef, if Milla were a person," 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, tired of the enormous mental effort.
  
  "Then who is Milla?" Nina asked quickly, realizing that Sam was about to lose control of the old man, but Kirill passed out before he could tell more, and without Sam keeping his brain under his spell, nothing could make the drunken old man talk. Nina sighed in disappointment, but Detlef was not moved by the old man's words. He planned to listen to the broadcast later and hoped it would shed some light on the dangers lurking in the Amber Room.
  
  Sam took a few deep breaths to regain focus and energy, but Perdue met his gaze across the table. It was a look of sheer disbelief that made Sam very uncomfortable. He didn't want Purdue to know that he could manipulate people's minds. It would make him even more suspicious, and he didn't want that.
  
  "Are you tired, Sam?" Perdue asked without hostility or suspicion.
  
  "Damn tired," he replied. "And the vodka doesn't help either."
  
  "I'm going to bed too," Detlef announced. "I suppose there will be no dives after all? It would be great!"
  
  "If we could wake up our master, we could find out what happened to the escort boat," Perdue 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 corridor. It was the smallest of them all, adjacent to Nina's bedroom. Perdue and Sam had to share another bedroom next to the living room, so Detlef wasn't about to disturb them.
  
  He turned on the transistor radio and slowly turned the dial, watching the frequency number under 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 was discovered, he'd loved the sound of the crackling whistle of empty radio waves. Somehow, the possibilities before him calmed him down. Subconsciously, this gave him confidence that he was not alone; that in the vast ether of the upper atmosphere there is much life and many allies. It made possible the existence of everything that can be imagined, if only one was inclined to it.
  
  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. "Are they playing songs?"
  
  He nodded. "Only one, at the beginning. It must be some kind of marker," he suggested. "I think the channel is used for different purposes, and when it broadcasts for people like Gaby, there is a special song that notifies us that the numbers are for us."
  
  "God! A whole science," Nina admired. "There is so much going on there that the world doesn't even know about! It's like a whole sub-universe full of covert operations and ulterior motives."
  
  He looked at her with dark eyes, but his voice was gentle. "Frightening, isn't it?"
  
  "Yes," she agreed. "And lonely."
  
  "Lonely, yes," repeated Detlef, sharing her feelings. He looked at the pretty little story with longing and admiration. She didn't look like Gaby at all. She didn't look like Gaby at all, but she seemed familiar to him in her own way. Perhaps it was because they were of the same opinion about the world, or perhaps simply because their souls were alone. Nina felt a little uneasy at his miserable look, but she was saved by a sudden crack in the speaker, which made him jump.
  
  "Listen, Nina!" he whispered. "It begins".
  
  The music played, hidden somewhere far away in the void outside, drowned out by static and hissing modulation. Nina chuckled, amused by the tune she recognized.
  
  "Metallic? Really?" she shook her head.
  
  Detlef was glad to hear that she knew this. "Yes! But what does this have to do with numbers? I racked my brains to understand why they chose this song."
  
  Nina smiled. "The song is called 'Sweet Amber', Detlef."
  
  "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Now it makes sense!"
  
  While they were still laughing at the song, Milla's broadcast began.
  
  "Average 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! This is for me!" he whispered loudly in excitement.
  
  Nina wrote down the following numbers. "87-46-88-37-68..."
  
  When the first 20-minute broadcast ended and the music ended the segment, Nina gave Detlef the numbers she had written down. "Do you have any ideas what to do with it?"
  
  "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 being held, remember? But I still have no idea what it all means," he complained.
  
  "We have to use Purdue's car. I brought it. It's in my suitcase," Nina said. "If this message is specifically for you, we must decipher it right now."
  
  
  Chapter 22
  
  
  "It's fucking incredible!" Nina was delighted with what she discovered. The men went on the boat with Kirill, while she stayed at the house to do some research, as she had told them. In truth, Nina was busy deciphering the numbers Detlef had received from Milla the previous night. The historian had a gut feeling that Milla knew where Detlef was well enough to provide him with valuable and relevant information, but so far it had served them well.
  
  Half a day passed before the men returned with funny fishing stories, but they all felt the urge to continue their journey as soon as they had something to do. Sam failed to make another connection to the old man's mind, but he didn't tell Nina that the strange ability had begun to leave him lately.
  
  "What did you discover?" Sam asked as he removed his splash-soaked sweater and hat. Detlef and Perdue followed him in, looking exhausted. Today, Kirill made them earn a living by helping him with the networks and repairing the engine, but they had fun listening to his entertaining stories. Unfortunately, there were no historical secrets in any of these stories. He told them to go home while he delivered his catch to a local market a few miles from the docks.
  
  "You won't believe it!" she smiled, hovering over her laptop. "The Numbers station that 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 audio track into digital codes!"
  
  "What do you mean?" Perdue asked, impressed that she had taken his Enigma computer with her in case they needed it. "It's a simple transformation. Like encryption? Like data from an mp3 file, Nina," he smiled. "There is nothing new in using data to convert encoding to audio."
  
  "But numbers? Correct numbers, nothing more. No codes and no gibberish like what you do when you write software," she countered. "Look, I'm a complete layman when it comes to technology, but I've never heard of consecutive two-digit numbers that make up an audio 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 audio clip says," Detlef suggested.
  
  "This is a radio broadcast that was sent over Russian radio waves; I guess. In the clip, you will hear the TV presenter interviewing a man, but I don't speak Russian..." She frowned. "Where is Cyril?"
  
  "On the way," Perdue said soothingly. "I believe we will need it for translation."
  
  "Yes, the interview goes on for almost 15 minutes before being interrupted by this squeak that nearly blew my eardrums," she said. "Detlef, Milla wanted you to hear this for some reason. We must remember this. This may be crucial in determining the location of the Amber Room."
  
  "That loud squeak," Kirill suddenly muttered as he entered the front door with two bags and a bottle of liquor tucked under his arm, "this is a military intervention."
  
  "Just the man we want to see," Perdue smiled as he came over to help the old Russian with his bags. "Nina has a radio broadcast in Russian. Would you be so kind as to translate this for us?"
  
  "Certainly! Of course," Cyril chuckled. "Let me listen. Oh, and get me something to drink in there, please."
  
  While Perdue complied with the request, Nina played the audio clip on her laptop. Due to the poor quality of the recording, it sounded very similar to the old broadcast. She could distinguish two male voices. One asked questions and the other gave lengthy answers. There was still crackling static on the recording, and the voices of the two men faded from time to time, but then came back louder than before.
  
  "This is not an interview, my friends," Kirill told the group in the first minute of listening. "Are you interrogating".
  
  Nina's heart skipped a beat. "Is this authentic?"
  
  Sam gestured from behind Kirill's back and asked Nina not to say anything, to wait. The old man carefully listened to every word, his face took on a gloomy expression. From time to time he shook his head very slowly, considering what he had heard with a gloomy look. Perdue, Nina and Sam were dying to know what the men were talking about.
  
  Waiting for Kirill to finish listening kept them all on pins and needles, but they had to keep quiet so he could hear over the hiss of the tape.
  
  "Guys, be careful with the squeal," Nina warned when she saw the timer coming to the end of the clip. They all prepared for this, and rightly so. It split the atmosphere with a high-pitched shriek that lasted for several seconds. Cyril's body twitched at the sound. He turned to look at the group.
  
  "There is a shot heard. Did you hear it? he casually asked.
  
  "No. When?" Nina asked.
  
  "In this terrible noise, a man's name and a shot are heard. I have no idea if the screech was supposed to mask the shot or it was just a coincidence, but the shot was definitely from a pistol," he said.
  
  "Wow, great ears," Purdue said. "None of us even heard it."
  
  "Not a good rumor, Mr Perdue. Trained ear. My ears have been trained to hear hidden sounds and messages through years of radio work," Kirill boasted, smiling and pointing to his ear.
  
  "But the shot had to be loud enough to be heard even by untrained ears," Perdue suggested. "Again, it depends on what the conversation is about. That should tell us if it's even relevant at all."
  
  "Yes, please tell us what they said, Cyril," Sam pleaded.
  
  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 right after the fall of the Third Reich. I hear a man's name being called out from outside before being shot."
  
  "Gulag?" Detlef asked.
  
  "Prisoners of war. Soviet soldiers captured by the Wehrmacht were ordered by Stalin to commit suicide upon capture. Those who did not commit suicide - like the person interrogated in your video - were considered traitors by the Red Army," he explained.
  
  "So kill yourself or your own army will do it?" Sam clarified. "These guys can't fucking breathe."
  
  "Exactly," Cyril agreed. "No surrender. This man, an investigator, he is a commander, and the Gulag, as they say, is from the 4th Ukrainian Front. So, in this conversation, the Ukrainian soldier is one of the three men who survived..., - Kirill didn't know the word, but he spread his hands, -... inexplicable drowning off the coast of Latvia. He says they intercepted a treasure that the Nazi Kriegsmarines were supposed to take."
  
  "Treasure. Panels from the Amber Room, I guess," Perdue added.
  
  "It must be. He says that the plates, panels crumbled? Cyril hardly spoke English.
  
  "Fragile," Nina smiled. "I remember they said that the original panels had become brittle with age by 1944, when they had to be dismantled by the German group Nord."
  
  "Yes," Cyril winked. "He talks about how they tricked the crew of the Wilhelm Gustloff into stealing the amber panels to make sure the Germans didn't take the panels 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 what had entered their heads-no, the captain's head."
  
  "I'm sorry?" Perdue perked up. "What came into his mind? He says?"
  
  "Maybe it doesn't make sense to you, but he says there was something in the amber, locked up there for centuries and more centuries. I think he's talking about an insect. It sounded in the captain's ear. None of them could see her again, because she was very, very small, like a midge," Kirill conveyed the soldier"s story.
  
  "God," Sam muttered.
  
  "This man says that when the captain turned his eyes white, all the men did terrible things?"
  
  Cyril 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 did they do?" Nina asked.
  
  "They all started to think as one person. They had one brain, he says. When the captain told them to drown themselves, they all went out on the deck of the ship and, without seeming to be bothered by this, jumped into the water and drowned close to the shore," said the elderly Russian.
  
  "Mind control," Sam confirmed. "That's why Hitler wanted the Amber Room to be returned to Germany during Operation Hannibal. With that kind of mind control, he would be able to subdue the entire world without much effort!"
  
  "But how did he know that anyway?" Detlef wanted to know.
  
  "How do you think the Third Reich managed to turn tens of thousands of normal, morally sound German men and women into uniformly minded Nazi soldiers?" Nina challenged. "Did you ever wonder why these soldiers were so innately evil and undeniably cruel when they wore this uniform?" Her words echoed in the silent contemplation of her companions. "Think of the atrocities committed even against small children, Detlef. Thousands and thousands of Nazis held the same opinion, the same level of brutality, 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 at 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 with propaganda," Kirill told his guests, "but there was too much discipline. This level of unity is unnatural. Why do you think I called the Amber Room a curse last night?"
  
  "Wait," Nina frowned, "did you know about that?"
  
  Cyril responded to her reproachful look with a ferocious look. "Yes! What do you think we have been doing all these years with our digital stations? We are sending codes around the world to warn our allies, to share intelligence about anyone who might try to use them against humans. We know about the bugs that were 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 talk us out of looking for it," Purdue said. "I understand now".
  
  "So, is that all the soldier told the interrogator?" Sam asked the old man.
  
  "They ask him how it happened that he survived after the captain"s order, and then he answers that the captain could not get close to him, so he never heard the command," Kirill explained.
  
  "Why couldn't he come to him?" Perdue asked as he took notes on the facts in a small notebook.
  
  "He does not speak. Only that the captain couldn't be in the same room with him. Maybe that's why they shoot him before the session is over, maybe because of the person's name they're shouting out. They think he's hiding information, so they're killing him," Kirill shrugged. "I think maybe it was radiation."
  
  "Emission of what? As far as I know, there was no nuclear activity in Russia at that time," Nina said, pouring more vodka for Kirill and wine for herself. "Can I smoke here?"
  
  "Of course," he smiled. Then he answered her question. "First lightning. You see, the first atomic bomb was detonated on the Kazakh steppe in 1949, but what no one will tell you is that nuclear experiments have been going on since the late 1930s. My guess is that this Ukrainian soldier lived in Kazakhstan before he was drafted into the Red Army, but," he shrugged indifferently, "I could be wrong."
  
  "What name do they shout in the background before the soldier is killed?" - Out of the blue asked Perdue. It had just occurred to him that the identity of the shooter was still a mystery.
  
  "ABOUT!" Cyril chuckled. "Yes, you can hear someone screaming as if they are trying to stop him." He softly imitated a cry. "Camper!"
  
  
  Chapter 23
  
  
  Perdue felt dread cling to him from within at the sound of that name. There was nothing he could do about it. "Sorry," he apologized and rushed to the bathroom. Dropping to his knees, Perdue vomited the contents of his stomach. This puzzled him. He had by no means been sick before Kirill mentioned the familiar name, but now his entire body was shaking at the menacing sound.
  
  While others poked fun at Purdue's ability to hold onto his drink, he suffered from terrible stomach nausea to the point of falling into a new depression. Sweaty and feverish, he grabbed the toilet for the next inevitable purge.
  
  "Kirill, can you tell me about it?" Detlef asked. "I found this in Gaby's communication room with all her information about the Amber Room." He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the medal pinned to his vest. He took it off and handed it to Kirill, who looked impressed.
  
  "Damn it, what is it?" 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 with nostalgia. "Did you take this from Gaby's stuff? She seemed to know a lot about the Amber Room and the Prague Offensive. It's a wonderful coincidence, huh?"
  
  "What's happened?"
  
  "The soldier who was shot in this audio clip participated in the Prague Offensive, hence the medal," he explained excitedly. "Since the unit in which he served, the 4th Ukrainian Front participated in the operation to liberate Prague from Nazi occupation."
  
  "As far as we know, it could have come from the same soldier," Sam suggested.
  
  "That would be unnerving and amazing at the same time," Detlef admitted with a pleased smirk. "It doesn"t have a name on it, or does it?"
  
  "No, sorry," their owner said. "Though it would be interesting if Gabi got a medal from a descendant of this soldier when she was investigating the disappearance of the Amber Room." He smiled sadly, remembering her fondly.
  
  "You called her a freedom fighter," Nina remarked absently, propping her head on her fist. "That's a good description of someone who's trying to expose an organization that's trying to take over the world."
  
  "Quite right, Nina," he replied.
  
  Sam went to see what Perdue was up to.
  
  "Hey old cock. Are you okay?" he asked, looking down at Purdue's kneeling body. There was no answer, and there was not a sound of nausea from the man bent over the toilet. "Perdue?" Sam stepped forward and pulled Perdue back by the shoulder, only to find that he was limp and unresponsive. At first, Sam thought his friend had passed out, but when Sam checked his vitals, he found that Perdue was in severe shock.
  
  Trying to wake him up, Sam kept calling his name, but Perdue didn't respond in his arms. "Perdue," Sam called firmly and loudly and felt a tingle in the back of his mind. Energy suddenly flowed and he felt energized. "Perdue, wake up," Sam commanded, establishing a connection with Purdue's mind, but he failed to wake him up. He tried to do this three times, each time increasing concentration and intent, but to no avail. "I do not understand this. It should work when you feel like this!"
  
  "Detlef!" Sam called. "Could you help me here please?"
  
  The tall German rushed down the corridor to where he heard Sam's screams.
  
  "Help me get him to bed," Sam moaned, trying to get Perdue to his feet. With Detlef's help, they got Perdue to bed and got together to find out what was wrong with him.
  
  "It's weird," Nina said. "He wasn't drunk. He didn't look sick or anything like that. What happened?
  
  "He just threw up," Sam shrugged. "But I couldn"t wake him up at all," he told Nina, indicating that he even used his new ability "no matter what I tried."
  
  "This is cause for concern," she confirmed his message.
  
  "He's on fire. Looks like food poisoning," Detlef suggested, only to get a nasty look from their owner. "I'm sorry, Cyril. I didn't mean to offend your cooking. But his symptoms look something like this."
  
  Checking Purdue every hour and trying to wake him up produced no results. They were bewildered by this sudden attack of fever and nausea from which he suffered.
  
  "I think it might be a late complication caused by something that 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 run away," Sam replied. "Why would they keep him in the infirmary if they wanted him to get sick?"
  
  "Maybe to infect us when we save him?" she whispered insistently, her large brown eyes full of panic. "It's a set of insidious tools, Sam. Would you be surprised?
  
  Sam agreed. There was nothing that he would have missed the ears of these people. The Black Sun had an almost unlimited ability to deal damage and the necessary malevolent intelligence to do so.
  
  Detlef was in his room gathering information from Milla's telephone exchange. A woman's voice read 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 drive his car in before starting dinner. Tomorrow his guests were to leave, but he had yet to convince them not to continue their search for the Amber Room. Ultimately, he couldn't help it if they, like so many others, insisted on finding the remains of the deadly miracle.
  
  After wiping Perdue's forehead with a damp washcloth to ease his still-rising temperature, Nina went to Detlef's while Sam took a shower. She knocked softly.
  
  "Come in, Nina," Detlef replied.
  
  "How did you know it was me?" she asked with a cheerful smile.
  
  "No one finds it as interesting as you, except me, of course," he said. "Tonight I received a message from a man at the station. He told me that we would die if we continued looking for the Amber Room, Nina."
  
  "Are you sure you typed the numbers correctly?" she asked.
  
  "No, not numbers. Look." He showed her his mobile phone. A message was sent from an untracked number with a link to a station. "I tuned the radio to this station and he 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 frequency of the station and then talk to me there?" he objected.
  
  "No, that's not what I mean. How do you know it's from Milla? There are many such stations scattered around the world, Detlef. Be careful who you interact with," she warned.
  
  "You're right. I didn't even think about it," he admitted. "I was so desperate to keep what Gaby loved, what she was passionate about, you know? It made me blind to danger, and sometimes...I don't care."
  
  "Well, you should care, widower. The world depends on you," Nina winked, patting his arm reassuringly.
  
  Detlef felt a surge of purpose at her words. "I like it," 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 it's a sad state of mind. It refers to something heartbreaking," she said.
  
  "That's true," he nodded, "but that's who I am now, you know? Widower means I'm still Gabi's husband, you know?"
  
  Nina liked Detlef's view of things. Having gone through all the hell of his loss, he still managed to take his sad nickname and turn it into an ode. "That's very 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 will decipher it. 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 very bad feeling about that message you got. Let's not point them at 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, getting a hard look from the likeable historian. "Fine. I'll throw it away."
  
  "So now someone is threatening us with text messages?" Perdue said, leaning casually against the doorway.
  
  "Perdue!" Nina screamed and rushed forward to hug him happily. "I'm so glad you woke up. What happened?
  
  "You really should get rid of your phone, Detlef. The people who killed your wife could be the ones who contacted you," he told the widower. Nina felt a little taken aback by his seriousness. She quickly left. "Do what you know."
  
  "By the way, who are these people?" Detlef chuckled. Perdue was not his friend. He didn't like being dictated to by someone he suspected of killing his wife. He still didn't have a real answer to who killed his wife, so as far as he was concerned, they only got along for Nina and Sam's sake - for now.
  
  "Where is Sam?" Nina asked, interrupting a brewing cockfight.
  
  "In the shower," Purdue replied indifferently. Nina didn't like his attitude, but she was used to being in the middle of testosterone-fuelled pissing contests, although that didn't mean she liked it. "This must be his longest shower ever," she chuckled as she pushed past Perdue to enter the hallway. She went into the kitchen to make coffee to lighten the gloomy atmosphere. "Have you washed up yet, Sam?" she teased as she walked past the bathroom, where she heard water splashing on the tiles. "It will cost the old man all his hot water." Nina set out to decipher the latest codes while enjoying the coffee she had been craving for over an hour.
  
  "Jesus Christ!" she suddenly screamed. She stumbled back against the wall and covered her mouth with her hand at the sight of it. Her knees gave out and she slowly collapsed. Her eyes were frozen, she just looked at the old Russian, who was sitting in his favorite chair. On the table in front of him was his full glass of vodka, waiting in the wings, and next to it rested his bloodied hand, still clutching the shard of the broken mirror with which he had cut his throat.
  
  Perdue and Detlef ran out, ready to fight. They were confronted with a terrifying scene and stood stunned until Sam joined them from the bathroom.
  
  As the shock set in, Nina began to shake violently and sob because of the disgusting incident that must have happened while she was in Detlef's room. Sam, dressed only in a towel, approached the old man curiously. He carefully studied 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 get dressed, can you help me get him ready?" she asked, sniffling as she got to her feet.
  
  "Yes".
  
  
  Chapter 24
  
  
  After they took care of Kirill's body and wrapped him in sheets on his bed, the atmosphere in the house was filled with tension and grief. Nina sat at the table, still shedding tears from time to time over the death of the dear old Russian. In front of her was Purdue's car and her laptop, on which she was slowly and halfheartedly deciphering Detlef's number sequences. Her coffee was cold, and even the pack of cigarettes was left untouched.
  
  Perdue walked over to her and gently pulled her into a sympathetic embrace. "I'm so sorry, love. I know you adored the old man." Nina didn't say anything. Perdue gently pressed his cheek against 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 this German, please, my love. He seems to be a damn good actor, but he's German. Do you get what I'm getting at?"
  
  Nina gasped. Her eyes met Purdue's as he frowned and silently demanded an explanation. He sighed and looked around to make sure they were alone.
  
  "He is determined to keep his cell phone. You don't know anything about him other than his involvement in the Berlin murder investigation. As far as we know, he may be the main figure. He could be the one who killed his wife when he realized that she was playing on the side of the enemy," he gently laid out his version.
  
  "Did you see him kill her?" At the embassy? Do you even listen to yourself?" she asked in a tone full of indignation. "He helped save you, Purdue. If it wasn't for him, Sam and I would never have known you were missing. If it hadn't been for Detlef, we would never have known where to find the Kazakh Black Sun Hole, to save you."
  
  Perdue smiled. The expression on his face conveyed his victory. "That's what I want to say, my dear. It is a trap. Don't just follow all of his instructions. How do you know he didn't take you and Sam to me? Maybe you should have found me; should have pulled me out. Is this all part of a grand plan?"
  
  Nina didn't want to believe it. Here she urged Detlef not to turn a blind eye to the danger because of nostalgia, but she did exactly the same! There was no doubt that Perdue was right, but she could not yet comprehend the possible betrayal.
  
  "The Black Sun is predominantly German," Perdue continued to whisper as he checked the corridor. "They have their people everywhere. And who do they want to wipe off the face of the planet the most? Me, you and Sam. What better way to bring us all together in pursuit of an elusive treasure than to use a Black Sun double agent as the victim? A victim who has all the answers is more like... a villain."
  
  "Did you manage to decipher the information, Nina?" - Asked Detlef, entering from the street and brushing off his shirt.
  
  Perdue glared at her, stroking her hair one last time before heading into 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 done," she told him, hiding any doubts she harbored. "I just hope we get enough information to find something useful. What if this message is not about the location of the Amber Room?"
  
  "Don't worry. If so, we will 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 avoid being alone with him. The two didn't get along anymore. Sam was aloof and spent most of his time alone in his room, leaving Nina feeling completely alone.
  
  "We'll have to leave soon," Nina suggested loudly for everyone to hear. "I'm going to decipher this transmission, and then we need to hit the road before someone finds us. We will contact local authorities about Kirill's body as soon as we are far enough away from here."
  
  "I agree," said Purdue, standing at the door from where he watched the sun go down. "The sooner we get to the Amber Room, the better."
  
  "As long as we get the right information," Nina added as she wrote 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. As long as Nina could keep Detlef busy, he could also warn Sam. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Perdue knocked louder to wake Sam up in case he was asleep. "Master Cleave! Now is not the time to delay. We need to get ready soon!"
  
  "Understood," Nina exclaimed. Detlef came over to join her at the table, wanting to know what Milla had to say.
  
  "What does she say?" he asked, sinking into a chair next to Nina.
  
  "Maybe it looks like coordinates? See? she suggested, handing him a piece of paper. As he watched this, Nina wondered what he would have done if he had noticed that she had written a fake message, just to see if he already knew every step. She fabricated the message, expecting him to question her work. She would then know if he was leading the group with his number sequences.
  
  "Sam is gone!" Perdue screamed.
  
  "Can't be!" Nina called back, waiting for Detlef's answer.
  
  "No, he really left," Purdue wheezed after searching the entire house. "I looked everywhere. I even checked outside. Sam is gone."
  
  Detlef's mobile phone rang.
  
  "Put the speakerphone on, champ," Perdue insisted. With a vindictive grin, Detlef obeyed.
  
  "Holzer," he replied.
  
  They could hear the phone being handed to someone while the men were talking in the background. Nina was disappointed that she couldn't finish her little German test.
  
  The true message from Milla, which she deciphered, contained more than just numbers or coordinates. It was much more disturbing. As she listened to the phone call, she hid the piece of paper with the original message in her slender fingers. First it was written 'Teifel ist Gecommen', then 'object' shelter' and 'contact required'. The last part simply said 'Pripyat, 1955'.
  
  Through the phone's speaker, they heard a familiar voice that confirmed their worst fears.
  
  "Nina, don't pay attention to what they say! I can survive it!"
  
  "Sam!" she squealed.
  
  They heard the commotion 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 had just received. "You have 48 hours to bring her back or they will kill the German Chancellor. And... and, - he gasped, "take control of the EU."
  
  "Who? Sam who? Detlef asked quickly.
  
  "It's not a secret who, my friend," Nina told him bluntly.
  
  "Who are we going to give it to?" Perdue intervened. "Where and when?"
  
  "You will receive instructions later," the man said. "The German knows where to listen to it."
  
  The call ended abruptly. "Oh my God," Nina moaned through her hands, covering her face with her hands. "You were right, Purdue. Milla is behind it all."
  
  They looked at Detlef.
  
  "Do you think I'm responsible for this?" he defended himself. "Are you out of your mind?"
  
  "You are the one who has given us all the instructions so far, Mr. Holzer - no more, no less, based on Milla's transmissions. The Black Sun is going to send our instructions over the same channel. Make a fucking calculation!" Nina screamed, restrained by Perdue so as not to attack the big German.
  
  "I didn't know anything about it! I swear! I was looking for Perdue to get an explanation of 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, Darling, right there with you. You're still covering for him after all this time, and all this time you knew he killed Gaby," Detlef yelled furiously. His face turned red and his lips trembled with rage as he aimed his Glock at them, opening fire.
  
  Perdue grabbed Nina and pulled her to the floor. "To the bathroom, Nina! Forward! Forward!"
  
  "If you say I told you that, I swear I will kill you!" she yelled at him as he pushed her forward, narrowly dodging well-placed bullets.
  
  "I won't, I promise. Just move! He's right on us!" - Perdue begged as they crossed the threshold of the bathroom. The shadow of Detlef, massive against the background of the wall of the corridor, quickly moved towards them. They slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it just as another shot rang out, hitting the steel door frame.
  
  "Jesus, he's going to kill us," Nina croaked, checking her first aid kit for anything sharp that she could use when Detlef inevitably burst through the door. She found a pair of steel scissors and slipped them into her back pocket.
  
  "Try the window," Purdue suggested, wiping his forehead.
  
  "What's wrong?" she asked. Perdue looked ill again, sweating profusely and clutching the tub handle. "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 tape, I felt exactly the same as I do now. And when I heard that man's voice on Sam's phone, that terrible nausea hit me again," he admitted, panting.
  
  "Do you think these spells are caused by someone"s voice?" she asked hurriedly, pressing her cheek to the floor to look under the door.
  
  "I'm not sure, but I think so," Purdue replied, fighting the overwhelming embrace of oblivion.
  
  "There's someone standing in front of the door," she whispered. "Perdue, you have to stay alert. He is at the door. We must go through the window. Do you think you can handle it?"
  
  He shook his head. "I'm too tired," he snorted. "You should p-get out of here... uh, out of here..."
  
  Perdue spoke incoherently, stumbling as he made his way to the toilet with outstretched arms.
  
  "I won't leave you here!" she protested. Perdue vomited until he was too weak to sit. It was suspiciously quiet in front of the door. Nina assumed that the nutty German would wait patiently for them to come out so he could shoot them. He was still in front of the door, so she turned on the bath taps to hide her movements. She turned the faucets all the way, then carefully opened the window. Nina patiently unscrewed the bars with the blade of the scissors, one after the other, until she was able to remove the contraption. This was hard. Nina groaned as she twisted her torso to lower him, only to find Purdue's arms raised to help her. He lowered the bars, looking like his old self again. She was completely stunned by these strange spells, which made him terribly ill, but he was soon released.
  
  "Feeling better?" she asked. He nodded in relief, but Nina saw that the constant bouts of fever and vomiting quickly dehydrated 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 passageway before he dropped to the ground beside her.
  
  Suddenly the shadow of Detlef fell over them.
  
  When Nina looked at the giant menace, her heart almost stopped. 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 back, but the bolt was twitched, indicating an empty magazine. The big man held Nina in his arms, laughing at Purdue's failed attempt to shoot him. Nina pulled out the scissors and stabbed him again. Detlef's eye popped as she shoved the closed blades into his eye socket.
  
  "Let's go, Nina!" Perdue screamed, throwing away the useless weapon. "Before he gets up. It's still moving!"
  
  "Yes?" she chuckled. "I can change that!"
  
  But Perdue pulled her away, and they fled in the direction of the city, leaving their things behind.
  
  
  Chapter 25
  
  
  Sam stumbled behind the bony-figured tyrant. From a laceration just under his right eyebrow, blood trickled down his face and stained his shirt. The bandits held his hands, dragging him to a large boat, which was rocking on the water of the Gdynia Bay.
  
  "Mr. Cleave, I expect you to follow all our orders, otherwise your friends will be blamed for the death of the German chancellor," his kidnapper informed him.
  
  "You have nothing to hang on them!" Sam disputed. "Besides, if they play into your hands, we'll all end up dead anyway. We know how disgusting the goals of the Order are."
  
  "And here I thought you knew the extent of the genius and possibilities of the Order. How stupid of me. Please don't make me use your colleagues as an example to show you how serious we are," Klaus snapped snidely. He turned to his people. "Invite him on board. We have to go ".
  
  Sam decided to bide his time before trying his new skills. At first, he wanted to take some rest to make sure it wouldn't let him down again. They roughly dragged him across the dock and pushed him onto the rickety ship.
  
  "Bring him in!" one of the men ordered.
  
  "See you when we get to our destination, Mr. Cleve," Klaus said good-naturedly.
  
  'Oh God, here I am back on the fucking Nazi ship!' 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. Than the darker his thoughts grew, the stronger the tingling felt in his brain."It's still there," he smiled.
  
  He's used to the feel of a parasite. The knowledge that it was nothing more than an insect from the youth of the earth did not matter to Sam. This gave him immense mental power, possibly tapping into some abilities long forgotten or yet to be developed in the distant future. Perhaps, he thought, it was an organism specially adapted for killing, much like the instincts of a predator. Perhaps this has diverted energy from certain parts of the modern brain, redirecting it to the primary psychic instincts; and since these instincts served survival, they were directed not to torment, but to subdue and kill.
  
  Before pushing the battered journalist into the cabin they had reserved for their prisoner, the two men who held Sam stripped him naked. Unlike Dave Perdue, Sam didn't fight back. Instead, he spent time in his mind blocking out everything they were doing. The two German gorillas undressing him were strange, and from what little he understood of German, they were betting on how long it would take the Scottish shorty to break down.
  
  "Silence is usually the negative part of the descent," the bald man smiled as he pulled Sam's underpants down to his ankles.
  
  "My girlfriend does this just before she throws a tantrum," the skinny one remarked. "100 euros, that by tomorrow he will be crying like a bitch."
  
  The bald thug glared at Sam, standing uncomfortably close to him. "You are in business. I say he is trying to escape before we get to Latvia."
  
  The two men chuckled as they left their prisoner naked, tattered and seething under a mask of a deadpan face. When they closed the door, Sam remained still for a while. He didn't know why. He simply did not want to move, although his thinking was not at all chaotic. Inside, he felt strong and capable and powerful, but he stood still right there to simply assess the situation. The first movement was just his eyes scanning the room where they'd left him.
  
  The cabin around him was far from comfortable, as he expected from cold and calculating hosts. Cream-coloured steel walls connected at four bolted corners to the cold, bare floor beneath their feet. There was no bed, no toilet, no window. Just a door, locked around the edges in the same way as the walls. There was only one lone bulb, dimly illuminating the squalid room, leaving him with little sensory stimulus.
  
  Sam didn't mind the deliberate lack of distraction, because what was 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 had to either stand up all night or freeze his buttocks. He sat down without thinking too much about his predicament, hardly impressed by the sudden coldness.
  
  "To hell with everything," he told himself. "I'm Scottish, you idiots. What do you think we wear under our kilts on a typical day?" The cold under his genitals was, of course, unpleasant, but tolerable, and that was what was needed here. Sam wished there was a switch above him to turn off the lights. The light interfered with his meditation. As the boat rocked under 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 fight against the kidnappers.
  
  Gradually, one by one, Sam turned off minor inconveniences like pain and cold, slowly sinking into more intense cycles of thought until he felt the current in his skull build up, like a restless worm awakening in the core of his skull. A familiar wave passed through his brain, and some of it seeped into his spinal cord like rivulets of adrenaline. He felt his eyeballs heat up as the mysterious lightning filled his head. Sam smiled.
  
  The tether formed in 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 was nearby, leaving Sam weak and sweating profusely. Frustration threatened his self-control as well as his hope of trying, but he kept trying. In the end, he strained his mind so much that he passed out.
  
  When Sam came to, the room was dark, leaving him unsure of his condition. No matter how hard he strained his eyes, he could not see anything in the pitch darkness. Eventually, Sam began to doubt his own psyche.
  
  "Am I dreaming?" He wondered as he extended his hand in front of him, his fingertips left 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 to be a thin veil. Resuming his previous attempts, he stretched his mind like a searching tentacle into the darkness to find Klaus Manipulation proved to be an elusive exercise, and nothing came of it except for distant voices in a heated discussion and loud laughter from others.
  
  Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, his perception of his surroundings vanished, replaced by a vivid memory that he had not suspected until now. Sam frowned as he remembered lying on the table under the dirty lamps that cast a miserable light in the workshop. He recalled the intense heat he had been exposed to at a small workspace filled with tools and containers. Before he could see more, his memory triggered another sensation that his mind chose to forget.
  
  Excruciating pain filled his inner ear as he lay in the dark, hot place. Above him, a drop of tree sap leaked out of a barrel, narrowly missing his face. Beneath the barrel, a great fire crackled in wavering visions of his memories. It was a source of intense heat. Deep in his ear, a sharp prick made him scream in pain as the yellow syrup dripped onto the table next to his head.
  
  Sam caught his breath as realization flooded into his mind. 'Amber! The organism got into the amber that the old bastard melted! Certainly! When it melted, the bloody creature was able to escape freely. Although, after so many years, she should be dead. I mean, ancient tree sap can hardly be called cryogenic!' Sam argued with his logic. It was while he was semi-conscious under a blanket in the workroom - Calihasa's possession - still recovering from his ordeal on the damned DKM Geheimnis ship after it threw him outside.
  
  From there, with all this confusion and pain, everything became gloomy. But Sam remembered the old man running in to stop the yellow goo from spilling. He also remembered how the old man had asked him if he had been exiled from Hell and to whom he belonged. Sam immediately replied "Perdue" to the old man's question, more of a subconscious reflex than actual coherence, and two days later was on his way to some remote secret facility.
  
  It was there that Sam made his gradual and difficult recovery under the supervision and medical science of Purdue's hand-picked team of doctors until he was ready to join Purdue at Reichtisusis. To his delight, it was there that he was reunited with Nina, his love and the subject of his constant fights with Purdue over the years.
  
  The whole vision lasted only twenty seconds, but it seemed to Sam that he was re-experiencing 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 near-normality. Between the two worlds of mental wandering and physical reality, his senses switched like levers adjusting to alternating currents.
  
  He was back in the room, his sensitive and feverish eyes attacked by the faint light of a bare electric bulb. Sam lay on his back, shivering from the cold floor beneath him. From shoulders to calves, skin was numb from the unyielding temperature of steel. The footsteps were getting closer to the room he was in, but Sam decided to play the possum, again frustrated by his inability to summon the enraged entomo god, as he called him.
  
  "Mr. Cleave, I have enough training to know when someone is faking. You're no more incapacitated 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 was not amused by the snide imitation Sam Cleve used to mock his refined, almost feminine eloquence. His fists almost clenched at the impudence of a journalist, but he was an expert in self-control and kept himself in shape. "You tried to guide my thoughts. Either that or you were just adamant to stay on my mind like a bad memory of an ex-girlfriend."
  
  "Like you know what a girl is," Sam muttered cheerfully. He expected a blow to the ribs or a kick to the head, but nothing happened.
  
  Rejecting Sam's attempts to stoke his vengeance, Klaus clarified, "I know you've got Kalijasa, Mr. Cleve. I am flattered that you consider me a serious enough threat to use this 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 understand that Pripyat is about fourteen hours away, right?" Nina informed Purdue as he sneaked up to Kirill's garage. "Not to mention the fact that Detlef might still be here, as you would guess from the fact that his corpse doesn"t occupy the very spot where I gave him the final blow, right?"
  
  "Nina, my dear," Perdue said quietly to her, "where is your faith? Better yet, where's that cheeky sorceress you usually turn into when things go wrong? Trust me. I know how to do it. How else are we going to save Sam?"
  
  "Is it because of Sam? Are you sure it's not because of the Amber Room?" she called to him. Perdue did not deserve a response to her accusation.
  
  "I don't like this," she grumbled, crouching down next to Purdue, scanning the perimeter of the house and yard they had barely escaped from less than two hours earlier. "I have a bad feeling he's still there."
  
  Perdue crept closer to Kirill's garage door, two ramshackle iron sheets barely held in place by wire and hinges. The doors were padlocked with a thick rusty chain, several inches apart from the slightly skewed position of the right door. It was dark beyond the crack inside the barn. Perdue tried to see if he could break the padlock, but a terrible creaking prompted him to give up trying not to disturb a certain murderous widower.
  
  "This is a bad idea," Nina insisted, gradually losing patience with Perdue.
  
  "Noted," he said absently. Deep in thought, he put his hand on her hip to get her attention. "Nina, you are quite a small woman."
  
  "Thanks for noticing," she muttered.
  
  "Do you think you can fit your body between the doors?" he asked sincerely. Raising one eyebrow, she stared at him without saying anything. In truth, she thought about it, given that time was running out and they had to travel a considerable distance to reach their next destination. Finally, she exhaled, closing her eyes and putting on her proper air of preconceived regret at what she was about to undertake.
  
  "I knew I could count on you," he smiled.
  
  "Shut up!" she barked at him, pursing her lips in annoyance and concentrating to the utmost. Nina pushed forward through tall weeds and thorny bushes, the thorns of which pushed through the thick fabric of her jeans. She winced and cursed and muttered as she made her way to the double-door puzzle until she reached the bottom of the obstacle that stood between her and Kirill's beat-up Volvo. With her eyes, Nina measured the width of the dark gap between the doors, shaking her head in Purdue's direction.
  
  "Forward! You'll come along, "he told her with his lips, peering out from behind the weeds to watch Detlef. From his vantage point, the house was clearly visible, and especially the window in the bathroom. However, the advantage was also a curse, as it meant no one could watch them from home. Detlef could see them as easily as they could see him, and that was the reason for the urgency.
  
  "Oh God," Nina whispered, thrusting her arms and shoulders between the doors, cowering at the rough edge of the slanted door that rubbed against her back as she worked her way through. "God, I'm glad I didn't go the other way," she muttered softly. "That can of tuna would have me skinned from something terrible, damn it!" Her frown deepened as her hip dragged across the tiny, pointed rocks, following her equally hurt palms.
  
  Perdue's shrewd eyes never left the house, but he didn't hear or see anything to alert him-yet. His heart raced at the thought of a deadly shooter coming out of the back door of the shack, but he trusted Nina to get them out of the predicament they were in. On the other hand, he feared the possibility that Kirill's car keys might not be in the ignition. When he heard the rattling sound of the chain, he saw Nina's hips and knees enter the gap, and then her boots disappeared into the darkness. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who heard the noise.
  
  "Great job, love," he whispered, smiling.
  
  Once inside, Nina was relieved that the car door she tried to open was unlocked, but she was soon devastated to find that the keys were not in any of the locations suggested by the numerous gunmen she saw.
  
  "Damn," she hissed, rummaging through fishing gear, beer cans, and a few other items she didn't even want to consider. "Where the hell are your keys, Cyril? Where do crazy old Russian soldiers keep their damn car keys, other than in their pocket?"
  
  Outside, Purdue heard the kitchen door click shut. As he feared, Detlef appeared around the corner. Perdue lay flat on the grass, hoping that Detlef had gone outside for something trivial. But the German giant kept walking towards the garage, where Nina was apparently having trouble finding her car keys. His head was wrapped in some kind of bloody cloth that covered his eye, which Nina had pierced with scissors. Knowing that Detlef was hostile to him, Perdue decided to distract him from Nina.
  
  "I hope he doesn't have that damn gun with him," Purdue muttered as he jumped into a prominent position and headed for the boathouse, which was quite far away. Soon after, he heard gunshots, feeling a hot jolt to his shoulder and another whizzing past his ear. "Crap!" he squealed as he stumbled, but jumped up and kept walking.
  
  Nina heard the shots. Trying her best not to panic, she grabbed a small carving knife that lay on the floor behind the passenger seat, where the fishing gear was stacked.
  
  "I hope none of these shots killed my ex-boyfriend Detlef, or I'm going to skin your ass with this tiny skeleton key," she chuckled, turning on the headlights on the roof of the car and leaning over to reach the wiring under the steering wheel. She had no intention of rekindling her past affair 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, Purdue realized that his hand was on fire. A warm trickle of blood trickled down his elbow and hand as he ran for the cover of the building, but when he was finally able to look around, another lousy surprise awaited him. Detlef did not pursue him at all. No longer considering himself risky, Detlef holstered his Glock and headed for the rickety garage.
  
  "Oh no!" Perdue gasped. However, he knew that Detlef would not be able to get to Nina through a narrow gap between the chain-locked doors. Its impressive size had its downsides, and it was a lifesaver for the petite and brash Nina, who was inside, wiring the car with sweaty hands and little to no light.
  
  Frustrated and hurt, Perdue watched helplessly as Detlef checked the lock and chain to see if anyone could have picked it. 'He probably thinks I'm the only one here. God, I hope so," thought Perdue. While the German was fiddling with the garage doors, Perdue slipped into the house to take as many of their things as he could carry. Nina's laptop bag also had her passport, and Sam's passport he found in the room In the chair next to the bed, Perdue removed cash and an AMEX gold credit card from the German's wallet.
  
  If Detlef believed that Perdue left Nina in town and would return to finish the fight with him, that would be great; the billionaire hoped as he watched the German contemplate the situation from the kitchen window. Perdue felt that his hand was already numb to the fingers, and dizzy from loss of blood, so he used his remaining strength to sneak back to the boathouse.
  
  "Hurry, Nina," he whispered, taking off his glasses to clean them and wipe the sweat off his face with his shirt. To Perdue's relief, the German decided not to make a futile attempt to break into the garage, mainly because he didn't have the key to the padlock. As he was putting on his glasses, he saw Detlef walking towards him. "He'll come to make sure I'm dead!"
  
  From behind the big widower, the sound of ignition echoed throughout the evening. Detlef turned and hurried back to the garage, drawing his pistol. Perdue was determined to keep Detlef away from Nina, even if it cost him his life. He popped out of the grass again and screamed, but Detlef ignored him as the car tried to start again.
  
  "Don't flood her, Nina!" was all Perdue could yell out as Detlef's massive hands closed around the chain and began pushing the doors aside. I wouldn't give you a chain. It was comfortable and thick, much more secure than flimsy iron doors. Outside the doors, the engine roared again , but died out a moment later. Now the afternoon air carries only the sound of slamming doors under the furious force of the German bell. A metallic tear screeched as Detlef dismantled the entire installation, ripping the doors off their flimsy hinges.
  
  "Oh my God!" Perdue groaned, desperately trying to save his beloved Nina, but he lacked the strength to run. He watched the doors shatter like leaves falling from a tree as the engine roared once more. Gaining momentum, "Volvo" screeched under Nina's foot and rushed forward when Detlef threw aside the second door.
  
  "Thank you buddy!" Nina said as she pressed the accelerator and released the clutch.
  
  Purdue only saw Detlef's frame collapse when the old car slammed into him at full speed, throwing his body several feet to the side under its speed. The boxy, ugly brown sedan skidded across the muddy grassy lawn, heading for where Perdue had stopped her. Nina opened the passenger door as the car almost came to a stop, just long enough for Perdue to throw himself into the seat before she was thrown out into the street.
  
  "Are you okay? Perdue! Are you okay? Where did he hit you? she continued to shout over the running engine.
  
  "I'll be all right, my dear," Perdue smiled sheepishly, squeezing his hand. "It's damned lucky the second bullet didn't hit me in the skull."
  
  "I'm lucky that I learned how to start a car to impress a damn hot bully from Glasgow when I was seventeen!" she added proudly. "Perdue!"
  
  "Just keep going, Nina," he replied. "Just get us across the border to Ukraine as fast as you can."
  
  "As long as Kirill's old jalopy can make it through the trip," she sighed as she checked the fuel gauge, which threatened to go over the fuel gauge. 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 get to the next town. From there, we won't stop until we're within arm's length of the Devil's Cauldron and have Sam back."
  
  Perdue didn't understand the last part. He's already 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 everything for the acquisition and transportation of the panel from the Amber Room. There was not much time to lose, and Kemper was a very impatient man. He was yelling orders on deck while Sam listened from his steel prison. Kemper's choice of words haunted Sam immensely-a beehive-the thought made him shudder, but more so because he didn't know what Kemper was up to, and that was reason enough for emotional turmoil.
  
  Sam had to give in; he was afraid. Plain and simple, putting aside image and self-respect, he was horrified at what was coming. Based on the little information he was given, he already felt that he was doomed to be saved this time. Many times before he had managed to avoid what he feared as certain death, but this time it was different.
  
  "You can't give up, Cleve," he scolded himself, emerging from the pit of depression and hopelessness. 'This defeatist shit is not for people like you. What harm can surpass hell aboard that teleporter ship you're trapped on? Do they have any idea what you went through while she made her hellish journey over and over again through the same physical traps?' But when Sam thought about his own training for a bit, he soon realized that he couldn't remember what had happened on DKM Geheimnis while he was being held there. What he did remember was the deep despair that it had created deep in his soul, the only remnant of the whole affair that he could still consciously feel.
  
  Above him, he could hear men unloading heavy equipment onto what must have been some sort of large, heavy-duty vehicle. If Sam didn't know better, he would have guessed it was a tank. Quick footsteps approached the door of his room.
  
  It's now or never, he told himself, gathering his courage to make an escape attempt. If he could manipulate those who came after him, he could leave the boat unnoticed. Locks clicked outside. His heart pounded wildly as he prepared to jump. When the door opened, Klaus Kemper himself was standing there, smiling. Sam rushed forward to grab the hideous kidnapper. Klaus said: "24-58-68-91".
  
  Sam's attack stopped instantly and he fell to the floor at the feet of his target. Confusion and rage flickered across Sam's forehead, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move a single muscle. All he could hear over his naked and bruised body was the triumphant chuckle of a very dangerous man who held deadly information.
  
  "I'll tell you what, Mr. Cleve," Kemper said in a tone of annoying calmness. "Because you have shown so much determination, I will tell you about what just happened to you. But!" he patronized like a future teacher who bestows mercy on a delinquent student. "But... you must agree not to give me any more reason to worry about your relentless and ridiculous attempts to run away from my company. Let's just call it... professional courtesy. You will stop your childish behavior and in turn I will grant you interviews for the ages."
  
  "I'm sorry. I don't interview pigs," Sam retorted. "People like you will never get any publicity from me, so fuck off."
  
  "Again, here I will give you one more chance to rethink your counterproductive behavior," Klaus repeated with a sigh. "In simple terms, I will exchange your consent for information that only I own. Aren't you journalists thirsty... how do you put it? Sensation? "
  
  Sam held his tongue; not because he was stubborn, but because he gave the proposal some thought. 'What's the harm in making that jerk believe you're being decent? He plans to kill you anyway. You might as well learn more about the riddle you've been dying to solve until now," he decided. Besides, it's better than walking around with your bagpipes in front of everyone while you're beaten up by the enemy. Take this. Just take this for now."
  
  "If I get my clothes back, you'll have a deal. While I think you deserve punishment for looking at something you obviously don't have much of, I do prefer to wear trousers in this cold," Sam teased him.
  
  Klaus was used to the journalist's incessant insults, so he wasn't so easily offended anymore. Once he noticed that verbal bullying was Sam Cleve's defense system, it was easy to let him go if not reciprocated. "Certainly. I'll let you blame the cold for that," he retorted, pointing at Sam's apparently shy genitals.
  
  Not appreciating the effect of his counterattack, Kemper turned and demanded that Sam's clothes be returned to him. He was allowed to clean up, get dressed, and join Kemper in his SUV. From Riga, they had to cross two borders towards Ukraine, followed by a huge military tactical vehicle carrying a container specially designed to carry the valuable remaining panels of the Amber Room, which were to be returned by Sam's assistants.
  
  "Impressive," Sam told Kemper as he joined the commander of the Black Sun near the local boat station. Kemper watched as a large perspex container, controlled by two hydraulic levers, was moved from the sloping deck of a Polish ocean-going vessel to a huge truck. "What is this vehicle?" he asked, surveying the huge hybrid truck as he walked along its side.
  
  "This is the prototype of Enrik Hubsch, a talented engineer from our ranks," Kemper boasted as he accompanied Sam. "We modeled it after an American-made Ford XM656 truck from the late 1960s. However, in true German fashion, we have greatly improved it by expanding the original design by increasing the area of the platform by 10 meters and reinforced steel welded along the axles, you understand?"
  
  Kemper pointed proudly at the structure above the heavy-duty tires that ran in pairs along the entire length of the car. "The distance between the wheels is cleverly calculated to support the exact weight of the container, with design features that avoid the inevitable shaking caused by the oscillating water tank, thus stabilizing the truck as it moves."
  
  "And what, in fact, do you need a giant aquarium?" Sam asked as they watched a huge crate of water being hoisted onto the back of a military-grade cargo monster. The thick, bulletproof outer plexiglass was connected at each of the four corners with curved copper plates. Water flowed freely through twelve narrow compartments, which were also lined with copper.
  
  Slots running across the width of the cube were prepared so that one amber panel could be inserted into each of them and stored separately from the next. As Kemper explained the contraption and its purpose, Sam couldn't help but wonder obsessively about the incident that had taken place outside his cabin door on the ship an hour ago. He was itching to remind Kemper to reveal what he promised, but for now, he softened their tumultuous relationship by playing along with him.
  
  "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 is this plain water for? What does that do to the panels in the Amber Room?"
  
  Kemper smiled. "Think of it as a deterrent."
  
  Sam met his gaze and casually asked, "To hold back, say, a swarm of some kind of beehive?"
  
  "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. Cleve. It's just a precaution. I don"t take risks unless I have serious alternatives."
  
  "Noted," Sam nodded affably.
  
  They watched together as Kemper's men completed the loading process, neither of them engaging in conversation. Deep down, Sam would have liked to get into Kemper's mind, but not only was he unable to read minds, but the Nazi PR man already knew Sam's secret - and apparently a little more to boot. It would be redundant to peek. Something unusual struck Sam about the way the small team worked. There was no specific master, but each person moved as if guided by certain commands to ensure that their respective tasks were carried out smoothly and completed at the same time. It was uncanny how they moved quickly, efficiently and without any verbal exchange.
  
  "Come on, Mr. Cleve," Kemper insisted. "It's time to go. We need to cross two countries and there is very little time. With such a delicate cargo, we will not be able to cross the Latvian and Belarusian landscapes in less than 16 hours."
  
  "God damn it! How bored will we be?" Sam exclaimed, already weary of the prospect. "I don"t even have a magazine. Moreover, during such a long journey, I could probably read the whole Bible!"
  
  Kemper laughed, clapping his hands merrily as they climbed into the beige SUV. "To read this 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 to the back of a vehicle that was waiting in front of the truck to direct it along a secondary route to the Latvian-Belarusian border. As they pulled off at a snail's pace, the car's luxurious interior began to fill with cool air to soften the midday heat, accompanied by soft classical music.
  
  "I hope you don't mind Mozart," Kemper said out of politeness.
  
  "Not at all," Sam accepted the formality. "Although I myself am more of an ABBA supporter."
  
  Once again, Kemper was greatly amused by Sam's amusing indifference. "Really? You play!"
  
  "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 took the hint, but was in no hurry to satisfy Sam Cleave's curiosity on the subject at hand. He knew full well that the journalist was shocked by the unintentional reaction of his body to the attack. Another fact that he hid from Sam was information regarding Kalijasa and the fate that awaited him.
  
  As they traveled through the rest of Latvia, the two men barely spoke. Kemper opened up his laptop, mapping out strategic locations for unknown targets that Sam couldn't watch from his seat. But he knew it had to be nefarious - and it had to include his role in the evil commander's evil plans. For his part, Sam refrained from inquiring about the pressing matters that occupied his mind, deciding to spend the time relaxing. After all, he was pretty sure he wouldn't get the chance to do it again anytime soon.
  
  After crossing the border with Belarus, everything changed. Kemper offered Sam a drink for the first time since they left Riga, testing the endurance of the body and will of the investigative journalist so highly regarded in the United Kingdom. Sam readily agreed, receiving a sealed can of Coca-Cola. Kemper also drank one, reassuring Sam that he had been tricked into drinking a drink with added sugar.
  
  "Prost!" Sam said before he emptied a quarter of the can in one long gulp, enjoying the fizzy taste of the drink. Of course, Kemper drank his all the time, all the while maintaining his exquisite composure. "Klaus," Sam suddenly turned to his captor. Now that his thirst was quenched, he mustered all his courage. "The numbers are deceiving, if you like."
  
  Kemper knew he had to explain to Sam. After all, the Scottish journalist wasn't going to live to see the next day anyway, and he behaved pretty well. Too bad he was going to meet his end by suicide.
  
  
  Chapter 28
  
  
  On the way to Pripyat, Nina drove for several hours after filling up the Volvo tank in Wloclawek. With Detlef's credit card, she bought Purdue a first aid kit to treat the wound on his arm. The search for a pharmacy in an unfamiliar city was a detour, but a necessary one.
  
  Even though Sam's kidnappers had directed her and Perdue to the sarcophagus at Chernobyl-the burial place of the ill-fated Reactor 4-she remembered the radio message from Milla. It mentioned Pripyat 1955, a term that simply hasn't softened since she wrote it down. Somehow it stood out from the other phrases, as if glowing with promise. It needed to be revealed, and so Nina has spent the last few hours trying to figure out its meaning.
  
  She did not know anything important, related to 1955, about the ghost town that was in the Exclusion Zone and was evacuated after the reactor accident. In fact, she doubted Pripyat had ever been involved in anything important before its infamous 1986 evacuation. These words haunted the historian until she looked at her watch to determine how long she had been driving and realized that 1955 might refer to a time and not a date.
  
  At first she thought it might be out of reach, but that was all she had. If she gets to Pripyat by 8 pm, she is unlikely to have enough time for a good night's sleep, which is a very dangerous prospect given the fatigue she was already experiencing.
  
  It was awful and lonely on the dark road through Belarus while Perdue snored in an antidol 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 waver now. The little digital clock on the dashboard of Kirill's old car showed the time in an eerie green color.
  
  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 slow death. It was one of her favorite sensations. Rolling down the window was a good idea. The furious blast of cold night air revived her somewhat, though she wished she had a flask of strong caffeine with her to keep her going.
  
  From the surrounding land, hidden in darkness on both sides of the deserted road, she could smell the earth. Across the pale concrete meandering towards the border between Poland and Ukraine, the car hummed a melancholy dirge from its worn rubber tires.
  
  "God, this looks like purgatory," she complained, tossing her spent cigarette butt into the beckoning oblivion outside. "I hope your radio is working Kirill."
  
  At Nina's command, the knob turned with a click, and a faint light announced that there was life in the radio. "Hell yeah!" she smiled, her tired eyes on the road as her hand turned the other dial in search of a suitable station to listen to. There was an FM station that was broadcast through the only speaker in the car, the one in her car door. But Nina wasn't picky tonight. She desperately needed company, any company, to soothe her rapidly growing sullenness.
  
  Most of the time, Perdue was unconscious and she had to make decisions. They were on their way to Chelm, a town 25 kilometers from the Ukrainian border, and slept for a while in a cabin. By the time they got to the border by 2:00 pm, Nina was confident that they would be in Pripyat by the appointed time. Her only concern was how to get into the ghost town with guarded checkpoints throughout the Exclusion Zone surrounding Chernobyl, but little did she know that Milla had friends even in the harshest camps of the forgotten.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  After a few hours of sleep at a quirky family motel in Chełm, a fresh Nina and a peppy Perdue hit the road across the border from Poland, bound for Ukraine. It was just after 13:00 when they reached Kovel, about 5 hours from their destination.
  
  "Look, I understand that I was not myself for almost the entire trip, but are you sure that we should not just go to this Sarcophagus, and not chase 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 make sense of it," she replied, "but we need to understand why Milla mentioned it."
  
  Perdue looked stunned. "You do realize that Milla"s transmissions come directly from the Order, right?" He could not believe that Nina decided to play into the hands of the enemy. As much as he trusted her, he could not understand her logic in this endeavor.
  
  She looked at him intently. "I told you I can't explain it. Just..." she hesitated, doubting her own guess, "... trust me. If we get in trouble, I'll be the first to admit I screwed up, but something about the timing of this broadcast feels different."
  
  "Female intuition, right?" he chuckled. "I might as well have let Detlef shoot me in the head there in Gdynia."
  
  "God, Perdue, can you be a little more supportive?" she frowned. "Don't forget how we got into this in the first place. Sam and I had to come to your aid once again when you fought those bastards for the hundredth time!"
  
  "I have 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 take a vacation in Copenhagen, for God's sake!"
  
  Nina couldn't believe her ears. Perdue was beside himself, acting like a nervous stranger she'd never met before. Sure, he's been dragged into the Amber Room by agents outside of his control, but he's never blown up like this before. Disgusted by the tense silence, Nina turned on the radio and lowered the volume to provide a third, more cheerful presence in the car. She didn't say anything after that, leaving Purdue to simmer while she tried to sort out 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. Purdue ignored the sudden change, staring out the window at the unremarkable landscape. Usually Nina was annoyed by such interference, but she didn't dare turn off the radio and sink into Purdue's silence. As it went on, it got louder until it became impossible to ignore. A familiar tune, last heard on the shortwave broadcast in Gdynia, blared from the battered speaker next to her, identifying the outgoing transmission.
  
  "Milla?" Nina muttered, half frightened, half excited.
  
  Even Purdue's stony face brightened as he listened with surprise and apprehension to the slowly fading melody. They exchanged suspicious glances as static disrupted the airwaves. Nina checked the frequency. "It's not in his normal frequency," she stated.
  
  "What do you mean?" he asked, sounding much more like himself before. "Isn"t this the place you used to tune it to?" he asked, pointing to an arrow located quite far from where Detlef used to set it to tune to the numbers station. Nina shook her head, intriguing Purdue even more.
  
  "Why should they be in the difference...?" she wanted to ask, but the explanation came to her when Purdue replied, "Because they're hiding."
  
  "Yes, that's what I think. But why?" she wondered.
  
  "Listen," he croaked excitedly, perking up to hear.
  
  The female voice sounded insistent, but even. "Widower".
  
  "It's Detlef!" Nina told Purdue. "They hand over to Detlef."
  
  After a short pause, a fuzzy voice continued, "Woodpecker, eight thirty." There was a loud click in the speaker, and instead of a completed transmission, only white noise and static remained. Dumbfounded, Nina and Perdue pondered what had just happened by sheer chance as radio waves hissed into the local station's current transmission.
  
  "What the hell is Woodpecker? I guess they want us to be there at half past eight," Perdue suggested.
  
  "Yes, the message about the trip to Pripyat was at seven fifty-five, so they moved the location and adjusted the time frame to get there. It's not much later than before, so Woodpecker is not far from Pripyat, as I understand it," Nina ventured.
  
  "God, I wish I had a phone! Do you have your phone?" he asked.
  
  "I could - if it's still in my laptop bag, you stole it from Kirill's house," she replied, looking back at the zipped cover in the back seat. Perdue reached back and rummaged through the front pocket of her bag, rummaging through her notebook, pens, and glasses.
  
  "Understood!" he smiled. "Now, I hope it's loaded."
  
  "That's the way it should be," she said, dropping in to take a look. "That should last at least the next two hours. Go on. Find our Woodpecker, old man."
  
  "On it," he replied, browsing the Internet for anything with a similar nickname nearby. They were rapidly approaching Pripyat when the afternoon sun illuminated the light brown-gray flat landscape, turning it into eerie black giants of guard pylons.
  
  "It's such a bad feeling," Nina remarked as her eyes fixed on the landscape. "Look, Perdue, this is the graveyard of Soviet science. You can almost feel the lost glow in the atmosphere."
  
  "That must be the radiation talking, Nina," he joked, drawing a chuckle from the historian, who was happy to have old Perdue back. "I get it".
  
  "Where are we going?" she asked.
  
  "South of Pripyat, towards Chernobyl," he casually pointed out. Nina raised an eyebrow, showing her reluctance to visit such a destructive and dangerous piece of Ukrainian land. But in the end, she knew they had to leave. After all, they were already there - contaminated with the remnants of radioactive material left there after 1986. Perdue checked the map on her phone. "Continue straight from Pripyat. The so-called "Russian woodpecker" is in the surrounding forest," he reported, leaning forward in his seat to look up. "The night is coming soon, my love. She will be cold too."
  
  "What is a Russian woodpecker? Will I be looking for a big bird patching up holes in local roads or something like that?" she chuckled.
  
  "It's actually a relic of the Cold War. The nickname comes from...you'll appreciate it...the mysterious radio interference that interfered with broadcasts across Europe in the 80s," he shared.
  
  "Radio phantoms again," she remarked, shaking her head. "It makes me wonder if we are being programmed daily with hidden frequencies, fraught with ideologies and propaganda, you know? No idea that our opinion can be shaped by subliminal messages..."
  
  "Here!" 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 terrible vision was clearly visible, bewitching and grotesque. 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. "Maybe you're right, Nina. Look at her huge size. The transmitters here could easily manipulate radio waves to change the mindset," he hypothesized, in awe of the eerie wall of steel bars.
  
  Nina glanced at her digital watch. "Almost time."
  
  
  Chapter 29
  
  
  All over the Red Forest grew mostly pine trees, growing from the same soil that covered the graves of the former forest. As a result of the Chernobyl disaster, the former vegetation was destroyed by bulldozers and buried. Reddish-red pine skeletons under a thick layer of earth gave birth to a new generation, planted by the authorities. A single Volvo headlight, a high beam on the right, illuminated the rustling tree trunks of the Red Forest as Nina pulled up to the dilapidated steel gate at the entrance to the abandoned complex. Painted green and adorned with Soviet stars, the two gates slanted, barely held together by the crumbling wooden perimeter fence.
  
  "Good God, this is depressing!" Nina noticed, leaning on the steering wheel to get a better view of the barely visible surroundings.
  
  "I wonder where we should be going," Perdue said, looking for signs of life. The only signs of life, however, were in the form of surprisingly abundant wildlife, such as deer and beavers, which Purdue saw on his way to the entrance.
  
  "Let's just go in and wait. I give them a maximum of 30 minutes, then we get the hell out of this death trap," Nina said. The car moved very slowly, stalking along the ramshackle walls where fading Soviet-era propaganda separated from the crumbling masonry. In the lifeless night at the Duga-3 military base, only the creak of tires was heard.
  
  "Nina," Perdue said softly.
  
  "Yes?" she replied, fascinated by the abandoned Willys jeep.
  
  "Nina!" he said louder, looking ahead. She slammed on the brakes.
  
  "God damn it!" she shrieked as the car's grille came to a halt inches from a tall, lean 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 beam of car headlights. With a light wave of her hand, she beckoned them, turning to show them the way.
  
  "I don't trust her," Nina whispered.
  
  "Nina, we are here. We are waiting. We are already deeply bogged down. Let's not keep the lady waiting." He smiled as he saw the pretty little story pout. "Come. 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 didn't say anything as they followed her, glancing at each other from time to time 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 what looked like a cafeteria from a bygone era, where blinding white light fell through a doorway. She opened the door and held it for Nina and Perdue, who reluctantly entered, keeping their eyes on her.
  
  "This is Milla," she told the Scottish guests, stepping back to show five men and two women sitting in a circle with laptops. "It stands for "Military index of Leonid Leopoldt Alpha" .
  
  Each had their own style and purpose, and they took turns occupying the only control room for their broadcasts. "I am Elena. These are my partners," she explained in a thick Serbian accent. "Are you a widower?"
  
  "Yes, it is," Nina replied before Perdue could do so. "I'm his colleague, Dr. Gould. You can call me Nina and this is Dave."
  
  "We were hoping you would come. There is something to warn you about, "said one of the men from the circle.
  
  "About what?" Nina said under her breath.
  
  One of the women was sitting in an isolated booth at the control panel and could not hear their conversation. "No, we will not interfere with her transfer. Don't worry," Elena smiled. "This is Yuri. He is 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 that Nina and Perdue saw outside on the gate, with an inscription underneath in Russian.
  
  "Cool ink," Nina said approvingly, pointing to the one Elena had around her neck. "What does this say?"
  
  "Oh, it says Red Army 1985...um, 'Red Army' and date of birth. We all have our year of birth next to our stars," she smiled shyly. Her voice was like silk, accentuating the articulation of her words, which made her even more attractive than just her physical beauty.
  
  "This is the name in the abbreviation of Milla," Nina asked, "who is Leonid ...?"
  
  Elena responded quickly. "Leonid Leopoldt was a German-born Ukrainian operative during World War II who survived a mass suicide that drowned off the coast of Latvia. Leonid killed the captain and radioed the commander of the submarine Alexander Marinesko."
  
  Perdue nudged Nina with his elbow: "Marinesco was Kirill"s father, remember?"
  
  Nina nodded, wanting to hear more from Elena.
  
  "Marinesco's people took the fragments of the amber room and hid them while Leonid was sent to the Gulag. While he was in the Red Army interrogation room, he was shot by SS pig Karl Kemper. This Nazi scum should not have been at the Red Army facility!" Elena fumed in her noble manner, looking upset.
  
  "Oh my God, Perdue!" Nina whispered. "Leonid was a soldier on the record! Detlef has a medal pinned to his chest."
  
  "So you are not affiliated with the Order of the Black Sun?" - Sincerely asked Perdue. Under very hostile looks, the entire group reprimanded and cursed him. He did not speak in tongues, but it was clear that their reaction was not favorable.
  
  "A widower does not mean being offended," Nina put in. "Hmm, an unknown agent told him that your radio transmissions came 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 a nod of approval 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 nineties? Or is it just to show your devotion?"
  
  Nina's question was answered by a striking man in his thirties. "Didn"t the Order of the Black Sun fall apart after that asshole Hitler committed suicide?"
  
  "No, the next generations of followers are still active," Purdue replied.
  
  "That's it," said the man. "The Red Army is still fighting the Nazis; only it's a new generation of operatives fighting in an old war. Red versus Black."
  
  "This is Misha," Elena intervened out of courtesy to strangers.
  
  "We have all gone through military training, like our fathers and their fathers, but we fight with the help of the most dangerous weapon of the new world - information technology," Misha preached. He was clearly a leader. "Milla is the new Tsar Bomba, baby!"
  
  There were shouts of triumph among the group. Surprised and puzzled, Perdue looked at the smiling Nina and whispered, "What is Tsar Bomba, may I ask?"
  
  "Only the most powerful nuclear weapon has exploded in the history of mankind," she winked. "H-bomb; I believe it was tested sometime in the sixties."
  
  "Those are good guys," Perdue said playfully, making sure to keep his voice down. Nina smiled 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 was an exceptionally long trip, not to mention the emotional strain of what they still had to deal with.
  
  "Elena, we have a few questions about Milla and her connection to the Amber Room relic," Perdue inquired respectfully. "We have to find the work of art, or what's left of it, by tomorrow night."
  
  "No! Oh no, no!" Misha frankly protested. He ordered Elena to step aside on the couch and sat across from the misinformed patrons. "No one will take the Amber Room from her tomb! Never! If you want to do this, we will 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 the hammers being pulled back proved how serious Milla was.
  
  "Okay, relax. Let's discuss the alternative, by all means," Perdue suggested.
  
  Elena's soft voice was the first to respond. "Look, the last time someone stole a piece of this masterpiece, the Third Reich almost destroyed the freedom of all people."
  
  "How?" Perdue asked. Of course, he had an idea, but he could not yet realize the true threat hidden in it. All Nina wanted was to holster the bulky pistols so she could relax, but the Milla members didn't budge.
  
  Before Misha broke into another tirade, Elena begged him to wait with one of those bewitching hand waves. She sighed and continued, "The amber used to make the original amber room was from the Balkan region."
  
  "We know about an ancient organism - Kalichas - 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 are crazy people! 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 pleaded for his attention, "our colleague... our friend... is being held by the Order and they will kill him if we don't deliver the Amber Room by tomorrow. So, Widower and I are in deep, very deep shit! You understand?"
  
  Perdue cringed at Nina's trademark ferocity towards the fiery Misha.
  
  "Nina, may I remind you that the guy you're yelling at pretty much has our proverbial balls in his grip," Perdue said as he gently tugged on Nina's shirt.
  
  "No, Perdue!" She resisted, throwing his hand away. "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 the dirty work and try not to get killed!"
  
  Elena sat silently nodding in agreement, waiting for Misha to realize the strangers' predicament. The woman who had been broadcasting all this time stepped out of the booth and stared at the strangers sitting in the cafeteria and the rest of her group, weapons at the ready. At over six foot three, the dark-haired Ukrainian looked more than intimidating. Her dreadlocks spilled over her shoulders as she stepped elegantly towards them. Elena casually introduced her to Nina and Perdue: "This is our explosives expert, Natasha. She is a former commando and a direct descendant of Leonid Leopold."
  
  "Who is this?" - Firmly asked Natasha.
  
  "Widower," Misha replied, pacing back and forth, pondering Nina's recent statement.
  
  "Ah, widower. Gabi was our friend," she replied, shaking her head. "Her death was a great loss to world freedom."
  
  "Yes, it was," Perdue agreed, unable to take his eyes off the newcomer. Elena told Natasha about the delicate situation in which the visitors found themselves, to which the Amazon-like woman replied: "Misha, we must help them."
  
  "We are at war with data, with information, not with firepower," Misha reminded her.
  
  "Was it information and data that stopped that US intelligence officer who was trying to help Black Sun get the Amber Room in the last era of the Cold War?" she asked him. "No, Soviet firepower stopped him in West Germany."
  
  "We are hackers, not terrorists!" he protested.
  
  "Was it the hackers who destroyed the Chernobyl threat of Kalikhas in 1986? No, Misha, they were terrorists!" she objected. "Now we have this problem again, and we will have it as long as the Amber Room exists. What will you do when Black Sun is successful? Are you going to send out strings of numbers 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 was not an accident?" Perdue casually asked, but the sharp warning looks from the Milla members silenced him. Even Nina couldn't believe his irrelevant 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 of Nina as he waited for Kemper to return to the car. The bodyguard who was driving them stayed behind the wheel, leaving the engine running. Even if Sam managed to escape the black- suited gorilla, there really was nowhere to run. In all directions from them, stretching as far as the eye could see, the landscape looked like a very familiar sight. In fact, it was more of a familiar vision.
  
  Eerily similar to Sam's hypnotic hallucination during his sessions with Dr. Helberg, the flat, featureless countryside with colorless meadows disturbed him. It's good that Kemper left him alone for a while so that he can process the surreal incident until it no longer frightens him. But the more he watched, became aware, and absorbed the scenery to adapt to it, the more Sam realized that it terrified him just as much.
  
  Shifting awkwardly in his chair, he involuntarily recalled the dream of the well and the barren landscape before the destructive impulse that lit up the sky and destroyed the nations. The meaning of what was once nothing more than a subconscious manifestation of disorder, witnessed, turned out to be, to Sam's dismay, a prophecy.
  
  Prophecy? Me?" he pondered the absurdity of the idea. But then another memory wedged itself into his mind like another piece of the puzzle. , which the attacker on Nina shouted to her.
  
  "Get your evil prophet out of here!"
  
  "Get your evil prophet out of here!"
  
  "Get your evil prophet out of here!"
  
  Sam was scared.
  
  'God damn it! How could I not have heard it at the time?' he racked his brains, forgetting to consider that such is the very nature of the mind and all its wondrous faculties: 'Did he call me a prophet?' Turning pale, he swallowed hard as it all came together - seeing the exact terrain and the annihilation of an entire race under an amber sky - but what bothered him the most was the ripple he saw in his vision, similar to a nuclear explosion.
  
  Kemper startled Sam when he opened the door to go back. That sudden click of the central lock, followed by the loud click of the knob, came just as Sam remembered the all-consuming impulse that had rippled across the country.
  
  "Entschuldigung, Herr Cleave," Kemper apologized as Sam twitched in fright, clutching his chest. However, this caused the tyrant to chuckle. "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 cargo?" Sam asked.
  
  "Just a small problem with the gas level sensor, but now it's fixed," Kemper replied seriously. "So you wanted to know how the sequences of numbers prevented 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 enthused, pandering to Klaus' ego like he was a big fan. This was a tactic that Sam Cleve had used many times before in his investigations to expose the perpetrators.
  
  "Here's the secret," Klaus smiled smugly, slowly wringing his hands and overflowing with smugness. "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, whether it be at the cellular level, geometrically, in physics, chemical compounds, or anywhere else. This is the key to transforming all data - like a computer inside a specific part of your brain, you understand?
  
  Sam nodded. He thought for a while and answered: "So this is something like a cipher to a biological enigma machine."
  
  Kemper applauded. Literally. "That's an extremely accurate analogy, Mr. Cleve! I couldn't have explained it better myself. That's exactly how it works. Using chains of specific combinations, it is quite possible to expand the field of influence, in fact, by closing the brain receptors. Now, if you add an electric current to this action," Kemper reveled in his superiority, "it will increase the effect of the thoughtform tenfold."
  
  "So by using electricity, you could really increase the amount of data you digest? Or is it to enhance the manipulator's ability to control more than one person at the same time?" Sam asked.
  
  Keep talking, dobber, Sam thought over his masterful charade. 'And the award goes to... Samson Cleve for his role as a charmed journalist charmed by a smart man!' Sam, no less exceptional in his game, registered every detail that the German narcissist spewed.
  
  "What do you think was the first thing Adolf Hitler did when he took over dormant Wehrmacht personnel in 1935?" he asked Sam rhetorically. "He introduced mass discipline, combat effectiveness and unwavering loyalty to impose the ideology of the SS using subliminal programming."
  
  With great delicacy, Sam asked the question that popped into his head almost immediately after Kemper's statement. "Did Hitler have Kalichas?"
  
  "After the Amber Room settled in the Berlin City Palace, a German master from Bavaria..." Kemper chuckled, trying to remember the man's name. "Uh, no, I don"t remember - he was invited to join the Russian craftsmen to restore the artifact after it was given to Peter the Great, you understand?"
  
  "Yes," Sam answered readily.
  
  "According to legend, when he was working on a new design for a restored room in the Catherine Palace, he "demanded" three pieces of amber, you know, for his troubles," Kemper winked at Sam.
  
  "Actually, don't blame him," Sam remarked.
  
  "No, how can anyone blame him for that? I agree. In any case, he sold one thing. Two others were feared to have been cheated by his wife and also sold. However, this was apparently not true, and the wife in question turned out to be an early matriarchal bloodline who met the impressionable Hitler many centuries later."
  
  Kemper was clearly enjoying his own storytelling, killing time on his way to killing Sam, but the journalist nonetheless paid attention to how the story unfolded more and more. "She passed the remaining two pieces of amber from the original Amber Room to her descendants, and in the end they went to none other than Johann Dietrich Eckart! How can this be an accident?"
  
  "Sorry Klaus," Sam apologized sheepishly, "but my knowledge of German history is confusing. That is why I am keeping Nina."
  
  "Ha! Just for historical information?" Klaus teased. "I doubt it. But let me clarify. Eckart, a highly educated man and metaphysical poet, was directly responsible for Hitler's admiration for the occult. We suspect that it was Eckart who discovered the power of Kalihasa and then used this phenomenon when he gathered the first members of the Black Sun. And, of course, the most outstanding member who was able to actively seize the undeniable opportunity to change people's worldview..."
  
  "...was Adolf Hitler. Now I understand," Sam filled in the blanks, feigning charm to fool his captor. "Kalichasa gave Hitler the ability to turn people into, well, drones. This explains why the masses in Nazi Germany were basically of the same mindset... synchronized movements and this obscenely instinctive, inhuman level of brutality."
  
  Klaus smiled sweetly at Sam. "Obscenely instinctive... I like it."
  
  "I thought you could," Sam sighed. "It"s all positively mesmerizing, 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's the name in Nina's audio clip," Sam recalled. 'He was responsible for the death of a Red Army soldier in an interrogation room. Now the puzzle is coming together. He stared into the eyes of the small-framed monster in front of him. Can't wait to see you panting, 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, Nazi scum!" The notions that materialized in Sam's soul seemed alien and out of touch with his own personality, and it alarmed him. The Calixas in his brain took over again, filling his thoughts with negativity and primal violence. but he had to admit that the terrible things he thought were not completely exaggerated.
  
  "Tell me, Klaus, what was the purpose behind the murders in Berlin?" Sam extended the so-called special interview over a glass of good whisky. "Fear? Public concern? 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! Should have made a bet."
  
  Kemper seemed less than stellar when he heard about the new route the investigative reporter was taking, but he had nothing to lose by revealing his motives to the walking dead.
  
  "Actually, it's a very simple program," he replied. "Because the German chancellor is in our power, we have leverage. The assassinations of senior citizens, mainly responsible for the political and financial well-being of the country, prove that we are aware and, of course, carry out our threats without hesitation."
  
  "So you chose them based on their elite status?" Sam just asked.
  
  "That too, Mr. Cleve. But each of our goals had a bigger investment in our world than just money and power," Kemper said, though he didn"t seem too eager to share what exactly that investment was. It wasn't until Sam pretended to lose interest by simply nodding and staring out the window at the moving terrain outside that Kemper felt obligated to tell him. "Each of these seemingly random targets were actually Germans assisting our contemporary Red Army comrades in concealing the location and existence of the Amber Room, the single most effective obstacle in Black Sun's search for the original masterpiece. My father learned first hand from Leopold - a Russian traitor - that the relic was intercepted by the Red Army and did not go down with Wilhelm Gustloff, who was Milla, as the legend goes. Since then, some members of Black Sun, having changed their minds about world domination, have left our ranks. Can you believe it? The descendants of the Aryans, powerful and intellectually superior, decided to break with the Order. But the greatest betrayal was helping the Soviet bastards hide the Amber Room, even funding a covert operation in 1986 to destroy six of the ten remaining amber slabs containing Calihasa!"
  
  Sam perked up. "Wait wait. What do you say about 1986? Half of the Amber Room was destroyed?"
  
  "Yes, thanks to our recently deceased elite members of society who funded Milla for Operation Motherland, Chernobyl is now the tomb 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 countrymen and anyone who asks us questions."
  
  "How?" Sam asked.
  
  Kemper laughed, surprised that someone as insightful as Sam Cleve didn't understand what was really going on. "Well, we have you, Mr. Cleave. You are the new hitler of the Black Sun... with this special creature that feeds on your brain."
  
  "I'm sorry?" Sam gasped. "How do you think I'm going to serve your purpose?"
  
  "Your mind has the ability to manipulate the masses, my friend. Like F ührer, you will be able to subdue Milla and all other agencies like them - even governments. They'll do the rest themselves," Kemper chuckled.
  
  "But what about my friends?" - Asked Sam, alarmed by the opening prospects.
  
  "It won't matter. By the time you project Calijasa's power over the world, the body will have consumed most of your brain," Kemper revealed as Sam stared at him in sheer horror. "Either that or an abnormal increase in electrical activity will fry your brain. Either way, you will go down in history as a hero of the Order."
  
  
  Chapter 31
  
  
  "Give them that fucking gold. Gold will soon become worthless if they can't find a way to turn vanity and density into real survival paradigms," Natasha sneered at her colleagues. Milla's patrons were seated around a large table with a group of militant hackers, who Purdue now discovered were the people behind Gaby's mysterious air traffic control message. It was Marco, one of the quietest members of Milla, who bypassed Copenhagen air control and told the Purdue pilots to change course to Berlin, but Purdue wasn't going to blow his cover of Detlef's "Widower" moniker to reveal who he really was - not yet. .
  
  "I have no idea what gold has to do with the plan," muttered Nina Perdue in the midst of a row with the Russians.
  
  "Most of the still existing amber sheets 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 intervened. "This gold is worth a lot to the right people."
  
  "Are you a capitalist pig now?" Yuri asked. "Money is useless. Appreciate only information, knowledge and practical things. We give them gold. Who cares? We need the gold to trick them into believing that Gaby's friends aren't up to something."
  
  "Better yet," Elena suggested, "we use gold carvings to place the isotope. All we need is a catalyst and enough electricity to heat the pot."
  
  "Isotope? Are you a scientist, Elena?" Perdue is fascinated.
  
  "Nuclear physicist, class of 2014," Natasha boasted with a smile about her pleasant friend.
  
  "Crap!" Nina was delighted, impressed by the intelligence hidden in a beautiful woman. She looked at Purdue and nudged him with her elbow. "This place is sapiosexual Valhalla, hey?"
  
  Perdue raised his eyebrows coquettishly at Nina's exact guess. Suddenly, a heated discussion between the Red Army hackers was interrupted by a loud crash that made them all freeze in anticipation. Listening carefully, they waited. From the broadcast center's wall speakers, the howl of the incoming signal heralded something ominous.
  
  "Guten Tag, meine Kameraden."
  
  "Oh God, it's Kemper again," Natasha hissed.
  
  Perdue felt nausea 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 will arrive at Chernobyl in two hours," Kemper said. "This is your first and only warning that we expect our ETA to retrieve the Amber Room from the sarcophagus. Failure to comply will result in..." he chuckled to himself and decided to drop the formalities, "...well, it will result in the death of the German chancellor and Sam Cleave, after which we will release nerve gas in Moscow, London and Seoul at the same time. David Purdue will be involved in our extensive political media network, so don't try to challenge us. Zwei Stunden. Wiedersehen."
  
  The click interrupted the static, and silence fell over 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 sequences of numbers different from ours, they make people kill themselves and others through subconscious suggestion. Now we will have to crouch on the ghost platform Duga-3," Natasha chuckled.
  
  Perdue swallowed hard as his temperature soared. Trying not to interrupt the meeting, he placed his cold, clammy hands on the seat at his sides. Nina immediately realized that something was wrong.
  
  "Perdue?" she asked. 'Are you sick again?'
  
  He smiled weakly and brushed it off with a shake of his head.
  
  "He doesn't look good," Misha remarked. "Infection? How long are you here? More than a day?
  
  "No," Nina replied. "Only for a few hours. But he's been sick for two days now."
  
  "Don't worry folks," Purdue slurred, still maintaining a cheerful expression. "It goes after."
  
  "Then?" Elena asked.
  
  Perdue jumped to his feet, his face pale as he tried to control himself, but he pushed his lanky body against the door with an overwhelming urge to puke.
  
  "After that," Nina sighed.
  
  "The men's room is downstairs," Marco said casually as he watched his guest hurried down the steps. "Drink or nerves?" he asked Nina.
  
  "Both. Black Sun tortured him for several days before our friend Sam went to get him out. I think the injury 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. Obviously, torture was so deeply rooted in their cultural past of war and tragedy that it was taken for granted in conversation. Immediately, Misha's blank expression lit up and brightened 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 to her, and Nina quickly rummaged through her front zippered bag for the paper she had sketched on in Dr. Helberg's office that day. She gave Misha the recorded numbers and information.
  
  So, the first messages that Detlef brought to us in Edinburgh were not sent by Milla. Otherwise, they would have known the location of the complex, Nina thought, but kept it to herself. On the other hand, Milla dubbed him 'The Widower'. They, too, immediately recognized the man as Gabi's husband.' Her hands rested in her dark, tousled hair. , as she propped her head up and rested her elbows on the table like a bored schoolgirl, it occurred to her that Gaby - and therefore Detlef - had also been misled by the Order's intervention in the broadcast, just like people affected by number sequences maleficent 'Oh my God, I have to apologize to Detlef. I'm sure he survived a little incident with the Volvo. I hope?'
  
  Perdue had been away for a long time, but it was more important to come up with a plan before their time was up. She watched the Russian geniuses discussing something heatedly in their own language, but she did not mind. It sounded beautiful to her, and from their tone she guessed that Misha's idea was solid.
  
  As soon as she began to worry about Sam's fate again, Misha and Elena met with her to explain the plan. The rest of the participants followed Natasha out of the room, and Nina heard them clattering down the iron steps like they were during a fire drill.
  
  "I understand 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 will dedicate my life to wasting them all," she moaned in despair.
  
  "It's a red mood," Elena smiled.
  
  "And yes, we have a plan. Good plan," Misha said. He seemed almost happy.
  
  "Fabulous!" 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 wanting to hear his explanation. "Should I hope for more, tied to your conclusion? Because if that is your plan, I have lost all faith in my dwindling admiration for Soviet ingenuity."
  
  They laughed absently. It was clear that they did not care about the opinion of the representative of the West; not even enough to hasten to dispel her doubts. Nina folded her arms across her chest. Thoughts of Perdue's constant illness and Sam's constant subordination and absence only angered the defiant historian even more. Elena sensed her disappointment and boldly took her hand.
  
  "We will not interfere with Black Sun's actual, ahem, claim to the Amber Room or collection, but we will provide you with everything you need to fight them. Fine?" she said to Nina.
  
  "Aren't you going to help us get Sam back?" Nina gasped. She wanted to burst into tears. After all this, she was turned down by the only allies she thought they had against Kemper. Perhaps the Red Army was not as powerful as their reputation claimed, she thought with bitter disappointment in her heart. "Then what the hell are you really going to help with?" she fumed.
  
  Misha's eyes darkened with intolerance. "Look, we don't have to help you. We are broadcasting information, not fighting your battles."
  
  "It's obvious," she chuckled. "So what will happen now?"
  
  "You and the Widower must take the remaining parts of the Amber Room. Yuri will hire a man for you with a heavy cart and blocks," Elena tried to sound more proactive. "Natasha and Marco are right now in the reactor sector of the Medvedka sublevel. Soon I'm going to help Marco with the poison."
  
  "I?" Nina winced.
  
  Misha pointed to Elena. "That's what they call the chemical elements they put in the bombs. I think they are trying to be funny. For example, while poisoning the body with wine, they poison objects with chemicals or something."
  
  Elena kissed him and apologized to join the others in the secret basement of the fast neutron reactor, a section of a huge military base that was once used to store equipment. Duga-3 was one of three locations that Milla periodically migrated to each year to avoid capture or discovery, and the group secretly turned each of their locations into fully functional bases of operations.
  
  "When the poison is ready, we will give you materials, but you must prepare your own weapons at the Sanctuary facility," Misha explained.
  
  "Is this a sarcophagus?" she asked.
  
  "Yes."
  
  "But the radiation there will kill me," protested Nina.
  
  "You will not be in the Sanctuary facility. In 1996, my uncle and grandfather moved the plates from the Amber Room to an old well next to the Sanctuary facility, but where the well is, there is land, a lot of land. She's not connected to Reactor 4 at all, so you should be fine," he explained.
  
  "God, this is going to skin me," she muttered, seriously considering abandoning the whole enterprise and leaving Purdue and Sam to fend for themselves. Misha laughed at the paranoia of a spoiled Western woman and shook his head. "Who will show me how to cook this?" - Nina finally asked, deciding that she did not want the Russians to consider the Scots weaklings.
  
  "Natasha is an explosives expert. Elena is a chemical hazard expert. They will 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 overbearing nature. "Please handle metal in protective gear and try not to breathe without covering your mouth. And after you give them the relic, stay away. Long distance, understand?"
  
  "Good," Nina replied, grateful for his concern. It was a side of him that she still hadn't had the pleasure of seeing. He was a mature man. "Misha?"
  
  "Yes?"
  
  In all seriousness she begged to know. "What weapon am I making here?"
  
  He didn't answer, so she asked a little more.
  
  "How far away should I be after I give Kemper the Amber Room?" she wanted to determine.
  
  Misha blinked several times, looking deep into the pretty 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 cleaning, he examined the condition of the fabric in the mirror. "Like it never happened," he smiled, pleased with his efforts.
  
  When he entered the cafeteria, he found that Elena and Misha were dressing Nina.
  
  "Your turn," Nina chuckled. "I see you had another bout of illness."
  
  "It was nothing but violence," he said. "What's happening?"
  
  "We're stuffing Dr. Gould's clothes with radioactive materials when you two go down behind the Amber Room," Elena informed him.
  
  "This is ridiculous, Nina," he complained. "I refuse to wear all this. As if our task is no longer hampered by a deadline, now you have to resort to absurd and time-consuming measures to delay us even longer?"
  
  Nina frowned. Perdue seemed to be back to the whiny bitch she had quarreled with in the car, and she wasn't about to put up with his childish whims. "Would you like your balls to fall off by tomorrow?" she quipped. "Otherwise you'd better take a cup; lead."
  
  "Grow up, Dr. Gould," he protested.
  
  "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 will suffer from in a few weeks."
  
  The Soviets silently laughed at Nina's patronizing tirade as they tuned the last of her lead-enhanced contraptions. Elena gave her a medical mask to cover her mouth when she descended into the well, and a climbing helmet just in case.
  
  After drooping for a while, Perdue allowed them to dress him like this before accompanying Nina to where Natasha was ready to arm them for battle. Marco put together some dainty pencil case-sized cutting tools for them, as well as instructions on how to cover amber with a thin glass prototype he created just for the occasion.
  
  "People, are you confident that we can carry out this highly specialized enterprise in such a short time?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Dr. Gould says you are an inventor," Marco replied. "Just like working with electronics. Use access and fit tools. Put the pieces of metal on a sheet of amber to hide them like gold inlay and cover it with covers. Use the clamps on the corners and BOOM! An amber room enhanced by death so they can take it home."
  
  "I still don't quite understand what it all means," Nina complained. "Why are we doing this? Misha hinted to me that we must be far away, which means that this is a bomb, right?"
  
  "Correct," Natasha confirmed.
  
  "But it's just a collection of dirty silver metal frames and rings. Looks like something my mechanic grandfather kept in a junkyard," she moaned. Perdue first showed some interest in their mission when he saw junk that looked like tarnished steel or silver.
  
  "Mary, Mother of God! Nina!" he exhaled reverently, throwing a look at Natasha full of condemnation and surprise. "You people are crazy!"
  
  "What? What is this?" she asked. They all responded to his gaze, unfazed by his panicked judgment. Perdue's mouth remained open in disbelief as he turned to Nina with one object in hand. "This is weapons-grade plutonium. They're sending us to turn the Amber Room into a nuclear bomb!"
  
  They did not refute his statement and did not appear intimidated. Nina was speechless.
  
  "This is true?" she asked. Elena looked down and Natasha nodded proudly.
  
  "She can't explode while you're holding her, Nina," Natasha explained calmly. "Just make it look like a piece of art and cover the panels with Marco glass. Then give it to Kemper."
  
  "Plutonium ignites on contact with moist air or water," Pardew swallowed, thinking of all the properties of the element. "If the coating chipped or exposed, there could be dire consequences."
  
  "So don't screw it up," Natasha growled cheerfully. "Now let's go, you have less than two hours to show the find to our guests."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Just over twenty minutes later, Perdue and Nina were lowered into a hidden stone well that had been overgrown with radioactive grass and brush for decades. The masonry has collapsed just like the former Iron Curtain, a testament to a bygone era of cutting-edge technology and innovation abandoned and left to decay due to the aftermath of Chernobyl.
  
  "You are far away from the Sanctuary facility," Elena reminded Nina. "But breathe through your nose. Yuri and his cousin will be waiting here while you bring the relic out."
  
  "How do we get this to the entrance to the well? Each panel weighs more than your car!" Purdue stated.
  
  "There is a railway system here," Misha called down into the dark hole. "Traces lead to the hall of the Amber Room, where my grandfather and my uncle moved the fragments to a secret place. You can just lower them with ropes onto the mine cart and roll them here, where Yuri will take them upstairs."
  
  Nina gave them a thumbs up, checking her walkie-talkie 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 off into the dank darkness with flashlights attached to their helmets. The black mass in the dark turned out to be the mining machine that Misha was talking about, and they lifted Marco's sheets onto it with tools, pushing the machine as it went.
  
  "A bit uncooperative," Perdue remarked. "But I would be the same if I had been rusting in the dark for more than twenty years."
  
  Their beams of light faded just a few meters in front of them, immersed in thick darkness. Myriads of tiny particles hovered in the air and danced before the beams in the silent oblivion of the underground channel.
  
  "What if we go back and they close the well?" Suddenly, Nina said.
  
  "We will find a way out. We have been going through worse than this before," he assured.
  
  "It's so eerily quiet in here," she persisted in her gloomy mood. "Once upon a time there was water down here. I wonder how many people have drowned in this well or died from radiation while seeking shelter down here."
  
  "Nina" was all he said to shake her from her recklessness.
  
  "Sorry," Nina whispered. "I'm scared as hell."
  
  "That doesn't sound like you," Purdue said in a thick atmosphere that robbed his voice of any echo. "You are only afraid of infection or the consequences of radiation poisoning, which lead to a slow death. That is why you find this place terrifying."
  
  Nina gazed at him in the hazy light of her lamp. "Thank you, David."
  
  After a few steps, his face changed. He was looking at something to her right, but Nina was adamant, not wanting to know what it was. When Perdue stopped, Nina was engulfed in all sorts of scary scenarios.
  
  "Look," he smiled, taking her hand to turn her around to face the magnificent treasure that had been hidden under years of dust and debris. "She is no less magnificent than when the King of Prussia owned her."
  
  As soon as Nina illuminated the yellow slabs, gold and amber combined to become exquisite mirrors of the lost beauty of past centuries. The intricate carvings that adorned the frames and fragments of the mirror emphasized the purity of the amber.
  
  "To think that an evil god is slumbering right here," she whispered.
  
  "Part of what appears to be inclusions, Nina, look," Perdue pointed out. "The specimen, so small it was almost invisible, came under the scrutiny of Purdue'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 my God, that sounds disgusting," Nina winced at the thought.
  
  "Come see," Purdue invited, preparing for her reaction. He placed the left magnifying glass of his glasses on another dirty spot on the untouched gilded amber. Nina leaned over to look at her.
  
  "What in the name of Jupiter"s gonads is this thing?" she gasped in horror with bewilderment on her face. "I swear I'll shoot myself if this creepy thing takes up residence in my brain. My God, can you imagine if Sam knew what his Kalichasa looked like?"
  
  "Speaking of Sam, I think we should hurry up with the transfer of this treasure to the use of the Nazis. What do you say? Perdue insisted.
  
  "Yes".
  
  When they had finished painstakingly reinforcing the giant slabs with metal and carefully sealing them behind the protective film as instructed, Perdue and Nina rolled the panels one by one to the bottom of the well's mouth.
  
  "Look, see? They all left. There's no one up there," she complained.
  
  "At least they didn't block the entrance," he smiled. "We can"t expect them to be 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."
  
  From afar, they could hear the loud noise of the engine. Vehicles slowly crawling along the nearby road were approaching the area of the well. Yuri and his cousin started lifting the slabs. Even with the comfortable ship's cargo net, it still took a lot of time. Two Russians and four locals helped Purdue stretch the net over each of the slabs, he hoped it was designed to lift more than 400 kg at a time.
  
  "Incredible," 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 get in the way. As the men shouted out sentences and counted down the time, her two-way radio picked up the transmission.
  
  "Nina, come in. The end," Elena said through a low crackle that Nina was used to.
  
  "This is Nina's reception room. Finished," she replied.
  
  "Nina, we"ll leave when the Amber Room is taken out, okay?" Elena warned. "I need you not to worry and think that we just ran away, but we must leave before they get to Arc-3."
  
  "No!" Nina screamed. "Why?"
  
  "It will be a bloodbath if we meet on the same land. You know it". Misha answered her. "Now don't worry. We'll be in touch. Be careful and have a safe trip"
  
  Nina's heart sank. "Please, do not go". Never in her life had she heard a more lonely phrase.
  
  "Again and again".
  
  She heard a popping sound as Perdue dusted off his clothes and ran his hands over his pants to wipe away the dirt. He looked around for Nina, and when his eyes found hers, he gave her a warm, satisfied smile.
  
  "Done, Dr. Gould!" he rejoiced.
  
  Suddenly, shots rang out above them, forcing Perdue to dive into the darkness. Nina screamed for his safety, but he crawled on the opposite side of the tunnel, leaving her relieved that he was all right.
  
  "Yuri and his assistants are executed!" they heard Kemper's voice at the well.
  
  "Where is Sam?" Nina screamed at the light falling on the tunnel floor like a heavenly hell.
  
  "Mr. Cleve had a bit of a drink... but... thank you so much for your cooperation, David! Oh, and Dr. Gould, please accept my sincere condolences as these will be your last agonizing moments on this earth. Greetings!"
  
  "Fuck you!" Nina screamed. "See you soon, bastard! Soon!"
  
  As she vented her verbal fury at the smiling German, his men began to cover the mouth of the well with a thick concrete slab, gradually darkening the tunnel. Nina could hear Klaus Kemper calmly saying a series of numbers in a low voice, almost the same as he sounded during radio broadcasts.
  
  As the shadow gradually dissipated, she looked at Purdue, and to her dismay, his fixed eyes stared at Kemper in apparent captivity. In the last rays of the fading light, Nina saw Purdue's face contort into a lewd and malicious grin, he was staring straight at her.
  
  
  Chapter 33
  
  
  As soon as Kemper received his rampaging treasure, he ordered his men to go to Kazakhstan. They were returning to Black Sun territory with their first real prospect of world domination, their plan almost complete.
  
  "Are all six in the water?" he asked his workers.
  
  "Yes, sir".
  
  "This is ancient amber resin. It's fragile enough that if it breaks, the samples locked inside will break out, and then we'll be in big trouble. They must be under water until we get to the complex, gentlemen!" Kemper called out before he retired to his luxury car.
  
  "Why water, Commander?" one of his men asked.
  
  "Because they hate water. They can't exert any influence there and they hate it, making this place the perfect prison where they can be held without any fear," he explained. With that, he got into the car, and the two cars slowly pulled away, leaving Chernobyl even more deserted than it had been before.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Sam was still under the influence of the powder, which had left a white residue at the bottom of his empty whiskey glass. Kemper ignored him. In his exciting new position as the owner of not only a former wonder of the world, but also on the verge of ruling the coming new world, he hardly noticed the journalist. Nina's cries still echoed in his thoughts like sweet music to his rotten heart.
  
  It seemed that using Perdue as bait paid off in the end. For a while, Kemper wasn't sure the brainwashing methods were successful, but when Purdue successfully used the communications devices Kemper had left for him to find, he knew that Cleve and Gould would soon be caught in the net. The betrayal of not letting Clive go to Nina after all her hard work was positively delightful to Kemper. Now he tied up loose ends in a way that no other commander of the Black Sun could manage.
  
  Dave Perdue, the traitor Renatus, was now left to rot under the godforsaken ground of the damned Chernobyl, soon killing the pesky little bitch who had always inspired Purdue to destroy the Order. And Sam Cleave...
  
  Kemper looked at Clive. He himself went for water. And once Kemper has him ready, he will play the valuable role of the Order's ideal media spokesperson. After all, how can the world find fault with anything presented by a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist who single-handedly exposed gun rings and brought down crime syndicates? With Sam as his media puppet, Kemper could announce whatever he wanted to the world while cultivating his own Calihasa to exercise mass control over entire continents. And when that little god's power wears off, he'll send a few others into safekeeping to replace him.
  
  Things were going well for Kemper and his Order. Finally, the Scottish obstruction was removed and the way was cleared for him to make the necessary changes, in which Himmler failed. With all this, Kemper couldn't help but wonder how the little sex storyteller and her former lover were doing.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Nina could hear her heart beating, and it wasn't difficult, judging by the way it rumbled through her body, while her ears were strained for even the slightest noise. Perdue was quiet and she had no idea where he might be, but she moved as fast as she could, in the opposite direction without turning on the lights so he couldn't see her. He did the same.
  
  "Oh sweet Jesus, where is he?" she thought as she sat down next to where the Amber Room used to be. Her mouth was dry and she longed for relief, but now was not the time to seek solace or sustenance. A few feet away, she heard the crunch of several small pebbles, and it made her gasp loudly. "Crap!" Nina wanted to dissuade him, but judging by his glazed eyes, she doubted that everything she said would pass. 'He's heading towards me. I can hear the sounds getting closer each time!'
  
  They had been underground in the vicinity of Reactor 4 for more than three hours, and she was starting to feel the effects. She began to feel nauseous, while a migraine almost robbed her of her ability to concentrate. But the danger has lately been approaching the historian in many forms. Now she was the target of a mindwash programmed by an even sicker mind to kill her. Being killed by your own friend would be much worse than running from a crazy stranger or a mercenary on a mission. It was Dave! Dave Perdue, 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 it got worse until she started crying. There was no way for Nina to do it quietly, and she was convinced that Perdue would easily track her down from the noise she caused. She was sweating profusely, and the flashlight strap tied around her head caused an annoying itch, so she pulled it out of her hair. In a fit of panic, she aimed the light down a few inches from the ground and turned it on. The beam spread over a small radius on the ground, and she assessed her surroundings.
  
  Perdue was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, a large steel rod darted towards her face from the darkness ahead. He hit her on the shoulder, causing her to cry out in agony. "Perdue! Stop! Jesus Christ! Are you going to kill me because of that Nazi jerk? Wake up, motherfucker!"
  
  Nina turned off the light, panting like an exhausted hunting hound. Kneeling down, she tried to ignore the throbbing migraine that cracked her skull as she fought off another bout of belching. Perdue's footsteps approached her in the darkness, indifferent to her soft sobs. Nina's numb fingers fiddled with the two-way radio attached to her.
  
  Leave it here. Turn it on for noise and then run in the other direction, she suggested to herself, but another inner voice was against it. weapons, where the wreckage was.
  
  The latter was the more feasible idea. She grabbed a handful of stones and waited for a sign of his whereabouts. The darkness wrapped her tightly around her, but what infuriated her was the dust that burned her nose when she breathed. Deep in the darkness, she heard something move. Nina launched a handful of rocks in front of her to throw him off before she darted to the left, crashing straight into a projecting rock that slammed into her like a truck. With a suppressed sigh, she collapsed 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 severe flu, radiation began to affect her body. Goosebumps ran down her skin, her head was heavy as lead. Her forehead hurt from the collision as she tried to regain her balance.
  
  "Hi, Nina," he whispered inches from her trembling body, making her heart jump in horror. Purdue's bright light momentarily blinded her as he aimed it at 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 to find himself still in the clutches of the Kemper and the Order, the vehicle ahead of them was creeping steadily along a miserable, desolate stretch of road. By that time they had already passed Saratov and crossed the border with Kazakhstan. It was too late for him to get out. They traveled almost a day from where Nina and Perdue were, making it impossible for him to just pop out and run back to Chernobyl or Pripyat.
  
  "Breakfast, Mr. Cleave," Kemper suggested. "We must maintain your strength."
  
  "No thanks," Sam snapped. "I drank my quota of drugs this week."
  
  "Oh come on!" Kemper replied calmly. "You're like a whining teenager throwing a tantrum. I thought PMS was a woman's problem. I had to drug you or you would run away with your friends and be killed. You should be grateful that you are alive." He held out a wrapped sandwich from a shop in one of the towns they were passing.
  
  "Did you kill them?" Sam asked.
  
  "Sir, we need to fill up 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 informed Kemper.
  
  "Fine". He looked at Sam and an evil smile appeared on his face. "You should have been there!" Kemper laughed happily. "Oh, I know you were there, but I mean, you must have seen it!"
  
  Sam got very upset with every word the German bastard spat out. Every muscle in Kemper's face stoked Sam's hatred, and every hand gesture drove the journalist to a state of genuine anger. 'Wait. Just wait a little more.
  
  "Your Nina is now rotting under a highly radioactive reactor-4 ground zero." Kemper spoke with a good deal of enjoyment. "Her sexy little ass is blistering and decomposing as we talk. Who knows what Perdue did to her! But even if they outlive each other, starvation and radiation sickness will finish them off."
  
  Wait! No need. Not yet.
  
  Sam knew that Kemper could shield his thoughts from Sam's influence and that trying to get hold of him would not only waste his energy, but would be completely useless. They drove up to Shalkar, a small town adjoining a lake in the middle of a flat desert landscape. A petrol station on the side of the main road has placed vehicles.
  
  - Now.
  
  Sam knew that while he couldn't manipulate Kemper's mind, the skinny commander would be easy to physically subdue. Sam's dark eyes scanned the backs of the front seats, the footrest, and the items lying on the seat within Kemper's reach. Sam's only threat was a taser next to Camper, but the Highland Ferry boxing club taught teenager Sam Cleve that surprise and speed trumped defense.
  
  He took a deep breath and began to cling to the driver's thoughts. The big gorilla had physical prowess, but his mind was like cotton candy compared to the battery that Sam packed into his skull. It wasn't even a minute later that Sam had full control of Dirk's mind and decided to revolt. A bandit in a suit got out of the car.
  
  "Where would you...?" Kemper started, but his effeminate face was razed to the ground by a crushing blow from a well-trained fist aimed at freedom. Before he could even think of grabbing the stun gun, Klaus Kemper received another blow from the hammer-and several more-until his face was a mess of swollen bruises and blood.
  
  At Sam's command, the driver pulled out a gun and began to open fire on the workers in the giant truck. Sam took Kemper's phone and slid out of the back seat, heading for a secluded spot near the lake they passed on their way into town. In the ensuing chaos, local police arrived quickly to arrest the shooter. When they found the battered man in the back seat, they assumed it was Dirk's doing. As they tried to grab Dirk, he fired the last shot, into the sky.
  
  Sam flipped through the tyrant's contact list, determined to make a quick call before throwing away his cell phone so he wouldn't be tracked. The name he was looking for appeared on the list, and he couldn't help but use an air fist to do so. He dialed the number and waited anxiously, lighting a cigarette, when the call was answered.
  
  "Detlef! It's Sam."
  
  
  Chapter 34
  
  
  Nina hadn't seen Perdue since hitting him on the head with her two-way radio the day before. However, she had no idea how much time had passed since then, but from her aggravated state, she knew that some time had passed. Tiny blisters formed on her skin, and inflamed nerve endings made it impossible to touch anything. Over the past day, she tried several times to contact Milla, but Perdue's jerk had mixed up the wiring and left her with a device that could only emit white noise.
  
  "Only one! Just give me one channel, you piece of shit," she wailed softly in desperation, continuously pressing the talk button. Only the hissing of white noise continued. "My batteries are about to run out," she muttered. "Milla, come in. Please. Anyone? Please, please come in!" Her throat burned and her tongue was swollen, but she held on. "God, the only people I can contact with white noise are ghosts!" she screamed in despair, tearing her throat. But Nina didn't care anymore.
  
  The smell of ammonia and coal and death reminded her that hell was closer than her last breath. "Let's! Dead people! Dead... fucking Ukrainians... dead people of Russia! Red dead, come in! End!"
  
  Hopelessly lost in the bowels of Chernobyl, her hysterical clucking echoed through an underground system that the world had forgotten decades ago. Everything was meaningless in her head. Memories flashed and melted along with plans for the future, turning into lucid nightmares. Nina was going crazy faster than she was losing her life, so she just kept laughing.
  
  "Haven't I killed you yet?" she heard a familiar threat in the pitch darkness.
  
  "Perdue?" she snorted.
  
  "Yes".
  
  She could hear him lunge, but she 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 was expected, but it never came. Nina's eyelids grew heavy, but for a moment she saw the mad swirling lights and heard the sounds of violence.
  
  She lay there, waiting to die, but she heard Purdue darting into the darkness like a cockroach to get away from the man who was out of his light. He bent over Nina, lifting her gently in 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 her. It reminded her of the stories of dying people who saw white light from heaven, but in the harsh whiteness of daylight outside the mouth of the well, Nina recognized her savior.
  
  "Widower," she sighed.
  
  "Hi honey," he smiled. Her tattered hand caressed his empty eye socket where she had stabbed him, and she began to sob. "Don't worry," he said. "I lost the love of my life. The eye is nothing compared to that."
  
  When he gave her fresh water outside, he explained that Sam called him, having no idea that he was no longer with her and Purdue. Sam was safe, but he asked Detlef to find her and Perdue. Detlef used his training in security and surveillance to triangulate the radio signals coming from Nina's mobile phone to the Volvo until he was able to pinpoint her location in Chernobyl.
  
  "Milla is back on the air and I used Kirill's BW to let them know that Sam is safe away from Kemper and his base," he told her as she cradled him in her arms. Nina smiled with chapped lips, her dusty face covered in bruises, blisters and tears.
  
  "Widower," she drew out the word with her swollen tongue.
  
  "Yes?"
  
  Nina was ready to faint, but 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. An amber room beautifully converted into an aquarium with decorative gold carvings and stunning bright yellow amber over wooden patterns. It was an imposing aquarium right in the middle of his desert fort, about 50m in diameter and 70m high, compared to the aquarium Purdue was kept in during his time there. Well-dressed as ever, the sophisticated monster sipped champagne as his scientists isolated the first organism to be implanted in his brain.
  
  The second day, a storm raged over the settlement of the Black Sun. It was a strange thunderstorm, unusual for this time of year, but the occasional lightning strike was majestic and powerful. Kemper raised his eyes to the sky and smiled. "Now I am God."
  
  In the distance, through the raging clouds, Misha Svechin's Il 76-MD cargo plane appeared. The 93-ton aircraft raced through turbulence and changing currents. Sam Cleve and Marco Strensky were on board to keep Misha company. Thirty barrels of metallic sodium were hidden and securely attached to the bowels of the aircraft, coated with oil to prevent contact with air or water - at the moment. The highly volatile element used in reactors as a heat conductor and coolant had two unpleasant features. It ignited on contact with air. It exploded on contact with water.
  
  "Here! There below. You can't miss this," Sam told Misha as the Black Sun complex came into view. "Even if his aquarium is out of reach, this rain will do everything for us."
  
  "That's right, comrade!" Marco laughed. "I have never seen this done on a large scale before. Only in the laboratory with a small amount of sodium the size of a pea in a beaker. It will be shown on YouTube." Marco always filmed whatever he liked. In fact, he had a questionable number of video clips on his hard drive that were recorded in his bedroom.
  
  They bypassed the fortress. Sam flinched at every flash of lightning, hoping it wouldn't hit the plane, but the crazed Soviets seemed fearless and cheerful. "Will the drums break through this steel roof?" he asked Marco, but Misha just rolled his eyes.
  
  On the next reversal, Sam and Marco detach the drums one by one, quickly pushing them out of the plane so that they fall hard and fast through the roof of the complex. The volatile metal would have taken several seconds on contact with water to ignite and explode, destroying the protective coating over the plates of the Amber Room 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 tank in the middle of the circle.
  
  "Like this! Send the others to the tank and then we have to get the hell out of here fast!" Misha screamed. He looked down at the fleeing men and heard Sam say, "I wish I could see Kemper's face one last time."
  
  Laughing, Marco looked down as the dissolving sodium began to accumulate. "This is for Yuri, you Nazi bitch!"
  
  Misha led 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 went off. They landed just over 20 minutes later in Kazaly. From the solid Kazakh land, they looked at the horizon with beer in their hands.
  
  Sam hoped Nina was still alive. He hoped that Detlef managed to find her and that he refrained from killing Perdue after Sam explained that Carrington had shot Gaby while in a hypnotic state under Kemper's mind control.
  
  The sky above the Kazakh landscape was yellow as Sam looked out over the barren countryside, engulfed in gusts of wind, just like in his vision. He had no idea that the well he saw Purdue in was significant, just not to the Kazakh part of Sam's experience. Finally, the last prophecy came true.
  
  Lightning struck the water in the Amber Room's tank, igniting everything inside. The power of the fusion blast destroyed everything in range, rendering Calixas' organism extinct - forever. When the bright flash turned into an impulse that shook the heavens, Misha, Sam and Marco watched as the mushroom cloud reached out to the gods of space in terrifying beauty.
  
  Sam raised his beer. "Dedicated to Nina".
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Preston W. Child
  Diamonds of King Solomon
  
  
  Also author Preston William Child
  
  
  Ice Station Wolfenstein
  
  deep sea
  
  The black sun rises
  
  Quest for Valhalla
  
  Nazi gold
  
  Black Sun Conspiracy
  
  Scrolls of Atlantis
  
  Library of forbidden books
  
  Tomb of Odin
  
  Tesla experiment
  
  Seventh secret
  
  Medusa Stone
  
  the Amber Room
  
  Babylonian mask
  
  fountain of youth
  
  Vault of Hercules
  
  The hunt for the 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 burning sun goes down
  
  When nothing shines on it
  
  Then you show your little flame
  
  Twinkle, twinkle all night long
  
  
  Then a traveler in the dark
  
  Thank you for your tiny spark
  
  How could he see where to go,
  
  If you didn't flicker like that?
  
  
  In the dark blue sky you hold
  
  Often peek through my curtains
  
  For you never close your eyes
  
  Until the sun rises in the sky.
  
  
  Like your bright and tiny spark
  
  Illuminates the traveler in the dark
  
  Even though I don't know who you are
  
  Twinkle, twinkle, little star."
  
  
  - Jane Taylor (No The Star, 1806)
  
  
  1
  Lost to the lighthouse
  
  
  Reichtisusis was even more radiant than Dave Purdue could remember. The majestic towers of the mansion in which he lived for more than two decades, three in number, stretched to the unearthly sky of Edinburgh, as if connecting the estate with heaven. Purdue's white crown of hair stirred in the quiet breath of the 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 taking luggage, his eyes saw his residence again. Too many months had passed since he had been forced to leave his guard. Their safety.
  
  "Hmm, you didn"t get rid of my staff either, did you, Patrick?" he asked sincerely.
  
  Beside him, Special Agent Patrick Smith, Purdue's former hunter and revived ally in the British Secret Service, sighed and gestured for his men to close the gates of the estate 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."
  
  "Quite right," Purdue agreed firmly. "These people are my housekeepers, not colleagues. Even they are not 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 made sure of it. Listen, David, since I've been following your movements and putting people on your trail..." he began, but Perdue gave him a sharp look.
  
  "Since you turned Sam against me?" he lashed out at Patrick.
  
  Patrick caught his breath, unable to formulate an apologetic response worthy of what had happened between the two of them. "I'm afraid he attached more importance to our friendship than I realized. I never wanted the relationship between you and Sam to collapse because of this. You have to believe me," Patrick explained.
  
  It was his decision to distance himself from his childhood friend, Sam Cleve, for the safety of his family. The breakup was painful and necessary for Patrick, whom Sam affectionately referred to as Paddy, but Sam's connection to Dave Perdue steadily dragged the MI6 agent's family into the dangerous world of post-Third Reich relic hunting and real threats. Subsequently, Sam had to relinquish his favors to Purdue's company in exchange for Patrick's consent once more, turning Sam into the mole that sealed Purdue's fate during their field trip to find the Vault of Hercules. But Sam ultimately proved his loyalty to Purdue by helping the billionaire fake his own death to prevent Patrick and MI6 from getting caught, keeping Patrick's penchant for helping to locate Purdue.
  
  After he revealed his status to Patrick Smith in exchange for being saved from the Order of the Black Sun, Purdue agreed to stand trial for archeological crimes charged by the Ethiopian government for stealing a copy of the Ark of the Covenant from Aksum. What MI6 wanted from the Purdue property even Patrick Smith could not understand, since the government agency took custody of Reichtishusis shortly after the owner's apparent death.
  
  It wasn't until a short pre-trial hearing in preparation for the main tribunal that Purdue was able to piece together the stains of corruption he had shared with Patrick in confidence 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?" - Asked Patrick in an undertone, making sure that his people did not hear.
  
  "I'm betting my reputation, my fortune, and my life on this, Patrick," Perdue replied in the same vein. "I swear to God, your agency is under surveillance by a lunatic."
  
  As they climbed the front steps of the Purdue house, the front door opened. On the threshold stood the Purdue house staff with joyful-bitter faces, welcoming the return of their master. They graciously ignored Purdue's terrible deterioration in appearance after a week of starvation in the Black Sun Matriarch's torture chamber, and they kept their surprise a secret, safely hidden under their skin.
  
  "We raided the pantry, sir. And your bar got ransacked while we were toasting your luck too," said Johnny, one of Purdue"s gardeners and Irish to the bone.
  
  "I wouldn't want it any other way, Johnny." Perdue smiled as he stepped inside amidst the enthusiastic furor of his people. "Let's hope I can replenish those supplies immediately."
  
  It only took a minute to greet his staff, as there were few of them, but their devotion was like the penetrating sweetness emanating from jasmine flowers. The handful of men in his service were like family, all of the same mind, and they shared Purdue's admiration for courage and constant pursuit of knowledge. But the person he most wanted to see was not there.
  
  "Oh Lily, where is Charles?" Perdue asked Lillian, his cook and gossip insider. "Please don't tell me he has resigned."
  
  Purdue would never have been able to reveal to Patrick that his butler Charles was the man responsible for indirectly warning Purdue that MI6 intended to capture him. This would clearly invalidate the belief that none of the Wrichtishousis employees were 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 for much more than just ironing shirts with military precision and keeping track of every appointment on Purdue's calendar every day.
  
  "He's been away for days, sir," Lily explained with a grim face.
  
  "Did he call the police?" - Seriously asked Perdue. "I told him to come and live on the estate. Where does he live?"
  
  "You can't go out, David," Patrick reminded him. "Remember, you are still under house arrest until we meet on Monday. I'll see if I can drop by to see him on my 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 everybody. I think I'll retire early. I missed my own bed."
  
  A tall, emaciated master Raihtisusis climbed to the third floor. He showed no signs of excitement at being back in his house, but MI6 and his staff chalked it up to fatigue after a very hard month for his body and mind. But as Perdue 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 that flooded his cheeks, he reached for the handles, his right, the rusty hindrance he always had to fiddle with.
  
  Perdue flung open the doors and gasped at the blast of cool Scottish air that filled him with life, real life; a life that only the land of his ancestors could give. Admiring the huge garden with perfect lawns, ancient outbuildings and the distant sea, Perdue wept bitterly at the oaks, firs and pines that guarded his immediate yard. His soft sobs and ragged breathing were lost in the rustle of their tops as the wind tossed them.
  
  He knelt down, letting the hell in his heart, the hellish torment he'd endured recently, consume him. Trembling, he held his hands to his chest as it all poured out, muffled just to keep people from drawing attention to him. He didn't think about anything, not even about Nina. He didn't say anything, he didn't think, he didn't plan, he didn't question. Under the extended roof of the vast old estate, its owner shook and wailed for a good hour, simply feeling. Perdue discarded all reason and chose only feelings. Everything went on as usual, erasing the last few weeks from his life.
  
  His light blue eyes finally opened with difficulty from under the swollen lids, he had long since removed his glasses. That delightful numbness from the sweltering purge caressed him as his sobs lessened and became more subdued. The clouds above him forgave a few calm glimpses of brightness. But the moisture in his eyes as he looked up at the night sky turned each star into a blinding brilliance, their long rays intersecting at points where the tears in his eyes stretched them unnaturally.
  
  A shooting star caught his attention. They swept across the vault of heaven in silent chaos, plummeting in an unknown direction, only to be forgotten forever. Perdue was amazed by the sight. Although he had seen it so many times before, this was the first time he really paid attention to the strange way in which a star died. But it wasn't necessarily a star, was it? He imagined that fury and a fiery fall were the fate of Lucifer - how he burned and screamed on his way down, destroying without creating and eventually dying alone, where those who indifferently watched the fall perceived it as another silent death.
  
  His eyes followed him on his way to some amorphous chamber in the North Sea until his tail left the sky uncolored, returning to its normal, static state. Feeling a touch of deep melancholy, Purdue knew what the gods were telling him. He, too, fell from the top 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 looked nothing like the Dave Perdue he knew. He was a stranger in his own body, once a bright star, but turned into a silent void that he no longer recognized. All he could hope for was the honor of those few who deigned to look up at the sky to see him fall, to take just a moment out 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 it, but I will need a very specific and very rare material," Abdul Raya told his brand. "And I'll need them for the next four days; otherwise, I will have to terminate our agreement. You see, madam, there are other clients waiting for me."
  
  "They offer pay close to mine?" the lady asked Abdul. "Because that kind of abundance is not easy to surpass or afford, you know."
  
  "If you allow me to be so bold, madam," smiled the dark-skinned charlatan, "in comparison with this, your fee will be perceived as a reward."
  
  The woman slapped him, leaving him all the more satisfied that she would be forced to comply. He knew her transgression was a good sign and it would leave her ego hurt enough to get what he wanted while he tricked her into believing he had higher paying clients waiting for him to arrive in Belgium. But Abdul wasn't entirely deceived about his abilities by boasting about them, because the talents he kept from his marks were a much more devastating concept to be understood. This he will hold close to his chest, behind his heart, until the time comes to open up.
  
  He did not leave after her outburst in the dim living room of her palatial home, but remained as if nothing had happened, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece in a crimson setting, broken only by gold-framed oil paintings and two tall carved antique tables in oak and pine trees at the entrance to the room. The fire under his robes crackled with zeal, but Abdul paid no attention to the unbearable heat that burned his leg.
  
  "So, which ones do you need?" the woman chuckled, returning shortly after leaving the room, seething with anger. In her jeweled hand, she held a chic notebook, ready to write down the alchemist's requests. She was one of only two people he successfully approached. Unfortunately for Abdul, most of the high-class Europeans had sharp character assessment skills and quickly sent him on his way. On the other hand, people like Madame Chantal were easy prey because of the one quality that people like him needed in their victims - the quality inherent in those who always found themselves on the edge of quicksand: despair.
  
  To her, he was simply a master blacksmith of precious metals, a purveyor of fine and unique pieces of gold and silver, their precious stones worked in fine blacksmithing. Madame Chantal had no idea that he was also a virtuoso of forgery, but her insatiable taste for luxury and extravagance blinded her to any revelations he might have accidentally allowed to seep through his mask.
  
  With a very skillful tilt to the left, 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 horrendous. However, in her desperate desire to surpass her peers, Madame Chantal will do her best to achieve what was on his list. After he finished, she looked over the list. Frowning deeper into the visible shadows of the fireplace, Madame Chantal took a deep breath and looked up 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 must not know. We must meet here again because he is reluctant to come down to this part of the estate."
  
  "I should be in Belgium in less than a week, madam, by which time I should have completed your order. We don't have much time, which means I'll need those diamonds as soon as you can put them in your wallet," he smiled softly. His empty eyes were fixed on her while his lips whispered sweetly. Madame Chantal couldn't help but associate him with the desert viper clicking its tongue while its 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 could not resist him. The French aristocrat couldn't take her eyes off Abdul when he wasn't looking, though he disgusted her in every way. Somehow, his hideous nature, bestial grunt, and unnatural claw fingers fascinated her to the point of obsession.
  
  He stood in the firelight, casting a grotesque shadow that was not far from his own image on the wall. The crooked nose on his bony face made him look like a bird, perhaps a small vulture. Abdul's dark, narrow-set eyes were hidden under almost hairless brows, in deep depressions that only made his cheekbones appear more prominent. Coarse and greasy, his black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a single small hoop earring adorned the lobe of his left ear.
  
  He smelled of incense and spices, and when he spoke or smiled, his dark lips were broken by eerily perfect teeth. Madame Chantal found his scent overwhelming; she couldn't tell if he was a pharaoh or a Phantasm. Of one thing she was sure: the magician and alchemist had an incredible presence, without even raising his voice or giving the appearance that he was making a movement with his hand. This frightened her and added to the strange repulsion she felt for him.
  
  "Celeste?" she gasped as she read the familiar name on the paper he gave her. Her face betrayed the anxiety she felt about getting the gem. Glittering like magnificent emeralds in the firelight, Madame Chantal looked into Abdul's eyes. "Mr Raya, I can't. My husband agreed to donate the Celeste to the Louvre. Trying to correct her mistake, even assuming 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 failure. Slowly running his hand over her face, he smiled serenely. "I really hope you change your mind, madam. It is the privilege of women like you to keep ready the deeds of great men in their palms." As his gracefully curved fingers cast a shadow across her fair skin, the aristocrat felt an icy blast of pressure pierce her face. Quickly wiping her chilled face, she cleared her throat and pulled herself together. 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 waiting for you," she ordered, still shaken by the terrible sensation that momentarily crossed her face. "I'll get Celeste, Mr. Raya, but you better be worth my trouble."
  
  Abdul said nothing more. He didn't need it.
  
  
  3
  A note of tenderness
  
  
  When Perdue woke up the next day, he felt like shit-clear and simple. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he truly cried, and although his soul felt lighter after the cleansing, his eyes were swollen and burning. To make sure no one knew what caused his condition, Perdue drank three-quarters of a bottle of Southern Moonshine he kept between his horror books on a shelf by the window.
  
  "Oh my God, old chap, you look just right for a tramp," Purdue moaned, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "How did all this happen? Don't tell me don't," he sighed. Moving away from the mirror to turn on the shower taps, he continued to mutter like a decrepit old man. Appropriate as his body seemed to have aged a century overnight. "I know. I know how it happened. You ate the wrong meals, hoping your stomach could get used to the poison, but instead you got poisoned."
  
  His clothes fell off him like they didn't know his body, wrapping around his legs before he pulled himself out of the pile of fabric his wardrobe had become since he'd lost all that weight in the dungeon of "Mother's" house. Under a stream of lukewarm water, Perdue prayed without religion, with gratitude without faith, and deep sympathy for all those who did not know the luxury of an internal plumbing. After being baptized in the shower, he cleared his mind to banish the hardships that reminded him that his ordeal at the hands of Joseph Carsten was far from over, even as he played his cards slowly and vigilantly. In his opinion, Oblivion was underestimated because it was such a great refuge in times of trouble, and he wanted to feel how this nothingness comes crashing down on him.
  
  True to his recent misfortune, however, Perdue didn't enjoy it for long before a knock on the door interrupted his budding therapy.
  
  "What is this?" he called through the hiss of the water.
  
  "Your breakfast, sir," he heard from the other side of the door. Perdue perked up and left his silent indignation at the caller.
  
  "Charles?" he asked.
  
  "Yes, sir?" Charles answered.
  
  Perdue smiled, glad to hear his butler's familiar voice again, a voice he sorely missed as he reflected on his dying hour in the dungeon; a voice he thought he would never hear again. Without thinking twice, the downtrodden billionaire rushed out from outside his shower room and yanked open the door. The completely bewildered butler stood with a shocked face as his naked boss hugged him.
  
  "Oh my God, old man, I thought you were gone!" Perdue smiled as he released the man to shake his hand. Fortunately, Charles was painfully professional, ignoring Purdue's bagpipes and maintaining that businesslike demeanor that the British have always boasted about.
  
  "I was just a little out of my mind, sir. Everything is fine now, thank you," assured Charles Purdue. "Would you like to eat in your room or downstairs with," he winced slightly, "MI6 people?"
  
  "Definitely up here. Thank you, Charles," Purdue replied, realizing he was still shaking hands with the man with the crown jewels on display.
  
  Charles nodded. "Very well, sir."
  
  When Purdue returned to the bathroom to shave and eliminate the horrendous bags under his eyes, the butler emerged from the master bedroom, secretly grinning at the memory of his cheerful, naked employer's reaction. It's 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, overshadowed by the scent of strained coffee. The charming but curious head cook wrung her hands under the kitchen towel and looked impatiently at the butler, waiting for an answer.
  
  "Lillian," he grumbled at first, annoyed as usual by her curiosity. But then he realized that she also missed the owner of the house and that she had every right to ask what were the first words of this man to Charles. This review, quickly made in his mind, softened his gaze.
  
  "He's very happy to be here again," Charles replied formally.
  
  "Is that what he said?" she asked kindly.
  
  Charles seized the moment. "Not many words, although his gestures and body language conveyed his delight quite well." He tried desperately not to laugh at his own words, elegantly worded to convey both the truth and the bizarre.
  
  "Oh, that's great," she smiled as she walked over to the sideboard to get a plate for Purdue. "Then eggs and sausages?"
  
  Uncharacteristically for a butler, he burst out laughing, which was a welcome addition to his usual stern demeanor. A little bewildered but smiling at his unusual reaction, she stood waiting for confirmation of the breakfast service when the butler burst into a fit of laughter.
  
  "I'll take that as yes," she giggled. "Oh my God, my boy, something very funny must have happened since you left your hardness." She took out a plate and placed it on the table. "Look at you! You just let it all hang out."
  
  Charles doubled over with laughter as he leaned against the tiled alcove next to the iron charcoal stove that adorned the corner of the back door. "I'm so sorry, Lillian, but I can't talk about what happened. It would just be indecent, you understand."
  
  "I know," she smiled, arranging sausages and scrambled eggs next to Purdue's soft toast. "Of course I'm dying to know what happened, but this time I'll just agree to see you laugh. It's enough to make my day better."
  
  Relieved that this time the old lady was softening up, pressing him for information, Charles patted her on the shoulder and pulled himself together. He brought a tray and arranged food on it, helped her with coffee, and finally took the newspaper to take Perdue upstairs. Desperate to prolong the anomaly of Charles's humanity, Lily had to refrain from another mention of what had so accused him as he left the kitchen. She was afraid he would drop the tray, and she was right. With that sight still clear in his mind, Charles would have left a mess on the floor if she reminded him.
  
  All over the first floor of the house, Secret Service pawns flooded Reichtisussis with their presence. Charles had nothing against the people who worked for the intelligence service in general, but the fact that they were stationed there made them nothing more than illegal intruders funded by the false kingdom. They had no right to be there, and although they were only following orders, the staff could not put up with their petty and sporadic power plays when they were posted to watch over the billionaire researcher, acting as if they were a common thief. .
  
  I still can't figure out how military intelligence could have annexed this house when there's no international military threat living here, Charles thought as he carried the tray into Purdue's room. And yet he knew that for all this to be approved by the government, there must have been some sinister reason - a concept even more frightening. 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 saved Purdue the last time he took his brother-in-law at his word. He suggested that his brother-in-law might supply the butler with a few more if that meant finding out what it all 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 sure that his boss had firmly established a personal connection with the warden agent. As he approached Purdue's door, all amusement left him - he returned to his usual firm and obedient state.
  
  "Your breakfast, sir," he said at the door.
  
  Perdue opened the door in a completely different guise. Fully dressed in chinos, Moschino moccasins and a white button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he opened the door for his butler. As Charles entered, he heard Purdue quickly close the door behind him.
  
  "I have to talk to you, Charles," he insisted in an undertone. "Did anyone follow you around here?"
  
  "No, sir, as far as I know, no," Charles replied honestly, placing the tray on Purdue's oak table, where he sometimes enjoyed brandy in the evenings. He pulled down his jacket and folded his hands in front of him. "What can I do for you, sir?"
  
  Perdue looked wild in his eyes, though his body language suggested he was composed and persuasive. No matter how hard he tried to appear decent and confident, he failed to deceive his butler. Charles has known Purdue for ages. Over the years he had seen him in many ways, from insane fury at the obstacles of science to cheerfulness and courtesy at the hands of many wealthy women. He could tell that something was bothering Purdue, something more than just a pending hearing.
  
  "I know it was you who told Dr. Gould that the Secret Service was about to arrest me, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for alerting her, but I need to know, Charles," he said urgently in a firm whisper, " I need to know how you found out about this, because that's not all. It's much more than that and I need to know whatever MI6 plans to do next."
  
  Charles understood the fervor of his employer's request, but at the same time felt terribly inept at the request. "Understood," he said with obvious embarrassment. "Well, I just happened to hear about it. During a visit to Vivian, my sister, her husband just kind of... admitted it. He knew that I was in the service of Reichtisusis, but apparently he overheard a colleague in one of the branches of the British government mention that MI6 had full permission to go after you, sir. In fact, I don't think he even attached much importance to it at the time."
  
  "Of course he didn't. This is fucking ridiculous. I'm a damn Scottish national. Even if I was involved in military affairs, MI5 would pull the strings. International relations are rightfully burdensome in this, I tell you, and it worries me," Perdue reflected. "Charles, I need you to contact your brother-in-law for me."
  
  "With all due respect, sir," Charles replied quickly, "if you don't mind, I'd rather not involve my family in this. I regret the decision, sir, but frankly, I'm afraid for my sister. I'm already starting to worry that she's married to a man connected to the Secret Service and he's just an administrator. Dragging them into an international fiasco like this..." He shrugged guiltily, feeling terrible about his own honesty. He hoped that Perdue would still appreciate his abilities as a butler and not fire him for some lame form of insubordination.
  
  "I understand," Perdue replied weakly, moving away from Charles to look out the balcony doors at the beautiful serenity of an Edinburgh morning.
  
  "I'm sorry, Mr. Perdue," Charles said.
  
  "No, Charles, I really understand. I believe, believe me. How many terrible things have happened to my closest friends because they were involved in my classes? I am fully aware of the consequences of working for me," Purdue explained, sounding completely hopeless with no intention of arousing pity. He sincerely felt the burden of guilt. Trying to be cordial when he was respectfully refused, Perdue turned and smiled. "Indeed, Charles. I really understand. Please let me know when Special Agent Smith arrives?"
  
  "Of course, sir," Charles replied, dropping his chin sharply. He left the room feeling like a traitor, and judging by the looks of the officers and agents in the lobby, he was considered 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 what he had to go through in the home of the Nazi matriarch known as The Mother, a judicial council allowed Perdue to receive medical care while he was 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 doing housework, feeding off his annoyance with them. However, he was more lenient in his courtesy towards Smith due to his assistance to 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, huh?" one of the men whispered to the other. "Look how swollen his eyes are!"
  
  "And red ones," added another, shaking his head. "I don't think he will get better."
  
  "Guys, please hurry up," Special Agent Smith said sharply, reminding them of their task. "The doctor only has an hour with Mr. Perdue, so go ahead."
  
  "Yes, sir," they sang in unison as they completed their search of the medical officer.
  
  When they were done with the doctor, Patrick escorted him upstairs to where Perdue and his butler were waiting. There Patrick took over as sentry at the top of the stairs.
  
  "Will there be anything else, sir?" Charles asked as the doctor opened the door to Purdue's room for him.
  
  "No thanks, Charles. You can go," Purdue said loudly before Charles closed the door. Charles still felt terribly guilty for brushing off his boss, but Purdue seemed to be sincere in his understanding.
  
  In Purdue's private office, she and the doctor waited without speaking or moving for a moment, listening for any noise outside the door. There was not a sound of fuss, and through one of the secret peepholes with which Purdue's wall was equipped, they could see that no one was listening.
  
  "I think I should refrain from childish references to medical puns to heighten your humor, old chap, if only to stay in character. Let it be known to you, this is a terrible interference with my dramatic abilities," said the doctor, setting down his first-aid kit 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 gaily 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 is my savior doing?"
  
  Purdue's rescue team consisted of two people who knew his dear Dr. Nina Gould, a Catholic priest and general practitioner from Oban, Scotland. The two take it upon themselves to save Perdue from a violent end in the basement of the evil Yvette Wolf, a first-level member of the Order of the Black Sun, known as The Mother to her fascist consorts.
  
  "He's doing well, although he's gotten a little hardened from the ordeal with you and Father Harper in that hellish house. I'm sure what made him this way would make him extremely newsworthy, but he refuses to shed any light on it," Sam shrugged. "The minister is also thrilled about it 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 better left unopened. How is 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 - sort of like the Gould/Earle Find, after Nina and Joanna's hard work finding the Letter of Olympias and the like. Of course they didn't mention your respected name. injections."
  
  "I see our girl has big plans," Purdue said, smiling softly and delighted to hear that the brash, smart, and handsome historian is finally getting the recognition he deserves from the academic world.
  
  "Yeah, and she still asks me how we can get you out of this predicament once and for all, which I usually have to change the subject to because...well, I honestly don"t know the extent of it," Sam said, taking the conversation in a more serious direction.
  
  "Well, that's why you're here, old chap," Perdue sighed. "And I don't have much time to fill you in, so sit down and have some whiskey."
  
  Sam gasped, "But sir, I'm a doctor on call. How dare you?" He handed his glass to Perdue to tint it with hazel grouse. "Don't be mean, now."
  
  It was a pleasure to be tortured by Sam Cleve's humor again, and it gave Purdue great joy to once again suffer from the journalist's youthful stupidity. He knew full well that he could trust Clive with his life and that, when it mattered most, his friend could instantly and superbly assume the role of a professional colleague. Sam could instantly transform from a goofy Scotsman into an energetic enforcer - an invaluable quality in a dangerous world of occult relics and science freaks.
  
  The two men sat on the threshold of the balcony doors, just inside, so that thick white lace curtains could hide their conversation from prying eyes watching the lawns. They were talking in an undertone.
  
  "In short," Perdue said, "the son of a bitch who orchestrated my kidnapping, and Nina"s kidnapping, for that matter, is a member of the Black Sun named Joseph Karsten."
  
  Sam jotted down the name on a tattered notebook he carried in his jacket pocket. "Is he already dead?" Sam asked casually. In fact, his tone was so casual that Purdue didn't know whether to be excited or elated by the response.
  
  "No, he's very much alive," Perdue replied.
  
  Sam looked up at his silver-haired friend. "But we want him to die, right?"
  
  "Sam, this has to be a subtle move. Murder is for shorties," Perdue told him.
  
  "Really? Tell that to the shriveled old bitch that did this to you," Sam growled, pointing at Purdue's body. "The Order of the Black Sun should have died 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 the zeal to put an end to the track record of my detractors. I really want. But wait until you know the whole story. Then tell me that what I have planned is not the best pesticide."
  
  "Good," Sam agreed, somewhat easing his desire to end the seemingly perpetual problem posed by those who still retained the viciousness of the SS elite. "Go on, tell me the rest."
  
  "You're going to love this twist, however discouraging it may be for me," Perdue admitted. "Joseph Karsten is none other than Joe Carter, the current head of the Secret Intelligence Service."
  
  "Jesus!" Sam exclaimed in astonishment. "You can't be serious! This man is as British as high tea and Austin Powers."
  
  "That's the part that baffles me, Sam," came the reply from Purdue. "Do you understand what I'm getting at here?"
  
  "MI6 is misappropriating your property," Sam replied slowly as his mind and wandering eyes ran through every possible connection. "The British secret service is run by a member of the Black Sun organization and no one knows anything, even after this judicial swindle." His dark eyes shifted quickly as his wheels turned to go around every side of the question. "Perdue, why does he need your house?"
  
  Perdue bothered Sam. He seemed almost indifferent, as if numb from the relief of sharing his knowledge. In a soft, tired voice, he shrugged his shoulders and gestured with open palms: "From what I thought I overheard in that devilish dining room, they think that Reichtisusis holds all the relics that Himmler and Hitler were chasing."
  
  "Not entirely false," Sam remarked as he took notes for his own review.
  
  "Yeah, but Sam, what they think I hid here is grossly overrated. Not only this. What I have here must never," he gripped Sam's forearm tightly, "never fall into the hands of Joseph Carsten! Not as Military Intelligence 6 or the Order of the Black Sun. This man could overthrow governments with only half the patents in my labs!" Perdue's eyes were wet, his old hand on Sam's skin trembling as he begged his only trustworthy one.
  
  "Okay, old rooster," 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 line knows that a fucking Nazi is responsible for the security of Britain. I need you, a great investigative reporter, a Pulitzer Prize winner, a celebrity reporter... to unzip this bastard"s parachute, okay?"
  
  Sam got a message, loud and clear. He could see that the ever-pleasant and collected Dave Perdue had cracks in his fortress. It was obvious that this new development made a much deeper cut with a much sharper blade, and it worked its way along Purdue's jawline. Sam knew he had to deal with this case before Karsten's knife slashed a red crescent around Purdue's throat and ended him for good. His friend was in serious trouble and his life was in clear danger, more than ever before.
  
  "Who else knows his true identity? Paddy knows?" Sam asked, clarifying who was involved so he could decide where to start. If Patrick Smith knew that Carter is Joseph Karsten, he might be in danger again.
  
  "No, at the hearing he realized that something alarmed me, but I decided to keep such a big thing very close to my chest. At the moment he is in the dark about this," Perdue confirmed.
  
  "I think it's better that way," Sam admitted. "Let's see how far we can prevent serious consequences while we figure out how to kick this charlatan in the jaws of a hawk."
  
  Still determined to follow Joan Earl's advice during 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 it my way. I have a reason for all of 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 has a power that we cannot fight alone. Usually there is a relatively impenetrable shield in the higher branches of military intelligence, if you know what I mean," Sam warned. "These people are as powerful as the queen's word, Purdue. This bastard can do absolutely disgusting things to us and cover it up like he's a cat who shits in a litter box. Nobody will ever know. And whoever makes a claim can be struck out quickly."
  
  "Yes, I know. Trust me, I am fully aware of the damage it can cause," Perdue admitted. "But I don't want him dead if I have no other choice. For now, I will use Patrick and my legal team to keep Karsten at bay for as long as I can."
  
  "Okay, let me peek into some history, property deeds, tax returns and all that. The more we learn about this bastard, the more we will have to trap him." Now Sam had all his records in order, and now that he knew the extent of the trouble Perdue was facing, he was adamant about using his cunning to counteract.
  
  "Good man," Purdue breathed, relieved to have told this to someone like Sam, someone he could rely on to step on the right rake with expert precision. "Now I guess the vultures behind this door need to see you and Patrick complete my medical."
  
  With Sam in his Dr. Beach guise and Patrick Smith using a ruse, Perdue said goodbye to his bedroom door. Sam looked back. "Hemorrhoids are common for this kind of sexual practice, Mr. Perdue. I've seen it mostly with politicians and... intelligence agents... but there's nothing to worry about. Stay healthy and I'll see you soon."
  
  Perdue disappeared into his room for a laugh, while Sam was the object of several offended glances on his way to the front doors. Nodding politely, he walked out of the manor with his childhood friend at his tail. Patrick was used to Sam's outbursts, but it was hard as hell for him to maintain his strictly professional demeanor that day, at least until they got into his Volvo and left the estate-in stitches.
  
  
  5
  Sorrow within the walls of the Villa d'Chantal
  
  
  
  Entrevaux - two days later
  
  
  The warm evening barely warmed Madame Chantal's legs as she slipped on another pair of stockings over her silk tights. It was autumn, but for her, the winter cold was already everywhere she went.
  
  "I'm afraid something is wrong with you, dear," her husband suggested, straightening his tie for the hundredth time. "Are you sure you can't just bear your cold tonight and come with me? You know, if people keep seeing me coming to banquets alone, they might start to suspect that something isn't going well between us."
  
  He looked at her with concern. "They must not know that we are practically bankrupt, you understand? Your not being there with me might provoke gossip and draw attention to us. Wrong people can investigate our situation just to satisfy their curiosity. You know that I am terribly worried and that I must keep the goodwill of the minister and his shareholders, otherwise we are finished."
  
  "Yes, of course I want. Just trust me when I say that soon we won't have to worry about keeping property," she assured him in a weak voice.
  
  "What does it mean? I told you, I don't sell diamonds. This is the only remaining proof of our status!" he said decisively, though his words came from concern rather than anger. "Come with me tonight and put on something extravagant, just to help me look decent - the role that I should play as a real successful business person."
  
  "Henri, I promise that I will accompany you on the next one. I just don't feel like I can keep a cheerful expression on my face for that long while I'm fighting a bout of fever and pain." Chantal approached her husband with a leisurely gait, smiling. She straightened his tie and kissed his cheek. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check her temperature, then visibly recoiled.
  
  "What?" she asked.
  
  "Oh my God, Chantal. I don't know what kind of fever you have, but it seems to be the other way around. You are as cold as... a corpse," he finally managed an ugly comparison.
  
  "I told you," she replied nonchalantly, "I don't feel well enough to adorn your side like a baron's wife. Now hurry up, you might be late, which is totally unacceptable."
  
  "Yes, milady," Henri smiled, but his heart was still pounding with shock at the sensation of his wife's skin, whose temperature was so low that he couldn't understand why her cheeks and lips were still flushed. The baron knew how to hide his feelings well. It was a sine qua non of his title and the way he did business. Shortly thereafter, he drove away, desperate to look back once more at his wife waving goodbye from the open front door of their Belle Époque castle, but he decided to keep up appearances.
  
  Under the temperate April evening sky, the Baron de Martin reluctantly left his home, but his wife was only too glad to be alone. However, this was not done for the sake of being alone. She hurriedly prepared to receive her guest, having first obtained three diamonds from her husband's safe. Celeste was gorgeous, so breathtaking that she didn't want to leave her, but what she wanted from the alchemist was much more important.
  
  "Tonight I will save us, my dear Henri," she whispered as she laid the diamonds on a green velvet napkin cut from a dress she usually wore to banquets like the one her husband had just left. Rubbing her cold hands profusely, 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 other 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 record keeper, avid photographer and writer. She wrote poems for all occasions, even in the simplest moments of entertainment, she composed poems in memory of it. Each day's anniversary memories were reviewed in previous magazines to quench her nostalgia. A great admirer of seclusion and antiquity, Chantal kept her diaries in books in expensive bindings and took real pleasure in writing down her thoughts.
  
  
  April 14, 2016
  
  I seem to be getting sick. My body is incredibly cold even though it's barely below 19 degrees outside. Even the fire next to me seems only an illusion to my eyes; I see flames without feeling the heat. If it wasn't for my urgent business, I would have canceled today's meeting. But I can not. I just have to make do with warm clothes and wine to keep from going crazy from the cold.
  
  We sold everything we could to keep the business afloat, and I fear for the health of my dear Henry. He does not sleep and is usually 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're in.
  
  Mr Raya, an Egyptian alchemist of impeccable reputation among his clients, pays me a visit tonight. With it, we will increase the value of the few jewels I have left, which will be worth much more when I sell them. As a fee, I give him Celeste, a terrible deed, especially towards my beloved Henri, whose family considers the stone sacred and has owned it since time immemorial. But this is a small amount that can be forgone in exchange for cleaning and raising the value of other diamonds, which will restore our financial position and help my husband maintain his barony and his land.
  
  Anna, Louise and I stage a break-in before Henry returns so we can explain the disappearance of "Celeste". My heart goes out to Henri for desecrating his legacy in this way, but I feel this is the only way we can restore our status before we sink into obscurity and end up in disgrace. But my husband will benefit, and that's all that matters to me. I will never be able to tell him this, but as soon as he recovers and feels comfortable in his post, he will again sleep well, eat well and be happy. It is worth far more than any sparkling gem.
  
  - Chantal
  
  
  After signing her name, Chantal took another look at the clock in her living room. She wrote for a while. As always, she placed the diary in a niche behind Henri's great-grandfather's painting and wondered what might have been the reason for the failure of her appointment. Somewhere in the fog of her thoughts, while she was writing, she heard the clock strike the hour, but did not pay attention to it, so as not to forget what she wanted to enter on the page of her diary for that day. Now she was surprised to see the ornate long hand drop from twelve to five.
  
  "Are you twenty-five minutes late already?" she whispered, throwing another shawl around her trembling shoulders. "Anna!" she called to her housekeeper, as she took the poker to light the fire. As she tossed another log with a hiss, it spat embers into the chimney, but she didn't have time to pet the flames and make them stronger. As her meeting with Raya was delayed, Chantal had less time to complete their business relationship before her husband returned. This alarmed the hostess a little. Quickly, after turning around in front of the fireplace again, she had to ask her staff if her guest had called to explain why he was late. "Anna! Where are you, for God's sake? she screamed again, not feeling the heat from the flames that practically licked her palms.
  
  Chantal heard no answer from her maid, or from the housekeeper, or from her assistant. "Don't tell me they forgot they were working overtime tonight," she muttered to herself as she hurried down the hallway to the east side of the villa. "Anna! Bridget!" She called louder now as she rounded the kitchen door, beyond which was only darkness. Floating in the darkness, Chantal could see the orange light of the coffee maker, the multicolored lights of the wall sockets and some of her appliances; this is how it always looked after the ladies were gone for the day. "My God, they forgot," she muttered, sighing with difficulty as the cold gripped her insides like a bite of ice on wet skin.
  
  The owner of the villa hurried down the corridors, finding that she was alone at home. "Great, now I have to make the most of it," she complained. "Louise, at least tell me you're still on duty," she said to the closed door behind which her assistant usually handled Chantal's taxes, charity work, and media relations. The dark wood door was locked, and no answer came from inside. Chantal was disappointed.
  
  Even if her guest still showed up, she wouldn't have had enough time to file the breaking and entering charges that she would have her husband file. Grunting 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 kind of isolation. It was about 9 pm when she entered the living room.
  
  The confusion of the situation almost choked her. She told her staff in no uncertain terms to expect Mr. Rye, but what puzzled her most was that not only her assistant and housekeeper, but also her guest, evaded the arrangement . Had her husband gotten wind of her plans and given her people a night off to prevent her from meeting Mr. Raya? And more troubling, did Henry somehow get rid of Raya?
  
  When she returned to where she had laid out the velvet napkin with the three diamonds, Chantal was more shocked than just being home alone. She let out a shuddering breath as she covered her mouth with her hands at the sight of the empty cloth. Tears welled up in her eyes, rising hot from the depths of her belly and piercing her heart. The stones had been stolen, but what added to her horror was the fact that someone had been able to take them while she was in the house. No security measures were breached, leaving Madame Chantal horrified at the many possible explanations.
  
  
  6
  High price
  
  
  'Better to have a good name than wealth'
  
  - King Solomon
  
  
  The wind began to blow, but still it could not break the silence in the villa where Chantal stood in tears at her loss. It was not only the loss of her diamonds and the immeasurable value of the Celeste, but everything else that was lost due to the theft.
  
  "You stupid, brainless bitch! Be careful what you wish for, you stupid bitch!" she wailed through the captivity of her fingers, lamenting the twisted result of her original plan. "Now you don't have to lie to Anri. They really were stolen!"
  
  Something stirred in the lobby, footsteps creaking across the wooden floor. From behind the curtains overlooking the front lawn, she looked down to see if anyone was there, but it was empty. An alarming creaking sounded half a flight of stairs down from the living room, but Chantal couldn't call the police or the security company to look for her. They would stumble upon a real, once fabricated crime, and she would be in big trouble.
  
  Or would she?
  
  Thinking about the consequences of such a call tormented her mind. Has she covered all her bases if they show up? For that matter, she would rather upset her husband and risk months of resentment than be killed by an intruder smart enough to bypass her home's security system.
  
  You better make up your mind, woman. Time is running out. If a thief is going to kill you, you're wasting your time letting him sort through your house. Her heart thumped in her chest in fear. On the other hand, if you call the police and your plan is revealed, Henry may divorce you for losing Celeste; for the fact that you even dared to think that you had the right to give it away!
  
  Chantal was so terribly cold that her skin burned, as if from frostbite, under thick layers of clothing. She tapped her boots on the carpet to increase the flow of water to her feet, but they remained cold and hurt 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 lone crackle of impotent fire, but Chantal kept her senses alert as she stepped out into the hallway to find the source of the creaking. Under the disillusioned looks of her husband's dead ancestors, depicted in paintings hanging along the walls, she vowed to do everything in her power against this ill-fated idea.
  
  Poker in hand, she descended the stairs for the first time since she waved 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 women from the Henri family, Chantal could not help but feel a pang of guilt at the sight of the magnificent diamond necklaces adorning their necks. She lowered her gaze instead of enduring their arrogant expressions that cursed her.
  
  As Chantal moved through the house, she turned on every light; she wanted to make sure there was no place for someone who wasn't welcome to hide. In front of her, the north flight of stairs stretched down to the first floor, from which came the creaking. Her fingers ached with pain as she gripped the poker tightly.
  
  When Chantal reached the bottom landing, she turned to make the long walk across the marble floor to flip the switch in the lobby, but her heart stopped at what the semi-darkness was. She whimpered softly at the terrifying vision before her. Near the switch on the far side wall, a sharp explanation was given for the creaking. Suspended by a rope from a ceiling beam, a woman's body swayed from side to side in the wind from an open window.
  
  Chantal's knees gave way, and she had to hold back the primal cry that begged to be born. It was Brigid, her housekeeper. The tall, thin blonde thirty-nine-year-old had a blue face, a disgusting and terribly distorted version of her once beautiful appearance. Her shoes fell to the floor, no more than a meter from the tips of her feet. The atmosphere downstairs in the lobby struck Chantal as arctic, almost unbearable, and she couldn't wait long before she feared she might lose her legs. Her muscles burned and hardened from the cold, and she felt the tendons inside her body tighten.
  
  I need to go upstairs! she mentally shouted. I need to get to the fireplace or I'll freeze to death. I'll just lock up and call the police." Gathering all her strength, she waddled up the stairs, overcoming them one by one, while Bridget's dead gaze watched her from the side. Don't look at her, Chantal! Don't look at her.
  
  In the distance, she could see a cozy, warm living room, something that was now key to her survival. If she could just get to the fireplace, she would only need to guard one room, instead of trying to explore the huge, dangerous labyrinth of her huge house. Once she's locked up in the living room, Chantal figures she can call the authorities and try to pretend she didn't know the diamonds were missing until her husband finds out. For now, she's had to come to terms with the loss of her beloved housekeeper and the killer, who may still be in the house. First, she had to stay alive, and then be punished for wrong decisions. The terrible tension of the rope sounded like a ragged breath as it passed along the railing. She felt sick and her teeth chattered from the cold.
  
  From Louise's little office, one of the spare rooms on the ground floor, came a terrible groan. An icy gust of air escaped from under the door and, running over Chantal's boots, rose up her legs. No, don't open the door, she argued. You know what's going on. We don't have time to look for proof of what you already know, Chantal. Come on. You know. We can feel it. Like a terrible nightmare with legs, you know what awaits you. Just go to the fire.
  
  Suppressing the urge to open Louise's door, Chantal let go of the handle and turned to keep what was groaning inside to herself. "Thank God all the fires are on," she muttered through her clenched jaws, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked to 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 if she really saw the door move, but as she approached the room, she noticed that it was closing noticeably slowly. Trying to hurry, she kept the poker ready for the one who closed the door, but she had to go in.
  
  What if there is more than one killer in the house? What if the one in the living room distracts you from what's in Louise's room? she thought, trying to make out some shadow or figure that might help her understand the nature of the incident. Not a good time to bring this up, another inner voice said.
  
  Chantal's face was icy, her lips colorless, and her body was 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 was like a skating rink, and she hurried to her feet again, sobbing in defeat to the terrible sounds of moaning coming from behind Louise's door. Terrified, Chantal tried to push open the living room door, but she was too weak from the cold.
  
  She fell to the floor, peering under the door even just to see the firelight. Even that might have consoled her a little if she could imagine the heat, but the thick carpet made it difficult for her to see. She tried to get up again, but she was so cold that she just curled up in the corner next to the closed door.
  
  Go to one of the other rooms and get some blankets, idiot, she thought. Come on, light another fire, Chantal. There are fourteen fireplaces in the villa, and you are ready to die for one? With a shudder, she wanted to smile at the relief of her decision. Madame Chantal struggled to her feet to reach the nearest guest bedroom with a fireplace. Only four doors down and a few steps up.
  
  The heavy groans issued outside the second door affected her psyche and nerves, but the mistress of the house knew that she would die of hypothermia if she did not get to the fourth room. It had a drawer with matches and lighters galore, and there was enough butane in the grate on the cheek of the fireplace to explode. Her cell phone was in the living room, and the computers were in different rooms on the first floor - a place she was afraid to go, a place where the window was open, and her late housekeeper counted the time like a clock on a 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 in it. Holding the poker firmly under her arm, she found the room open. Chantal's panic tossed between the killer and the cold, and she constantly wondered what would kill her faster. With great zeal, she tried to pile the logs into the fireplace in the living room, while the obsessive moans from the other room grew weaker.
  
  Her hands clumsily tried to grab onto the tree, but she could barely use her fingers anymore. Something about her condition was strange, she thought. The fact that her house was properly heated and she could not see the vapor from her breath directly disproved her assumption that the weather in Nice was unusually cold for this time of year.
  
  "All this," she seethed with her misdirected intentions, trying to light the gas under the logs, "just to keep warm when it's not even cold yet! What's happening? I'm freezing to death on the inside!"
  
  The fire roared up, and the ignition of the butane gas instantly colored the pale interior of the room. "Oh! Beautiful!" - she exclaimed. She lowered the poker to warm her hands in the furious hearth, which came to life, crackling and scattering sparks that could have been extinguished by the slightest push. She watched them fly and disappear as she thrust her hands into the fireplace. Something rustled behind her, and Chantal turned to look into the haggard face of Abdul Raya with 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 denied her the agility to strike.
  
  "Better stay close to the fire, madam. We need warmth to live. But diamonds cannot make you breathe," he shared his wisdom.
  
  "Do you understand what I can do to you? I know very skilled people and I have the money to hire the best hunters if you don't give me back my diamonds!"
  
  "Stop your threats, Madame Chantal," he warned cordially. "We both know why you needed an alchemist to magically transmute your final gems. Do you need money. Tsok-tsok, "he taught. "You are scandalously rich, you see wealth only when you are blind to beauty and purpose. You do not deserve what you have, so I took the liberty of releasing you from this terrible burden."
  
  "How d-dare you?" she frowned, her contorted face barely losing its blue hue in the light of the roaring flames.
  
  "I dare. You aristocrats sit on the most wonderful 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, magicians and artisans who own them to create, decorate and enhance what is weak," he said passionately.
  
  "You? Wizard? she laughed hollowly. "You are an artist-geologist. There is no such thing as magic, you fool!"
  
  "Are they 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 horrified. Although she knew that this strange state belonged only to her, she could not bear the thought that he coldly touched her hand at their last meeting. Despite the laws of nature, she nevertheless died of the cold. There was horror in her eyes as she watched him leave.
  
  "Farewell, Madame Chantal. Please warm up."
  
  As he walked away under the swaying maid, Abdul Raya heard a chilling scream from the guest room... as he expected. He slipped the diamonds into his pocket while upstairs Madame Chantal climbed into the fireplace to soften her coldness as much as she could. Since her body had been functioning at a safe temperature of 37.5№C all this time, she died shortly thereafter, engulfed in flames.
  
  
  7
  Missing a traitor in the Pit of Revelation
  
  
  Purdue felt something he had never been used to knowing before-an extreme hatred for the other person. Although he was slowly recovering physically and mentally from the ordeal in the small town of Fallin, Scotland, he found that the only thing that marred the return of his cheerful, carefree attitude was the fact that Joe Carter, or Joseph Karsten, was still out of breath. He had an unusually bad taste in his mouth every time he discussed the upcoming tribunal with his lawyers under the direction of Special Agent Patrick Smith.
  
  "Just got this note, David," announced Harry Webster, Purdue's chief legal representative. "I don"t know if this is good news for you or bad."
  
  Webster's two associates and Patrick joined Purdue and his lawyer at the dinner table in the high-ceilinged dining room of the Wrichtishousis Hotel. They were offered biscuits and tea, which the delegation happily accepted before setting off for what they hoped would be a quick and gentle hearing.
  
  "What is this?" Perdue asked, feeling his heart skip a beat. He had never had to be afraid of anything before. His wealth, resources and representatives could always solve any of his problems. However, over the past few months, he realized that the only true wealth in life is freedom, and he came close to losing it. A truly terrible insight.
  
  Harry frowned as he checked the fine print of an e-mail received from the legal department at Secret Intelligence Service headquarters. "Oh, anyway, it probably doesn't matter much to us, but the head of MI6 won't be there. This email is intended to notify and apologize to all parties involved for his absence, but he has some personal pressing business to attend to."
  
  "Where?" I asked. Perdue exclaimed impatiently.
  
  Surprising the jury with his reaction, he quickly downplayed it with a shrug and a smile: "Just curious why the man who ordered the siege of my estate did not bother to attend my funeral."
  
  "No one is going to bury you, David," Harry Webster consoled in the voice of his lawyer. "But it doesn't mention where, only that he was supposed to go to the homeland of his ancestors. I suppose it must be in some corner of distant England."
  
  No, it must be somewhere in Germany or Switzerland, or one of those cozy Nazi nests, Perdue chuckled in his thoughts, wishing he could just reveal aloud what the truth about the hypocritical leader was. He was secretly relieved to know that he wouldn't have to look into his enemy's hideous face while being publicly treated like a criminal while watching the bastard revel in his predicament.
  
  Sam Cleve called the night before to inform Purdue that Channel 8 and World Broadcast Today, possibly also CNN, would be available to broadcast whatever the investigative reporter had put together to expose any MI6 atrocities on the world stage and to the British government. However, until they had enough evidence to convict Karsten, Sam and Purdue had to keep all knowledge secret. The problem was that Karsten knew. He knew that Perdue knew, and this posed a direct threat that Purdue should have foreseen. What worried him was how Karsten would decide to end him, since Perdue would forever remain in the shadows even if he were put in jail.
  
  "Can I use my cell phone, Patrick?" he asked in an angelic tone, as if he couldn't contact Sam if he wanted to.
  
  "Hmm, yes, of course. But I need to know who you're going to call," Patrick said as he opened the safe in which he kept all the items Perdue didn't have access to without permission.
  
  "Sam Cleave," Perdue said nonchalantly, getting Patrick's approval immediately but receiving a strange appraisal from Webster.
  
  "Why?" he asked Perdue. "The hearing is in less than three hours, David. I suggest using time wisely."
  
  "This is what I do. Thanks for your opinion Harry, but that's pretty much about Sam if you don't mind," Purdue replied in a tone that reminded Harry Webster that he wasn't in charge. With these words, he dialed the number and the inscription 'Karsten is missing. Guessing an Austrian nest.'
  
  A short, encrypted message was immediately sent over an intermittent, untraceable satellite link thanks to one of Purdue's innovative technological gadgets that he installed on the phones of his friends and his butler, the only people he thought deserved such privilege and importance. Once the message was relayed, Purdue returned the phone to Patrick. "Ta."
  
  "It was damn fast," said an impressed Patrick.
  
  "Technology, my friend. I'm afraid that soon the words will dissolve into codes, and we will return to the hieroglyphs, "Perdue smiled proudly. "But I will definitely invent an application that will force the user to quote Edgar Allan Poe or Shakespeare before he can log in."
  
  Patrick couldn't help but smile. It was the first time he actually spent time with billionaire explorer, scientist, philanthropist David Perdue. Until recently, he had thought of the man as nothing more than an arrogant rich boy flaunting his privilege to acquire whatever the hell he wanted. Patrick saw Purdue not only as a conqueror or ancient relics that did not belong to him, he saw him as a common kidnapper of friends.
  
  Previously, Perdue's name had evoked nothing but contempt, synonymous with Sam Cleve's venality and the dangers of a grey-haired relic hunter. But now Patrick began to understand the attraction to a carefree and charismatic man who, in truth, was a man of modest and honest. Unwittingly, he took a liking to Perdue's company and wit.
  
  "Let's get this over with guys," Harry Webster suggested, and the men sat down to complete the respective performances they would present.
  
  
  8
  blind tribunal
  
  
  
  Glasgow - three hours later
  
  
  In a calm environment with dim lighting, 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 searched the boardroom for Karsten's contemptible face as if it were second nature. He wondered what the Austrian was carrying wherever he was, when he knew exactly where to find Perdue. On the other hand, Karsten probably imagined that Perdue was too afraid of the consequences of implying such a high official's connection to a member of the Order of the Black Sun, and may have decided to leave the sleeping dogs alone.
  
  The first hint at the latter consideration was the fact that Purdue's case was not tried by the International Criminal Court in The Hague, which is usually used to deal with such charges. Perdue and his legal team agreed that the fact that Joe Carter persuaded the Ethiopian government to bring him to justice at an informal hearing in Glasgow showed that he wanted to keep the case under wraps. Such low-key court cases, while facilitating proper action against the accused, are unlikely to have greatly shaken the foundations of international law on espionage, whatever.
  
  "This is our strong defense," said Harry Webster Purdue before the trial. "He wants you to be accused and tried, but he doesn't want to draw attention. This is good".
  
  The assembly was seated and awaited the commencement of the proceedings.
  
  "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 coincide with the charge of espionage committed under the pretext of archaeological research."
  
  When all the announcements and formalities are over, the chief prosecutor on behalf of MI6, adv. Ron Watts introduced members of the opposition representing the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia and the Archaeological Crime Unit. Among them were prof. Imru of the People's Heritage Movement and Colonel Basil Yimenu, a veteran military commander and patriarch of the History Preservation Association in Addis Ababa.
  
  "Mr Perdue, in March 2016, an expedition you led and funded allegedly stole a religious relic known as the Ark of the Covenant from a temple in Aksum, Ethiopia. I'm right?" said the Attorney, whining in a nasal voice with the right amount of condescension.
  
  Purdue was, as usual, calm and patronizing. "You are mistaken, sir."
  
  There was a hiss of disapproval among those present, and Harry Webster patted Purdue lightly on the arm to remind him of restraint, but Perdue continued cordially, "It was actually a replica of the Ark of the Covenant, and we found it inside the mountainside outside the village. It was not a known Sacred Box containing the power of God, 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 replied quickly. "It would seem they could tell the difference. On the other hand, since the location of the real Ark is only speculation and has not been conclusively proven, it would be difficult to know what comparisons should be sought."
  
  Prof. Imru stood up, looking furious, but the lawyer motioned for him to sit down before he could say a word.
  
  "What do you mean by that?" the lawyer asked.
  
  "I object, milady," Prof. Imru wept as he addressed the sitting judge, Helen Ostrin. "This person is mocking our heritage and insulting our ability to identify our own artifacts!"
  
  "Sit down, Prof. Imru," ordered the judge. "I have not heard any accusations of this kind from the defendant. Please wait your turn." She looked at Perdue. "What do you mean, Mr. Perdue?"
  
  "I'm not a very good historian or theologian, but I do know a thing or two about King Solomon, the Queen of Sheba, and the Ark of the Covenant. Based on its description in all the texts, I'm relatively certain that it was never said that the lid had carvings dating back to World War II," Perdue casually reported.
  
  "What do you mean, Mr. Perdue?" It doesn"t make sense," the lawyer objected.
  
  "First of all, it shouldn't have a swastika engraved on it," Purdue said nonchalantly, enjoying the shocked reaction from the audience in the boardroom. The grey-haired billionaire gave selective facts so that he could protect himself without exposing the underworld below, where the law would only get in the way. He carefully chose what he could tell them so as not to alert Karsten with his actions and to make sure that the battle with the Black Sun did not attract attention long enough that he could use any means necessary to sign this chapter.
  
  "Are you crazy?" Qty. Yemenu screamed, but the Ethiopian delegation immediately joined in their objections.
  
  "Colonel, please control yourself or I will charge you with contempt of court. Remember, this is still a court hearing, not a debate!" the judge snapped in her firm tone. "The prosecution can continue."
  
  "Are you saying that the swastika was engraved on the gold?" the lawyer smiled at the absurdity. "Do you have any photographs to prove this, Mr. Perdue?"
  
  "I don't know," Purdue replied regretfully.
  
  The prosecutor was delighted. "So your defense is based on hearsay?"
  
  "My records were destroyed during the persecution, during which I almost died," Purdue explained.
  
  "So you were being pursued by the authorities," Watts chuckled. "Perhaps because you stole a priceless piece of history. Mr. Perdue, the legal grounds for prosecution for the destruction of monuments stem from the 1954 convention, which was put into effect in connection with the destruction caused after the Second World War. There was a reason you were shot at."
  
  "But we were shot at by another expeditionary group, lawyer Watts, led by a certain professor. Rita Potpourri and funded by Cosa Nostra."
  
  Once again, his statement caused such a sensation that the judge had to call them to order. The MI6 officers looked at each other, unaware of any involvement of the Sicilian Mafia.
  
  "So where is this other expedition and the professor who led it?" the prosecutor asked.
  
  "They're dead, sir," Purdue 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. "It's pretty convenient."
  
  "Which makes me wonder who decided I left with the Ark at all," Perdue smiled.
  
  "Mr. Perdue, you will only speak when called upon," the judge warned. "Nevertheless, this is a reasonable point to which I would like to draw the attention of the prosecution. Was the Ark ever found in Mr. Purdue's possession, Special Agent Smith?"
  
  Patrick Smith respectfully stood up and replied, "No, my lady."
  
  "Then why is the order of the Secret Intelligence Service still not cancelled?" the judge asked. "If there is no evidence to prosecute Mr. Perdue, why was the court not notified of this development?"
  
  Patrick cleared his throat. "Because our superior hasn't given the order yet, milady."
  
  "And where is your boss?" she frowned, but the accusation reminded her of the official memorandum in which Joe Carter asked to be excused for personal reasons. The judge looked at the members of the tribunal with a stern reprimand. "I find this lack of organization unsettling, gentlemen, especially when you decide to prosecute a person with no hard evidence that they are in fact in possession of a stolen artifact."
  
  "Milady, if you will?" sneered the snarky adviser Watts. "Mr. Perdue was well known and documented as the man who discovered various treasures on his expeditions, including the famous Spear of Destiny stolen by the Nazis during World War II. He donated many relics of religious and cultural value to museums around the world, including the recently discovered find of Alexander the Great. If military intelligence could not find these artifacts on his property, then this only proves that he used these expeditions to spy on other countries."
  
  Oh shit, thought Patrick Smith.
  
  "Please, milady, can I say something?" Qty. She asked Yimenu what the judge had given her permission to do. "If this man didn"t steal our Ark, which a whole group of workers from Aksum swears against, how could he disappear from his domain?"
  
  "Mr Perdue? Would you like to elaborate on this? " the judge asked.
  
  "As I said earlier, we were pursued by another expedition. My lady, I narrowly escaped, but the Potpourri tour group subsequently took possession of the Ark, which was not the real Ark of the Covenant," Perdue explained.
  
  "And they all died. So where is the artifact?" asked the enthusiastic professor. Imru, looking visibly crushed by the loss. The judge allowed the men to speak freely while they maintained order, as she instructed them.
  
  "It was last seen at their villa in Djibouti, Professor," Perdue replied, "before they went on an expedition with my colleagues and me to examine some scrolls from Greece. We were forced to show them the way, and that's where..."
  
  "Where you faked your own death," the prosecutor accused harshly. "I don't need to say anything more, milady. MI6 was called to the scene to arrest Mr. Perdue, only to find him 'dead' and find out that the Italian members of the expedition were dead. Am I correct, Special Agent Smith?"
  
  Patrick tried not to look at Perdue. He answered quietly, "Yes."
  
  "Why would he fake his own death to avoid arrest if he had nothing to hide?" the prosecutor continued. Perdue was eager to explain his actions, but recounting the entire drama of the Order of the Black Sun and proving that it, too, still existed, was too detailed and not worth digressing.
  
  "Milady, may I?" Harry Webster finally rose from his seat.
  
  "Go on," she said approvingly, as the defense lawyer hadn't said a word yet.
  
  "May I suggest that we come to some kind of agreement for my client, as there are obviously many holes in this case. There is no concrete evidence against my client for harboring stolen relics. In addition, there are no persons present among those present who could testify that he actually gave them any intelligence relating to espionage." He paused to relay his gaze to every member of Military Intelligence 6 present. He then looked at Purdue.
  
  "Gentlemen, my lady," he continued, "with my client's permission, I would like to make a plea deal."
  
  Purdue kept a straight face, but his heart was pounding. He had discussed this outcome in detail with Harry that morning, so he knew he could trust his top lawyer to make the right decisions. However, it got on my nerves. Regardless, Perdue agreed that they should just leave it all behind with as little hellfire as possible. He wasn't afraid to get whipped for his wrongdoings, but by no means did he enjoy the prospect of spending years behind bars without a chance to invent, research, and, most importantly, put Joseph Carsten in the place he belonged to.
  
  "Okay," the judge said, folding her hands on the table. "What are the conditions of the defendant?"
  
  
  9
  Visitor
  
  
  "How was the hearing?" Nina asked Sam on Skype. Behind her, he could see seemingly endless rows of shelves filled with ancient artifacts, and white-coated men cataloging various items.
  
  "I haven't gotten a response from Paddy or Perdue 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 is there with him."
  
  "Why?" she frowned. Then she giggled merrily. "Perdue usually circles people around his little finger without even trying. You don't have to be afraid for him, Sam. I bet he'll get out without even resorting to overnight lube for the local jail cell."
  
  Sam laughed with her, amused both by her belief in Purdue's abilities and by 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 are you coming 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. Cleave?"
  
  "Don't flatter yourself," he smiled, looking around in embarrassment. But he liked to look again into the dark eyes of the fine historian. He liked it even more that she was smiling again. "Where is Joanna?"
  
  Nina glanced back quickly, the movement of her head breathing life into her long dark locks as they swept up at her movement. "She was here... wait... Joe!" she shouted somewhere off the screen. "Come and say hello to your crush."
  
  Sam chuckled and propped his forehead on his hand, "Is she still after my stunningly beautiful ass?"
  
  "Yeah, she still thinks you're a dog-ass, precious," Nina joked. "But she is more in love with her sea captain. Sorry." Nina winked as her friend, Joan Earl, the history teacher who had helped them find the treasure of Alexander the Great, approached.
  
  "Hi Sam!" A cheerful Canadian waved his hand.
  
  "Hi Joe, are you okay?"
  
  "I'm fine, 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 to a greedy look as she nodded and whispered, "I know, right? I could make a living from this! And as a bonus, I got a sexy old kayak for a 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."
  
  "Sounds brilliant," he smiled, silently praying that Nina would take over again. He adored Joan, but she could fool a man's head. As if reading his mind, she shrugged and smiled, "Okay, Sam, I'm going to take you back to Dr. Gould. Now goodbye!"
  
  "Bye-bye, Joe," he said, raising an eyebrow. God bless.
  
  "Listen, Sam. I'll be back in Edinburgh in two days. I'm bringing with me the loot we stole for donating the treasures of Alexandria, so we'll have a reason to celebrate. I just hope that the Purdue legal team will do their best so that we can celebrate together. If you're not on some mission, that is."
  
  Sam couldn't tell her about the informal assignment Purdue had given him to learn as much as he could about Karsten's business connections. For now, this was to remain a secret only between the two men. "No, just some research here and there," he shrugged. "But nothing important enough to keep me from a pint."
  
  "Lovely," she said.
  
  "So you are going to return to Oban right away?" Sam asked.
  
  She wrinkled her nose. "Don't know. I have been thinking about this since Reichtisusis is not available right now."
  
  "You know that yours truly also has a rather luxurious mansion in Edinburgh," he reminded her. "This is not a historical fortress of myths and legends, but it has a very cool jacuzzi and a fridge full of cold drinks."
  
  Nina chuckled at his boyish attempt to lure her to him. "Okay, okay, you convinced me. Just pick me up from the airport and make sure the trunk of your car is empty. This time I have crappy luggage, even though I am a light packer."
  
  "Yes, I will, girl. I have to go, but will you text me your arrival time?"
  
  "I will do that," she said. "Be firm!"
  
  Before Sam could throw in a suggestive response to rebut Nina's personal joke between them, she ended the conversation. "Crap!" he moaned. "I have to be faster than this."
  
  He got up and went to the kitchen for a beer. It was almost 9 pm, but he fought the urge to disturb Paddy, begging for the latest news about the Purdue trial. He was very nervous about all this and it made him a little reluctant to call Paddy. Sam was in no position to receive bad news tonight, but he hated his predisposition to a negative scenario.
  
  "It's strange how courage fills a man when he holds a beer in his hands, don't you think?" he asked Breichladdich, who was stretching lazily in a chair in the hall just outside the kitchen door. "I think I'll call Paddy. What do you think?"
  
  The big ginger cat gave him an indifferent look and jumped up onto the jutting part of the 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 the ordeal they had endured after finding the Medusa stone. Sam pursed his lips and nodded, "I thought you'd say that. You should be a lawyer, Bruich. You are very persuasive."
  
  He picked up the phone, just as there was a knock at the door. A sudden knock almost made him drop his beer, and he casually glanced at Bruich. "Did you know this was supposed to happen?" he asked in an undertone, peering through the peephole. He looked at Bruich. "You were wrong. It's not Paddy."
  
  "Mr. Shatter?" pleaded the man outside. "Can I please say a few words?"
  
  Sam shook his head. He was in no mood to receive visitors. Besides, he really enjoyed seclusion from strangers and demands. The man knocked again, but Sam put a finger to his mouth, gesturing for silence for his cat. In response, the cat simply turned around and curled up to sleep.
  
  "Mr Cleave, my name is Liam Johnson. My colleague is related to Mr. Purdue's butler, Charles, and I have some information you might be interested in," the man explained. There was a war going on inside Sam between comfort and curiosity. Dressed only in jeans and socks, he wasn't in the mood to look decent, but he had to know what this guy, Liam, had to say.
  
  "Hold on," Sam exclaimed involuntarily. Well, I guess my curiosity got the better of me. With a sigh of anticipation, he opened the door. "Hi Liam."
  
  "Mr. Cleave, nice to meet you," the man smiled nervously. "Can I please come in before someone sees me here?"
  
  "Of course, after I see some identification papers," Sam replied. Two gossip-loving older ladies walked past his front gate, looking puzzled by the appearance of a handsome, stern, shirtless journalist as they nudged each other. He tried not to laugh, instead winking at them.
  
  "It certainly made them move faster," Liam chuckled as he watched their haste as he handed Sam his IDs for verification. Surprised by the speed with which Liam took out his wallet, Sam couldn't help but be impressed.
  
  "Inspector/Agent Liam Johnson, Sector 2, British Intelligence and all," Sam muttered as he read the fine print, checking for the little authentication words Paddy had taught him to pay attention to. "Okay, buddy. Come in."
  
  "Thank you, Mr. Cleve," Liam said as he quickly stepped inside, trembling from the slight shaking to shake off the raindrops that couldn't get through his pea coat. "Can I put my brolly on the floor?"
  
  "No, I'll take it," Sam offered, and hung it upside down on a special clothes hanger so it could drip onto his rubber mat. "Do you want a beer?"
  
  "Thank you so much," Liam happily replied.
  
  "Really? Didn't expect this," smiled Sam, taking the jar out of the fridge.
  
  "Why? I'm half Irish, you know," Liam joked. "I would venture to suggest that we could outdrink the Scots any day."
  
  "Challenge accepted, my friend," Sam played along. He invited his guest to sit on a double sofa, which he kept for visitors. Compared to the triple, in which Sam spent more nights than in his own bed, the double was much more solid and less lived-in than the previous one.
  
  "So what are you here to tell me?"
  
  Clearing his throat, Liam suddenly became completely serious. Looking very worried, 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 an acute reaction to movement."
  
  "No shit," Sam muttered, taking several long sips to muffle the unease he felt at being discovered so easily. "I saw it when you were standing on the doorstep of my house. You are a person of keen observation and quickly react to this. I'm right?"
  
  "Yes," Liam replied. "That's why I immediately noticed that there was a security hole in the official reports of one of our top leaders, Joe Carter, head of MI6."
  
  "And you are here to issue an ultimatum for a reward, otherwise you will give the identity of the perpetrator to the secret intelligence dogs, right?" Sam sighed. "I don't have the money to pay blackmailers, Mr. Johnson, and I don't like people who just don't come out and say what they want. Then what do you want me to do to keep it a secret?"
  
  "You misunderstood, Sam," Liam hissed firmly, his demeanor instantly showing Sam that he wasn't as gentle as he seemed. His green eyes flashed, blazing with annoyance at being accused of such banal desires. "And that's the only reason I would let this insult fall on deaf ears. I am a Catholic and we cannot prosecute those who insult us out of innocence and ignorance. You do not know me, but I am telling you now that I am not here to sway you. Jesus Christ, I'm above it!"
  
  Sam didn't mention that Liam's reaction literally terrified him, but after a moment he realized that his suggestion, as incomprehensible as it was, was out of place before he allowed the man to properly state his case. "I apologize, Liam," he told his guest. "You're right to be mad at me."
  
  "I'm just so tired of people assuming things about me. I assume it's attached to the lawn. But let's leave that aside and I'll tell you what's going on. After Mr. Perdue was rescued from the woman's home, the British Intelligence High Commission issued an order to tighten security. I think it's from Joe Carter," he explained. "At first I couldn"t understand what could make Carter react like that, I"m sorry, to an ordinary citizen who just happened to be rich. Well, I'm not in vain working for the intelligence sector, Mr. Cleve. I see suspicious behavior from a mile away, and the way someone as powerful as Carter reacted to the fact that Mr. Perdue is alive and well hurt me a little, you know? "
  
  "I understand what you mean. There are things that I unfortunately can't reveal about the research I'm doing here, Liam, but I can assure you that you're absolutely certain about the suspicious feeling you have."
  
  "Look, Mr. Cleave, I'm not here to squeeze information out of you, but if what you know, what you don't tell me, is about the integrity of the agency I work for, I need to know." Liam insisted. "To hell with Carter's plans, I'm looking for the truth."
  
  
  10
  Cairo
  
  
  Under the warm skies of Cairo, there was a stir of souls, not in a poetic sense, but in the sense of a pious feeling that something sinister is moving through the cosmos, preparing to burn the world, like a hand holding a magnifying glass at the right angle and at the right distance to scorch humanity. But these sporadic assemblies of holy men and their faithful followers kept among themselves a strange shift in the axial precession of their astrologers. Ancient bloodlines, securely protected in secret societies, retained their status among their own, preserving the customs of their ancestors.
  
  At first, the people of Lebanon suffered from a sudden power outage, but while technicians were trying to find the cause, news came from other cities in other countries that the power went out there too, creating chaos from Beirut to Mecca. Within a day, there were reports from Turkey, Iraq and parts of Iran that unexplained power outages were causing havoc. Now, in Cairo and Alexandria, in some parts of Egypt, dusk has also fallen, forcing two men from the Stargazer Tribes to look for a source other than the power plant network.
  
  "Are you sure number seven has deorbited?" Penekal asked his colleague Ofar.
  
  "I'm 100% sure, Penekal," Ofar replied. "See for yourself. This is a colossal shift that will only last for a few days!"
  
  "Days? Are you crazy? This is impossible!" Penecal replied, completely rejecting 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 owns the miracle of the other."
  
  Remorseful for his outburst, Penekal sighed and gestured for Ofar to forgive him. "I know. I know. It's just so..." he breathed impatiently. "It has never been described that a similar phenomenon has ever taken place. Maybe I'm afraid this is true, because the thought of one celestial body changing orbit without any interference with its fellows is absolutely terrifying."
  
  "I know, I know," Ofar sighed. Both men were in their late sixties, but their bodies were still very healthy, and their faces showed little sign of aging. They were both astronomers and studied primarily the theories of Theon of Alexandria, but they also welcomed modern teachings and theories, keeping track of all the latest astrotechnologies and news from scientists around the world. But besides their modern accumulated knowledge, the two old men adhered to the traditions of the ancient tribes, and since they conscientiously studied the heavens, they considered both science and mythology. Usually, the mixed consideration of the two subjects gave them the perfect middle ground, allowing them to combine surprise with logic, which helped shape their opinions. Still.
  
  With a trembling hand on the eyepiece tube, Penecal slowly drew back from the small lens through which he was peering, his eyes still staring forward in astonishment. Finally, he turned to face Ofar, his mouth dry and his heart sank. "I swear to the gods. This happens in our lifetime. I can't find the star either, my friend, no matter where I look for it."
  
  "One star has fallen," lamented Ofar, looking sadly down. "We're in trouble."
  
  "What is this diamond, according to the Code of Solomon?" asked Penekal.
  
  "I have already looked. It's Rhabdos," Ofar said with foreboding, "lamp lighter."
  
  Distraught, Penekal trudged to the window of their observation room on the 20th floor of the Hathor building in Giza. From above, they could see the huge metropolis of Cairo, and below them the Nile, snaked like liquid azure through the city. His old dark eyes swept over the city below, and then found the hazy horizon that stretched along the dividing line between world and heaven. "Do we know when they fell?"
  
  "Not really. Based on the notes I took, this must have happened between Tuesday and today. This means that Rhabdos has fallen in the last thirty-two hours," Ofar noted. "Should we say something to the city elders?"
  
  "No," came a quick denial from Penekal. "Not yet. If we say anything that sheds light on what we are actually using this equipment for, they could easily disband us, taking millennia of observations with them."
  
  "Understood," Ofar said. "I directed the Osiris constellation charter program from this observatory and a smaller observatory in Yemen. The one in Yemen will watch for shooting stars when we can't do it here, so we can watch."
  
  Ofar's phone rang. He excused himself and left the room, while Penekal sat down at his desk to watch the screensaver move through space, giving him the illusion that he was flying among the stars he loved so much. This always calmed his behavior, and the hypnotic repetition of the passage of the stars gave him a meditative character. 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 the room.
  
  "Penecal!" he croaked, unable to cope with the pressure.
  
  "What is this?"
  
  "I have just received a message from our people in Marseille, at the observatory on top of Mont Faron, near Toulon." Ofar was breathing so heavily that he momentarily lost the ability to continue. His friend had to pat him lightly to get him to catch his breath first. As soon as the hurried old man caught his breath, he continued. "They say a woman was found hanged in a French villa in Nice a few hours ago."
  
  "It's terrible, Ofar," Penekal replied. "That's true, but what does it have to do with you, such that you had to call about this?"
  
  "She was swinging on a rope made of hemp," he lamented. "And here is proof that this is causing us great concern," he said with a deep sigh. "The house belonged to a nobleman, Baron Henri de Martin, who is famous for his collection of diamonds."
  
  Penekal caught some familiar features, but he couldn't put two and two together until Ofar had finished his story. "Penecal, 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 effect on their knowing what they were following. Frankly, these were disturbing signs of the approaching apocalyptic event. It was not written at all or was not believed at all as a prophecy, but it was part of the meetings of King Solomon, recorded by the wise king himself in a hidden code known only to those of the Ofar and Penekal tradition.
  
  This scroll mentioned important harbingers of celestial events that had apocryphal connotations. Nothing in the codex ever stated that this would happen, but judging by Solomon's writings on this occasion, the shooting star and subsequent catastrophes were more than just a coincidence. Those who followed the tradition and could see the signs were expected to save humanity if they realized the omen.
  
  "Remind me which one was about spinning hemp rope?" he asked faithful old Ofar, who was already flipping through the notes to find the title. After writing the name under the previous fallen star, he looked up and opened it. "Onoskelis".
  
  "I am completely stunned, my old friend," said Penekal, shaking his head in disbelief. "That means the Freemasons have found the Alchemist, or worst case scenario, we have the Magician in our hands!"
  
  
  eleven
  Parchment
  
  
  
  Amiens, France
  
  
  Abdul Raya slept soundly, but he did not dream. He'd never understood it before, but he didn't know what it was like to travel to unknown places or see unnatural things intertwined with dream weavers' plot threads. Night terrors never visited him. Never in his life had he been able to believe the awful nighttime nap stories told by others. He never woke up in a sweat, trembling with terror or still reeling from the nauseating panic caused by the hellish world behind his eyelids.
  
  Outside his window, only the muffled conversation of his downstairs neighbors could be heard as they sat outside and drank wine in the first minutes after midnight. They read about the terrible sight that the poor French baron had to endure when he returned home the night before to find the charred body of his wife in the fireplace of their mansion at Entrevaux on the Var River. If only they knew that the vile creature responsible was breathing the same air.
  
  Beneath his window, his polite neighbors spoke softly, but somehow Raya could hear their every word, even while asleep. Listening, writing down what they were saying, to the sound of the cascading cascade of a canal with a gentle river adjoining the courtyard, his mind kept it all in memory. Later, if he needs to, Abdul Raya will be able to recall the information if he needs to. The reason why he didn't wake up after their conversation was because he already knew all the facts, not sharing their bewilderment or the bewilderment of the rest of Europe who had heard about the theft of diamonds from the baron's safe and the gruesome murder of the housekeeper.
  
  Announcers from all the major television channels reported on an 'extensive collection' of jewels stolen from the Baron's vaults, that the safe from which the Celeste was stolen was only one of four, and all of them were cleared of precious stones and diamonds, overflowing the house of an aristocrat. Naturally, the fact that all this was not true was not known to anyone except Baron Henri de Martin, who took advantage of the death of his wife and the still unsolved robbery to demand a tidy sum from the insurance companies and receive a payment on his wife's policy No charges were filed against the Baron as he had an ironclad alibi at the time of Madame Chantal's death, which secured him an inheritance in the form of a fortune. -did, no doubt, helped her husband avoid bankruptcy.
  
  It was all a sweet irony that the Baron would never have understood. However, after being shocked and horrified by the incident, he wondered about the circumstances surrounding the incident. He didn't know that his wife had taken Celeste and two other lesser stones from his safe, and he racked his brains trying to make sense of her unusual death. She was by no means suicidal, and had she been even remotely suicidal, Chantal would never have set herself on fire, of all things!
  
  It was not until he found Louise, Chantal's assistant, with her tongue cut off and blinded, that he realized that his wife's death was not a suicide. The police agreed, but they didn't know where to start investigating such a heinous murder. Since then, Louise has been placed in the psychiatric ward of the Paris Psychological Institute, where she was to be left for examination, but all the doctors who met her were convinced that she had lost her mind, that she was possibly responsible for the murders and the subsequent infliction hurt herself.
  
  It made headlines all over Europe, and some small TV channels in other parts of the world also showed the strange incident. All the while, the Baron refused any interviews, citing his traumatic experience as the reason he needed to spend time away from the public eye.
  
  It finally seemed to the neighbors that the cold night air had too much effect on their comfort, and they returned to their apartment. All that's left is the sound of a babbling river and the occasional distant barking of a dog. From time to time, a car would pass down the narrow street on the other side of the complex, whistling past before leaving silence in its wake.
  
  Abdul suddenly woke up with a clear mind. It wasn't the beginning, but a momentary urge to wake up made him open his eyes. He waited and listened, but there was nothing to wake him up except some kind of sixth sense. Naked and exhausted, the Egyptian swindler walked up to his bedroom window. At one glance at the starry sky, he understood why he was asked to leave his dream.
  
  "Another one is falling," he muttered as his keen eyes followed the rapid fall of the shooting star, mentally noting the approximate position of the stars around it. Abdul smiled. "There is very little left, and the world will fulfill all your desires. They will scream and beg for death."
  
  He turned away from the window as the white streak disappeared into the distance. In the semi-darkness of his bedroom, he walked over to an old wooden chest that he took with him everywhere, tied with two massive leather straps that connected at the front. Only a small porch lamp, off-center on the shutter above his window, gave light to his room. They illuminated his slender frame, the light on his bare skin highlighting his sinewy musculature. Raya resembled some kind of circus acrobat, a grim version of the acrobat who didn't care about entertaining anyone but himself, but rather used his talent to get others to entertain him.
  
  The room was a lot like his-simple, barren, and functional. There was a washbasin and a bed, a closet and a desk with a chair and a lamp. That was it. Everything else was there only temporarily so he could watch the stars in the Belgian and French skies until he got the diamonds he was after. Along the four walls of his room were hung countless constellation cards from every corner of the globe, all marked with connecting lines intersecting at specific ley lines, while others were marked in red for their unknown behavior due to lack of cards. Some of the large, pinned maps had bloodstains, rust-brown stains that silently indicated how they had been mined. Others were newer, printed only a few years ago, in stark contrast to those discovered centuries ago.
  
  It was almost time to wreak havoc in the Middle East, and he relished the thought of where he would have to go next: people who were much easier to fool than the dumb, greedy Westerners in Europe. Abdul knew that people in the Middle East would be more susceptible to his deceit due to their wonderful traditions and superstitious beliefs. He could so easily drive them mad or make them kill each other out there in the desert where King Solomon once walked. He saved Jerusalem for last, only because the Order of Shooting Stars did it that way.
  
  Raya opened the chest and rummaged through the cloth and gilded belts for the scrolls he was looking for. The dark brown, oily-looking piece of parchment right against the side of the box was what he was looking for. With an enthusiastic look, he unrolled it and laid it on the table, securing it with two books at each end. Then, from the same chest, he took out the athame. Curved with ancient precision, the writhing blade gleamed in the dim light as he pressed its sharp end against his left palm. The tip of the sword slipped effortlessly into his skin under the sheer force of gravity. He doesn't even have to insist.
  
  Blood oozed around the small tip of the knife, forming a perfect crimson pearl that grew slowly until he drew the knife. With his blood, he marked the position of a star that had just fallen. At the same time, the dark parchment trembled slightly intimidatingly. Abdul took great pleasure in seeing the reaction of an enchanted artifact, the Code of Laws of Sol Amon, which he found as a young man grazing goats in the arid shadows of the nameless Egyptian hills.
  
  Once his blood had soaked into the star chart on the enchanted scroll, Abdul carefully rolled it up and knotted the sinew that held the scroll. The star has finally fallen. Now it's time to leave France. Now that he had the Celeste, he could move on to more important places where he could work his magic and watch the world fall, destroyed by King Solomon's diamonds leadership.
  
  
  12
  Enter Dr. Nina Gould
  
  
  "You're acting weird, Sam. I mean, weirder than your dear natural weirdness," Nina remarked after she poured them some red wine. Bruich, still remembering the petite lady who had nursed him during Sam's last absence from Edinburgh, felt at home in her lap. Automatically, Nina began petting him as if it was a natural course of events.
  
  She arrived at Edinburgh Airport an hour ago, where Sam picked her up in the pouring rain and, as agreed, brought 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 years to come!"
  
  Nina burst out laughing, although she understood the prevailing desire in this comical toast. "Yes!" she exclaimed, and she clinked her glass with his, shaking her head merrily. She looked around Sam's bachelor pad. The walls were empty except for a few photos of Sam with once prominent politicians and some high society celebrities, interspersed with a few of him with Nina and Perdue, and of course Bruich. She decided to put an end to the question she had kept 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 riots."
  
  "You understand? I would have thought that by living with people from all directions, there would be a lot of turmoil."
  
  "They are pensioners. They can only be obtained between 10 and 11 am." Sam leaned forward and cocked his head to the side with an expression of interest. "Nina, is this your way of asking me to move in with you?"
  
  "Shut up," she frowned. "Don't be stupid. I just thought that with all the money you must have made, like all of us since these expeditions have brought good fortune, would you use it to secure yourself some privacy and maybe even a new car?"
  
  "Why? The Datsun works great," he said, defending his penchant for functionality over flash.
  
  Nina didn't pay attention to it yet, but Sam, citing fatigue, did not cut them. He was visibly distant, as if he were making a long division in his mind, discussing with her the booty from Alexander's find.
  
  "So they named the exhibit after you and Joe?" He smiled. "That's pretty spicy, Dr. Gould. Now you are moving forward in the academic world. Long gone are the days when Matlock still got on your nerves. You definitely showed him!"
  
  "Junk," she sighed before lighting a cigarette. Her heavily shaded eyes looked at Sam. "Do you want a cigarette?"
  
  "Yes," he moaned, sitting up. "It 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. "Do you think this is a good idea? Not long ago, you almost kicked Death in the balls. I wouldn't spin that worm so fast, Nina."
  
  "Shut up," she muttered through her cigarette as she set Bruich down on the Persian rug. As much as Nina appreciated the care of her beloved Sam, she felt that self-destruction was the prerogative of every person, and if she thought that her body could withstand this hell, she had the right to test the theory. "What's bothering 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 took Sam a long time to see her again and a lot of persuading 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 hot tub. She took off her shirt, revealing her torn back under a knotted red bikini. Nina's seductive hips swayed from side to side as she, too, took off her jeans, causing Sam to freeze in place to enjoy the beautiful sight.
  
  The cold in Edinburgh didn't bother them much. The winter was over, though there was no sign of spring yet, and most people still preferred to stay inside. But there was warm water in Sam's effervescent sky puddle, and since the slow release of alcohol during the libation warmed their blood, they were both willing to undress.
  
  Sitting across from Nina in the soothing water, Sam could see that she was adamant that he should report to her. He finally began to speak. "I haven't heard anything from Purdue or Paddy yet, but there's something he begged me not to tell, and I wish it stayed that way. You understand, don't you?"
  
  "It's 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, taking him by surprise.
  
  "Look," he explained, "if it were up to me, I would have told you in a second. But Perdue asked me to keep it just 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?" - Asked Nina, easily noticing that every few moments his gaze falls on her breasts.
  
  "Nobody. Only Purdue and I know. Even Paddy has no idea. Perdue asked that we keep him in the dark so that nothing he did interferes with what Purdue and I are trying to do, you understand?" he elaborated as tactfully as he could, still fascinated by the new tattoo on her soft skin, just above her left breast.
  
  "So he thinks I will interfere?" She frowned, tapping her slender fingers on the rim of the hot tub as she gathered her thoughts about it.
  
  "No! No, Nina, he never said anything about you. It was not a matter of excluding certain people. It's about excluding everyone until I give him the information he needs. He will then reveal what he plans to do. All I can tell you now is that Purdue is being targeted by someone powerful who is a mystery. This man lives in two worlds, two opposite worlds, and he occupies very high positions in both."
  
  "So we are talking about corruption," she concluded.
  
  "Yeah, but I can't fill you in on the details of Purdue's loyalty just yet," Sam pleaded, hoping she would understand. "Better yet, once we hear from Paddy, you can ask Perdue yourself. Then I won"t feel like a jerk for breaking an oath."
  
  "You know, Sam, although I know the three of us mostly know each other through a casual relic hunt or an expedition to find some valuable antique trinket," Nina said impatiently, "I thought you, me, and Purdue were a team. I have always thought of us as the three main ingredients, unchanged in the historic puddings that have been served to the academic world for the last few years." Nina was hurt by the fact that she was expelled, but she tried not to show it.
  
  "Nina," Sam said sharply, but she didn't give him a seat.
  
  "Usually when two of us team up, the third one always gets involved along the way, and if one gets into trouble, the other two always get involved in one way or another. I don't know if you noticed it. Did you notice it at all?" Her voice cracked as she tried to get through to Sam, and although she couldn't show it, she was terrified that he would answer her question indifferently or brush it off. Perhaps she was too accustomed to being the center of gravity between two successful, albeit completely different men. As far as she was concerned, they had a strong bond of friendship and a deep history of life, closeness to death, self-sacrifice and loyalty between them, which she did not care to doubt.
  
  To her relief, Sam smiled. The sight of his eyes truly looking into hers without the slightest emotional distance - in presence - gave her great pleasure, no matter how stony-faced she remained.
  
  "You're taking this too seriously, love," he explained. "You know we'll turn you on as soon as we know what we're doing because, my dear Nina, we don't know a damn thing what we're doing right now."
  
  "And I can't help?" she asked.
  
  "I'm afraid not," he said in a confident tone. "But, nevertheless, we will soon pull ourselves together. You know, I'm sure Perdue 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 bother me too. The trial must have ended a few hours ago. Either he's too busy celebrating or he's in more trouble than we thought," she suggested. "Sam!"
  
  Considering two possibilities, Nina noticed that Sam's gaze wandered in thought and accidentally landed on Nina's cleavage. "Sam! Stop that. You won't make me change the subject."
  
  Sam laughed when he realized. He may even have felt himself blushing at being discovered, but he thanked his lucky star for taking it lightly. "Anyway, it's not like you haven't seen them before."
  
  "Perhaps this will prompt you to remind me again of..." he tried.
  
  "Sam, shut up and get me another drink," Nina commanded.
  
  "Yes, ma'am," he said, pulling his wet, scarred body out of the water. It was her turn to admire his masculine figure as he passed her, and she felt no shame as she recalled the few times she had been fortunate enough to enjoy the benefits of that masculinity. Although those moments were not very fresh, Nina stored them in a special high-definition memory folder in her mind.
  
  Bruich straightened up at the door, refusing to cross the threshold where he was threatened by puffs of steam. His gaze was fixed on Nina, and the first and second were uncharacteristic of a big, old, lazy cat. He was usually hunched over, late for any class, and hardly focused on anything other than another warm belly he could make his home for the night.
  
  "What's the matter, Bruich?" Nina asked in a high tone, 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 gurgling of the luxury she enjoyed. Annoyed by her foolish suggestion about cats and water, and tired of waiting for Sam to return, she plunged her hands into the shiny foam on the surface, startling the ginger cat into a run of terror. Watching him slip inside and disappear under a lounge chair gave 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 grinning. "I can't do anything about it. Don't worry, buddy. Karma will go to me for sure... with water, for doing this to you, honey."
  
  Sam ran out of the living room and into the patio, looking extremely agitated. Still half wet, he still hadn't spilled the drinks, though his arms were outstretched as if they were holding glasses of wine.
  
  "Great news! Paddy called. Perdue was spared on one condition," he yelled, eliciting a chorus of angry suggestions from his neighbors to 'shut the fuck up, Cleve'.
  
  Nina's face lit up. "In which condition?" she asked, resolutely ignoring the continued silence from everyone in the complex.
  
  "I don't know, but apparently it's about something historical. So, you see, Dr. Gould, we're going to need our third," Sam relayed. "Besides, other historians are not as cheap as you."
  
  Gasping, Nina lunged forward, hissing in mock insult, jumped on Sam and kissed him like she hadn't kissed since those bright folders in her memory. She was so happy to be listed again that she didn't notice the man standing behind the dark edge of the compact patio, watching impatiently as Sam tugged at her bikini lacing.
  
  
  13
  Eclipse
  
  
  
  Salzkammergut Region, Austria
  
  
  Joseph Karsten's mansion stood in silence, looming over the void of vast gardens where no birds sang. Its flowers and brushes inhabited the garden in solitude and silence, moving only when the wind wanted it. Nothing here was valued above mere existence, and such was the nature of Karsten's control over what he owned.
  
  His wife and two daughters chose to stay in London, choosing to forego the striking beauty of Karsten's private residence. However, he was quite content with the fact that he could retire, condoning his chapter of the Order of the Black Sun and calmly leading them. As long as he acted on the orders of the British government and directed military intelligence internationally, he could maintain his position in MI6 and use its invaluable resources to keep a vigilant eye on international relations that could help or hinder Black Sun's investment and planning.
  
  The organization by no means lost its nefarious power after World War II, when it was forced to plunge into the underworld of myth and legend, becoming a bitter memory for the forgetful and a real threat to those who knew otherwise. Such as David Purdue and his partners.
  
  After apologizing to the Purdue tribunal, fearful of being pointed out by the one who escaped, Karsten saved up some time to finish what he started in the sanctuary of his mountain nest. Outside, the day was disgusting, but not in the usual way. The dim sun illuminated the usually beautiful wilderness of the Salzkammergut, turning the vast carpet of treetops a pale green, in contrast to the deep emerald of the forests under the canopies. The ladies of Karsten regretted leaving the breathtaking Austrian scenery behind, but the natural beauty of the place lost its sheen wherever Joseph and his companions went, forcing them to limit themselves to visiting the charming Salzkammergut.
  
  "I'd do it myself if I wasn't in public office," Karsten said from his garden chair, his desk phone clutched in his hand. "But I have to be back in London in two days to report on the Hebrides launch and planning, Clive. I won't be returning to 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. "Right. You can contact us when your people complete the mission. Thank you, Clive."
  
  He stared across the table for a long time, studying the region he was lucky enough to live in when he hadn't been to filthy London or densely populated Glasgow.
  
  "I won't lose all of this because of you, Perdue. Whether you choose to remain silent about my identity or not, you will not be spared. You are a burden and need to be done away with. You all need to be done away with," he muttered as his eyes swept over the majestic white-topped rocks that surrounded his home. The rough stone and the endless darkness of the forest soothed his eyes while his lips trembled at the vengeful words. "Each of you who knows my name, who knows my face, who killed my mother and knows where her secret hideout was... anyone who can accuse me of involvement... all of you need to be finished!"
  
  Karsten pursed his lips, remembering the night he'd fled like the coward he was from his mother's house, when the men from Oban had come to snatch David Perdue from his clutches. The idea that his precious booty would go to ordinary citizens irritated him immensely, striking at his pride and depriving him of unnecessary influence on his affairs. By now, everything should have been completed. Instead, his troubles were doubled by these events.
  
  "Sir, news on David Purdue," his assistant Nigel Lime announced from the patio door. Karsten had to turn to look at the man, to make sure that the strangely fitting topic was indeed presented and not the product of his thoughts.
  
  "Strange," he replied. "I was just wondering about it, Nigel."
  
  Impressed, Nigel descended the steps to the mesh-covered patio where Carsten drank tea. "Well, maybe you are psychic, sir," he smiled, holding the folder under his arm. "The Judicial Committee asks you to be present in Glasgow to sign a guilty plea so that the Ethiopian government and the Archaeological Crime Unit can proceed with mitigation of Mr Perdue"s sentence."
  
  Carsten was on fire with the idea of punishment for Purdue, although he would have preferred to carry it out himself. But his expectations may have been too cruel in his old-fashioned hope for revenge, as he quickly became disillusioned when he learned of the punishment he so wanted to know.
  
  "Then what is his sentence?" he asked Nigel. "What should they contribute to?"
  
  "Can I sit down?" Nigel asked, responding to Karsten's approving gesture. He put the dossier on the table. "David Perdue made a plea deal. In short, in exchange for his freedom..."
  
  "Freedom?" Karsten roared, his heart pounding with newfound fury. "What? Is he not being sentenced to jail at all?"
  
  "No sir, but let me brief you on the details of the finds," Nigel offered calmly.
  
  "Let's listen to this. Keep it short and simple. I just want to know the basics," Karsten growled, his hands trembling as he raised the cup to his mouth.
  
  "Of course, sir," Nigel replied, hiding his annoyance at his boss behind his calm demeanor. "In short," he said leisurely, "Mr. Perdue has agreed to make amends to the claim of the Ethiopian people and return their relic to where he took it from, after which, of course, he will be banned from entering Ethiopia ever again."
  
  "Wait, is that all?" Karsten frowned, his face gradually becoming more and more purple. "Are they just going to let him walk?"
  
  Karsten was so blinded by frustration and defeat that he didn't notice the mocking expression on his aide's face. "If you'll excuse me, sir, you seem to be taking this quite to heart."
  
  "You can not!" Karsten screamed, clearing his throat. "He is a rich swindler who buys off everything, charms high society so that they remain blind to his criminal activities. Of course, I am absolutely upset when such people get off with a simple warning and a bill. This man is a billionaire, Lime! He should be taught that his money cannot always save him. Here we had a great opportunity 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 with anger. "Let him pay again for his damn way to get away with it! Jesus Christ! No wonder law and order mean nothing anymore!"
  
  Nigel Lime just waited for the tirade to come to an end. There was no point in interrupting the enraged MI6 leader. When he was certain that Karsten, or Mr. Carter, as his unwary subordinates called him, had finished his rant, Nigel dared to vent even more unwanted details at his boss. He gently pushed the dossier across the table. "And I need you to sign this immediately, sir. They still need to be sent to the committee by courier today with your signature."
  
  "What is this?" Karsten's tear-stained face twitched as he received yet another setback in his efforts regarding David Purdue.
  
  "One of the reasons the court had to give in to Purdue's application was the illegal seizure of his property in Edinburgh, sir," Nigel explained, delighted in the emotional numbness he felt as he prepared for Karsten's next outburst of anger.
  
  "This property was seized for a reason! What in the name of all that is holy is happening to the authorities these days? Illegal? So a person of interest to MI6 in connection with international military affairs is mentioned while no investigations into the contents of his property have been conducted?" he screamed as he shattered his china cup as he banged it against the wrought iron tabletop.
  
  "Sir, the MI6 field teams have combed the estate looking for anything incriminating, and they haven't found anything that could indicate military espionage or illegal acquisition of any historical objects, religious or otherwise. Therefore, withholding the Raihtishousi ransom was unreasonable and considered illegal as there was no evidence to support our claim," Nigel bluntly explained, not letting the thick face of the autocratic Karsten shake him as he clarified the situation. "This is a writ of release which you must sign to return Wrichtishousis to its owner and rescind all orders to the contrary, according to Lord Harrington and his representatives in Parliament."
  
  Karsten was so furious that his answers were gentle, deceptively calm. "Am I neglected in my powers?"
  
  "Yes, sir," Nigel confirmed. "I'm afraid so."
  
  Karsten was beside himself with rage at the thwarting of his plans, but he preferred to pretend to be professional about it all. Nigel was a shrewd guy, and if he knew Karsten's personal reaction to the case, it might shed too much light on his relationship with David Purdue.
  
  "Then give me a pen," he said, refusing to show any trace of the storm raging inside him. As he signed the order to return Raichtischusis to his nemesis, Karsten felt the crushing blow to his carefully crafted plans, worth thousands of euros, shattered his ego, turning him into a powerless head of an organization with no powerful powers.
  
  "Thank you, sir," Nigel said, taking the pen from Karsten's trembling hand. "I will send this out today so that the dossier can be closed from our side. Our lawyers will keep us updated on developments in Ethiopia until their relic is returned to its rightful place."
  
  Karsten nodded, but he didn't hear much of Nigel's words. All he thought of was the prospect of starting over. Trying to figure it out, he tried to find out where Perdue kept all the relics that he, Karsten, hoped to find on the property of Edinburgh. Unfortunately, he was unable to follow orders to search all of Purdue's properties because it would have been based on intelligence gathered by the Order of the Black Sun, an organization that should not have existed, much less run by a top military officer. intelligence of the United Kingdom.
  
  He had to keep what he knew was true to himself. Purdue could not be arrested for stealing valuable Nazi treasures and artifacts because revealing this would compromise Black Sun. Karsten's brain was working at its limit, trying to get around it all, but on all counts the same answer came - Perdue should have died.
  
  
  14
  A82
  
  
  In the coastal town of Oban, Scotland, Nina's house was left empty while she was away to attend a new tour planned by Purdue after his recent legal troubles. Life in Oban continued without her, but she was missed by several of the inhabitants there. After a gruesome kidnapping story that made local headlines a few months ago, the establishment has returned to its blissfully peaceful existence.
  
  Dr. Lance Beach and his wife were preparing for a medical conference in Glasgow, one of those gatherings where who knows who and who wears what is more important than the real medical research or experimental drug grants that are critical to progress in this field.
  
  "You know how I despise these things," Sylvia Beach reminded her husband.
  
  "I know, dear," he replied, wincing at the effort of slipping his new shoes on over thick woolen socks. "But I"m only considered for specialty and special inclusion if they know I exist, and in order for them to know I exist, I need to show my face in these looped cases."
  
  "Yeah, I know," she moaned through parted lips, speaking with her mouth open and applying rose dew lipstick. "Just don't do what you did last time, leaving me with this chicken coop while you're gone. And I don't want to linger."
  
  "Noted". Dr. Lance Beach faked a smile as his feet creaked in tight new leather boots. In the past, he wouldn't have had the patience to listen to his wife's whining, but after he feared losing her during a kidnapping, he learned to appreciate her presence more than anything. Lance never wanted to feel like this again, afraid he would never see his wife again, so he whimpered a little with glee. "We won't stay long. I promise".
  
  "The girls return on Sunday, so if we return a little earlier, we will have a whole night and half a day alone," she mentioned, quickly glancing at his reaction in the mirror. Behind her, on the bed, she could see him smile at her words with a hint of, "Hmm, that's true, Mrs. Beach."
  
  Sylvia chuckled as she slipped her earring pin into her right earlobe and glanced quickly over herself to see how she looked with her evening gown. She nodded approvingly at her own beauty, but didn't look at her reflection for too long. It reminded her of why she was kidnapped by this monster in the first place - her resemblance to Dr. Nina Gould. Her equally petite figure and dark curls would have misled anyone who did not know the two women, and to top it off, Sylvia's eyes were almost like Nina's, except that they were narrower and more amber in color than Nina's chocolate.
  
  "Ready, love?" Lance asked, hoping to dispel the bad thoughts that no doubt plagued his wife when she stared at her own reflection for too long. He succeeded. With a slight sigh, she ended the staring contest and quickly gathered her purse and coat.
  
  "Ready to go," she confirmed sharply, hoping to dispel any suspicions he might have about her emotional well-being. And before he could say another word, she darted gracefully out of the room and down the hall to the hallway at the front door.
  
  The night was disgusting. The clouds above drowned out the screams of the meteor titans and shrouded the electric bands in blue static. It rained and turned their path into a stream. Sylvia was jumping on the water like it could keep her shoes dry at all, and Lance was just walking behind her to keep the big umbrella over her head. "Wait, Silla, wait!" he called as she quickly stepped out from under the brolly's cover.
  
  "Hurry, slow blow!" she teased and reached for the car door, but her husband wouldn't let anyone mock him for his slow pace. He hit the immobilizer on their car, 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 with him. "My hair will be a mess," she warned. "And they will think that you are a negligent husband and therefore a bad doctor, you understand?"
  
  The doors clicked open just as she was starting to get really worried about her hair and makeup being ruined, and Sylvia jumped into the car with a cry of relief. Soon after, Lance got behind the wheel and started the car.
  
  "If we don't leave now, we'll really be late," he remarked, looking through the windows at the dark and unforgiving clouds.
  
  "We'll do it much sooner, dear. It's only 8 pm now," Sylvia said.
  
  "Yeah, but with the weather like this, it's going to be pretty damn slow. I'm telling you things aren't going well. Not to mention traffic jams in Glasgow once we hit civilization."
  
  "That's right," she sighed, lowering the mirror in the passenger seat to fix her runny mascara. "Just don't drive too fast. They are not so important that we could die in a car accident or something like that."
  
  The reversing lights looked like shining stars through the downpour as Lance took their BMW out of the little lane and onto the main road to begin the two-hour journey to Glasgow's elite cocktail party hosted by Scotland's Leading Medical Society. Finally, after careful work during the incessant turns and braking of the car, Sylvia managed to clean up her dirty face and she looked pretty again.
  
  As much as Lance didn't want to take the A82, which separates the two available routes, he simply couldn't afford a longer route, as it would result in a delay. He had to turn onto the dreadful main road past Paisley, where the kidnappers kept his wife before they moved her, from all the places they were headed to Glasgow. It hurt him, but he didn't want to bring it up. Sylvia hasn't been on this road since she ended up in the company of evil people who made her believe that she would never see her family again.
  
  Maybe she won't think anything if I don't explain why I chose this route. Maybe she'll understand, Lance thought to himself as they drove towards the Trossachs National Park. But his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers were numb.
  
  "What's wrong, love?" she suddenly asked.
  
  "Nothing," he said casually. "Why?"
  
  "You look tense. Are you worried that I'll relive my trip with that bitch? After all, it's the same road," Sylvia asked. She spoke so nonchalantly that Lance felt almost relieved, but she was supposed to be having a hard time, and that worried him.
  
  "Honestly, I was really worried about it," he admitted, flexing his fingers slightly.
  
  "Well, don"t, okay?" she said, stroking his thigh to calm him down. "I'm fine. This road will always be here. I can't avoid this for the rest of my life, you know? All I can do is tell myself I'm running this with you, not her."
  
  "So now this road is no longer scary?" he asked.
  
  "No. Now it's just a road and I'm with my hubby, not some crazy bitch. It's a matter of channeling fear into what I have reason to fear," she suggested dreamily. "I can't be afraid of the road. The road didn"t hurt me, didn"t starve me, didn"t scold me, right?"
  
  Startled, Lance stared at his wife in admiration. "You know, Cilla, that's a very cool take on it. And it's perfectly logical."
  
  "Well, thank you doctor," she smiled. "God, my hair has its own mind. You've left the doors locked too long. I think the water ruined my style."
  
  "Yeah," he agreed nonchalantly. "It was water. Certainly."
  
  She ignored his hint and took out the small mirror again, desperately trying to braid back the two strands of hair she had left loose to frame her face. "Holy saints...!" she exclaimed angrily, and turned in her seat to look back. "Can you believe this idiot with his lanterns? I can't see a damn thing in the mirror."
  
  Lance looked in the rearview mirror. The piercing headlights of the car behind them illuminated his eyes and momentarily blinded him. "Good God! What does he ride? Lighthouse on wheels?
  
  "Slow down, love, let him pass," she suggested.
  
  "I'm already driving too slowly to make it to the party on time, dear," he objected. "I won't let this asshole make us late. I will just give him some of his own medicine."
  
  Lance adjusted his mirror so that the beams of the car coming from behind were reflected directly on him. "Exactly what the doctor ordered, jerk!" Lance chuckled. The car slowed down after the driver clearly got a bright light in his eyes and then stayed a safe distance behind.
  
  "Probably the Welsh," Sylvia joked. "He probably didn't realize he had high beams on."
  
  "God, how could he not see those damn headlights burning the paint off my car?" Lance gasped, causing his wife to burst out laughing.
  
  Oldlochley had just released them as they rode south in silence.
  
  "I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised by the meager traffic tonight, even for a Thursday," Lance remarked as they raced down the A82.
  
  "Listen honey, could you slow down a bit?" Sylvia pleaded, turning her victim face towards him. "I get 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. The blinding car behind them would only make things worse on the wet road if Lance kept up his maniacal speed. He had to admit that Sylvia's request was not unreasonable. He slowed down considerably.
  
  "Satisfied?" he asked her.
  
  "Yes, thank you," she smiled. "It gets on my nerves much better."
  
  "And your hair seems to have recovered too," he laughed.
  
  "Lance!" she suddenly screamed as the makeup mirror reflected the horror of the car that was on their tail, rushing forward. In a moment of clarity, she assumed that the car hadn't seen Lance hit the brakes and hadn't been able to slow down in time on the wet road.
  
  "Jesus!" Lance grunted as he watched the lights get bigger, approaching them too fast to avoid collision. All they could do was gather their strength. Instinctively, Lance held out a hand in front of his wife to protect her from the blow. Like a flash of prolonged lightning, the piercing headlights behind them darted away. The car behind them veered slightly, but hit them with its right light, sending the BMW into an unsteady spin on the slippery pavement.
  
  Sylvia's unexpected cry was drowned out by a cacophony of crushing metal and breaking glass. Both Lance and Sylvia felt the nauseating spin of their out-of-control car, knowing there was nothing they could do to prevent the tragedy. But they were wrong. They stopped somewhere off the road, in a patch of wild trees and shrubs between the A82 and the black, cold water of Loch Lomond.
  
  "Are you okay, dear?" Lance asked desperately.
  
  "I'm alive, but my neck is killing me," she replied through a gurgle from her broken nose.
  
  For a while they sat motionless in the mangled wreckage, listening to the heavy pounding of the downpour on metal. They were both under the protection of 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 speed through the darkness, heading straight for them.
  
  Lance tried to take Sylvia's hand as the devilish headlights blinded them one last time and crashed into them at full speed. The speed tore off Lance's arm and severed both of their spines, sending their car into the depths of the lake, where it would become their coffin.
  
  
  15
  Matchmaking
  
  
  For the first time in more than a year, the mood in Reichtisusis was upbeat. Perdue returned home with a graceful farewell to the men and women who had occupied his home while he was at the mercy of MI6 and its callous leader, the duplicitous Joe Carter. Just as Perdue loved throwing lavish parties for academic professors, businessmen, curators, and international benefactors of his grants, something a little more understated was needed this time.
  
  From the days when grand feasts were held under the roof of a historic mansion, Perdue learned that discretion is necessary. At that time, he had not yet encountered the likes of the Order of the Black Sun or its affiliates, although in hindsight he was intimately acquainted with many of its members without realizing it. One misstep, however, cost him the utter obscurity he has endured for all those years of being just a playboy with a penchant for valuable historical items.
  
  His attempt to appease a dangerous Nazi organization, mainly to bolster his ego, came to a tragic end on Deep Sea One, his offshore oil platform in the North Sea. It was there, when he stole the Spear of Destiny and helped breed the superhuman breed, that he first stepped on their heels. From that point on, the situation only worsened, until Perdue went from being an ally to a nuisance until finally becoming the biggest thorn in Black Sun's side.
  
  Now there was no going back. Not restored. There is no way back. Now all Perdue could do was to systematically eliminate all members of the sinister organization until he could again safely appear in public without fear of assassination of his friends and employees. And this gradual eradication had to be careful, refined and methodical. There was no way he intended to destroy them or anything like that, but Purdue was rich and smart enough to cut them out one by one using the lethal weapons of the time - technology, media, legislation and, of course, powerful Mammon.
  
  "Welcome back doctor," Perdue joked as Sam and Nina got out of the car. Signs 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 reconnaissance devices and vehicles. Perdue's address to Sam confused Nina a little, but from their exchange of laughter she knew it was probably another thing best left between the two men.
  
  "Come on guys," she said, "I'm starving."
  
  "Oh, of course, my dear Nina," Perdue said affectionately, reaching out his hand to hug her. Nina didn't say anything, but his emaciated appearance bothered her. Although he had recovered greatly from the Fallin incident, she could not believe that the tall, white-haired genius could still look so thin and tired. That crisp morning, Perdue and Nina stayed in their arms for a while, just enjoying each other's existence for a moment.
  
  "I'm so glad you're okay, Dave," she whispered. Purdue's heart skipped a beat. Nina rarely, if ever, called him by his first name. It meant that she wanted to reach out to him on a very personal level, which was like a blow from heaven to him.
  
  "Thank you, love," he replied softly into her hair, kissing the top of her head before letting go. "Now," he exclaimed happily, clapping his hands and wringing them, "won"t we have a little party before I tell you what"s next?"
  
  "Yes," Nina smiled, "but I'm not sure I can wait to hear what's next. After so many years in your company, I stopped liking surprises at all."
  
  "I understand," he admitted as he waited for her to walk through the front doors of the estate first. "But I assure you that it is safe, under scrutiny by the Ethiopian government and the ACU, and perfectly legal."
  
  "This time," Sam teased.
  
  "How dare you, sir?" Perdue joked with Sam by dragging the journalist into the lobby by the collar.
  
  "Hi Charles." Nina smiled at the unfailingly devoted butler, who was already setting the table in the living room for their private gathering.
  
  "Madame," Charles nodded politely. "Mr. Crack."
  
  "Greetings, my good," Sam greeted cordially. "Special Agent Smith left already?"
  
  "No, sir. In fact, he just went to the bathroom and will be joining you shortly," Charles said before hurriedly leaving the room.
  
  "He's a little tired, poor fellow," Purdue explained, "because he's had to wait so long to serve this crowd of intruders. I gave him the day off for tomorrow and Tuesday. After all, in my absence, there would be very little work for him other than the daily papers, you know?"
  
  "Yes," Sam agreed. "But I hope Lillian is on duty until we get back. I already talked her into making me an apricot strudel pudding when we get back."
  
  "Where?" I asked. Nina asked, feeling horribly left out again.
  
  "Well, that's another reason I asked you two to come, Nina. Have a seat, please, and I'll pour you a bourbon," Perdue said. Sam was pleased to see him so cheerful again, almost as suave and confident as he had been before. On the other hand, Sam suggested, a reprieve from the prospect of prison would make a person rejoice in the smallest events. Nina sat down, dipping her hand under the brandy glass Perdue had poured Southern Comfort for her.
  
  The fact that it was morning did nothing to change the atmosphere of the dark room. The tall windows were hung with rich green curtains that set off the thick brown carpet, giving the luxurious room an earthy feel. Through the narrow lacy gaps between the parted curtains, the morning light tried to illuminate the furniture, but it failed to illuminate anything but the nearby carpet. Outside, the clouds tended to be heavy and dark, stealing the energy of any sun that might provide a proper semblance of day.
  
  "What is that playing?" Sam wasn't addressing anyone in particular when a familiar tune drifted through the house from somewhere in the kitchen.
  
  "Lillian, on duty as 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 to the rest of the staff, I don't mind some ambiance at the front of the house."
  
  "Beautiful. I like it, "Nina remarked, carefully bringing the edge of the crystal to her lower lip, trying not to stain it with lipstick. "So, when will I hear about our new mission?"
  
  Perdue smiled, giving in to Nina's curiosity and what Sam didn't know either. He put down his glass and rubbed his palms together. "It's quite simple, and it will free me from all my sins in the eyes of the governments involved, while also ridding me of the relic that caused me all this trouble."
  
  "Fake ark?" Nina asked.
  
  "That's right," Purdue confirmed. "This is part of my deal with the Department of Archaeological Crimes and the high commissioner of Ethiopia, a history buff named Colonel. Basil Yemen to return their religious relic..."
  
  Nina opened her mouth to justify the frown, but Purdue knew what she was about to say and soon mentioned something that puzzled her. "...No matter how fake they are, to their rightful place in the mountain outside the village, to the place where I removed them from."
  
  "They are protecting an artifact that they know is not the true Ark of the Covenant?" Sam asked, voicing Nina's exact question.
  
  "Yes, Sam. To them, it is still an ancient relic of great value, whether it contains the power of God or not. I understand that, so I take my words back." He shrugged. "We don't need it. We got what we wanted from him when we were looking for the Vault of Hercules, didn't we? I mean, this ark doesn't have much that's useful to us anymore. It told us about the cruel experiments on children carried out by the SS during the Second World War, but it is hardly worth keeping anymore."
  
  "What do they think it is? Are they still convinced that this is a sacred box?" Nina asked.
  
  "Special Agent!" Sam announced Patrick's entry into the room.
  
  Patrick smiled shyly. "Shut up, Sam." He took his seat next to Purdue and accepted a drink from his recently released host. "Thank you, David."
  
  Oddly enough, neither Purdue nor Sam exchanged a glance regarding the fact that the other two knew nothing of the true identity of MI6's Joe Carter. That's how careful they were to keep their secret business to themselves. Only Nina's female intuition challenged this secret business from time to time, but she could not understand what was the matter.
  
  "Okay," Perdue began again, "Patrick, along with my legal team, prepared the legal paperwork to facilitate the trip to Ethiopia to recover their sacred box while under MI6 surveillance. You know, just to make sure I'm not gathering intelligence for another country and stuff like that."
  
  Sam and Nina had to chuckle at Purdue's mockery of the matter, 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 Purdue.
  
  "Are you coming with us?" Sam sighed earnestly.
  
  Patrick looked both surprised and a little puzzled. "Yes, Sam. Why? Are you planning on acting so badly that a babysitter is out of the question? Or do you not believe your best friend won't shoot you in the ass?"
  
  Nina giggled to lighten the mood, but it was obvious that there was too much tension in the room. She looked at Perdue, who, in turn, showed the most angelic innocence that the villain was capable of. His eyes didn't meet hers, but he was well aware that she was looking at him.
  
  What is Perdue hiding from me? What is he hiding from me, what, again, does he tell Sam about? She wondered.
  
  "No no. Nothing of the sort," 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 Perdue and 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 that Sam had other intentions to keep Paddy away. He seemed profoundly serious, however, and yet Perdue maintained a level, 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 going to ruin your party or spy on you. The truth is... I have to go. My orders are clear and I must follow them if I don't want to lose my job."
  
  "Wait, so you were ordered to come no matter what?" Nina asked.
  
  Patrick nodded.
  
  "God," Sam said, shaking his head. "What asshole makes you go, Paddy?"
  
  "What do you think, old man?" Patrick asked indifferently, resigned to his fate.
  
  "Joe Carter," Purdue stated firmly, his eyes staring into space, his lips barely moving to pronounce Karsten's awful English name.
  
  Sam felt his legs going numb in his jeans. He couldn't decide if he was worried or furious about the decision to send Patrick on the expedition. His dark eyes sparkled as he asked, "Expedition to the desert to put an item back in the sandbox it was taken from is hardly a task for a high-ranking military intelligence officer, is it?"
  
  Patrick looked at him the way he had looked at Sam when they stood side by side in the headmaster's office, waiting for some kind of punishment. "That's exactly what I thought, Sam. I dare say that including me in this mission was almost...deliberate."
  
  
  16
  Demons don't die
  
  
  Charles was absent while the group ate breakfast, discussing what a quick trip would have to be like to finally help Purdue complete his legal penance and finally rid Ethiopia of Purdue.
  
  "Oh, you have to try to appreciate this particular strain," Purdue told Patrick, but included Sam and Nina in the conversation. They exchanged information about good wines and brandies to pass the time while enjoying the delicious light dinner Lillian prepared for them. She was delighted to see her boss laughing and teasing her again, being one of his most trusted allies and still having his former flamboyant personality.
  
  "Charles!" he called. After a short time he called again and pressed the bell, but Charles did not answer. "Wait, I'll go get a bottle," he suggested, and got up to go to the wine cellar. Nina couldn't comprehend how thin and haggard he looked now. He used to be a tall and lean man, but due to his recent weight loss during the Fallin test, he looked even taller and much more frail.
  
  "I'll go with you, David," Patrick suggested. "I don't like that Charles doesn't answer, if you know what I mean."
  
  "Don't be a fool, Patrick," Perdue smiled. "Reichtisusis is reliable enough to avoid unwanted guests. Also, instead of using a security company, I decided to hire a private security guard at my gate. They do not respond to any paychecks other than those signed by your obedient servant."
  
  "Good idea," Sam approved.
  
  "And I'll be back soon to showcase this obscenely expensive bottle of liquid majesty," Perdue boasted with some caveats.
  
  "And we will be allowed to open it?" Nina teased him. "Because it's pointless to brag about things that can't be verified, you understand."
  
  Perdue smiled proudly. And with these words, he hurriedly left the room and went down to the basement past his laboratories. He didn't want to admit it so soon after he got his domain back, but Perdue was also concerned about his butler's absence. He mostly used the brandy as an excuse to break up with the others in search of a reason why Charles 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. Wrapping her hands under the kitchen towel she was using, she smiled reluctantly. "Yes, sir. Special Agent Smith asked Charles to pick up another guest of yours from the airport."
  
  "My other guest?" Purdue said after her. He hoped he hadn't forgotten about an important meeting.
  
  "Yes, Mr. Perdue," she confirmed. "Charles and Mr. Smith agreed to have him join you?" Lily sounded a little concerned, mostly because she wasn't sure if Perdue knew about the guest. To Purdue, it looked like she was questioning his sanity if he forgot about something he wasn't privy to in the first place.
  
  Perdue thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the door frame to straighten them. In his opinion, it would be better to play openly with the charming plump Lily, who had the highest opinion of him. "Um, Lily, did I call this guest? Am I losing my mind?
  
  Suddenly, everything became clear to Lily, and she laughed sweetly. "No! God, no, Mr Perdue, you didn't know about it at all. Don't worry, you haven't lost your mind yet."
  
  Feeling relieved, Perdue sighed, "Thank God!" and laughed along with her. "Who is this?"
  
  "I don't know his name, sir, but he seems to have offered to help you on your next expedition." she said timidly.
  
  "For free?" he joked.
  
  Lily chuckled, "I certainly hope so, sir."
  
  "Thank you, Lily," he said, and disappeared before she could reply. Lily smiled at the afternoon breeze that blew through the open window next to the refrigerators and freezers where she packed her rations. She said softly, "It's great to have you back, my good one."
  
  Passing by his laboratories, Purdue felt nostalgic, but also hopeful. Descending under the first floor of his main hallway, he skipped down the concrete stairs. It led to the basement where the laboratories were, dark and quiet. Perdue felt a fit of misplaced rage at the audacity of Joseph Carsten to come into his home to invade his privacy, use his patented technology and his forensic research, as if it were all just there, ready for him to scrutinize.
  
  He didn't bother with big, strong ceiling lights, only turning on the main light at the entrance to the small hallway. As he walked past the dark squares of the laboratory's glass door, he reminisced about the golden days before everything became ugly, political, and dangerous. Inside, he could still imagine hearing his freelance anthropologists, scientists, and interns chattering about connections and theories to the sound of running servers and intercoolers. It made him smile, though his heart ached with the wish that those days would return. Now that most considered him a criminal and his reputation no longer allowed him to use it on his resume, he felt that it was useless to involve elite scientists in the work.
  
  It'll take time, old man, he told himself. "Just be patient, for God's sake."
  
  His tall figure moved slowly towards the left corridor, the sinking concrete ramp feeling solid under his feet. It was concrete, poured many centuries ago by long-gone masons. It was home, and it made him feel a great sense of belonging, more than ever before.
  
  As he passed the inconspicuous warehouse door, his heart quickened, and a tingle ran down his back to his legs. Perdue smiled as he passed an old iron door that blended in with the wall in color and texture, knocking on it twice along the way. Finally, the musty smell of a sunken cellar hit his nostrils. Perdue was delighted to be alone again, but he hurried to get a bottle of 1930s Crimean wine to share with his company.
  
  Charles kept the cellar relatively clean, the bottles dusted and turned over, but otherwise Perdue instructed the diligent butler to leave the rest of the room as it was. After all, it couldn't be a decent wine cellar if it didn't look a little run down and rundown. For his brief recollection of pleasant things, Purdue had to pay the price of a cruel universe, and soon his thoughts began to drift in a different direction.
  
  The walls of the basement were like those of a dungeon where the tyrannical bitch from the Black Sun had kept him before her own end came. As much as he reminded himself that this terrible chapter of 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 in the form of a phobia."
  
  However, Perdue felt he couldn't move as his eyes were lying to him. With the bottle in hand and the open door lying right in front of him, he felt hopelessness take over his soul. Chained to the spot, Perdue could not take a single step, and his heart beat faster in the struggle with his mind. "Oh my God, what is this?" he squealed, pressing his free hand to his forehead.
  
  Everything surrounded him, no matter how he struggled with 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 had not returned to the dungeon. Suddenly, a hand grabbed him tightly and tugged at his arm, scaring Purdue into a state of sober terror. His eyes instantly opened and his mind cleared.
  
  "Jesus, Perdue, we thought you were swallowed by a portal or something," Nina said, still holding his wrist.
  
  "Oh my God, Nina!" he exclaimed, opening his light blue eyes wide to make sure he remained in reality. "I don't know what just happened to me. I... I-I s-saw the dungeon... God! I'm going crazy!"
  
  He fell on Nina and she wrapped her arms around him as he breathed hysterically. She took the bottle from him and set it down on the table behind her, not moving an inch from where she cradled Purdue's thin and battered body. "It's all right, Perdue," she whispered. "I know this feeling all too well. Phobias are usually born out of a single traumatic experience. That's all we need to go crazy, trust me. Just know that this is the trauma of your trial, not the breakdown of your sanity. As long as you remember this, you will be fine."
  
  "Is that how you feel every time we stuff you into a confined space for our own benefit?" he asked softly, 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 my temper every time I was forced to be in a cramped space. Ever since I worked with you and Sam," she smiled and pushed him slightly away to look him in the eyes, "I've had to confront my claustrophobia so many times, had to face this face to face, or they'll all get killed, that, in fact, you two maniacs helped me deal with it better."
  
  Perdue looked around and felt the panic subside. He took a deep breath and carefully ran his hand over Nina's head, twisting her curls around his fingers. "What would I do without you, Dr. Gould?"
  
  "Well, first of all, you would have left your expeditionary group in solemn expectation for ages," she coaxed. "So, let's not keep everyone waiting."
  
  "All?" 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 side of 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, the usual references sound obscene in his mouth." Perdue sighed merrily, and Nina chuckled. "You'll change your tone, old chap," Perdue called out. "Once you try my Ayu-Dag Cahors, you will 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 made his way to the first corridor. "I know".
  
  Joining Sam, the three of them returned to the stairs in the corridor to go down to the first floor. Perdue hated that both of them were so secretive about his guest. Even his own butler kept it from him, which made him feel like a fragile child. He couldn't help but feel a little patronizing, but knowing Sam and Nina, he knew they just wanted to surprise him. And Perdue, as always, was on top.
  
  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 worn old chest. When Patrick saw Perdue, Sam, and Nina walking up the stairs to the first floor, he smiled and gestured for Perdue to return to the meeting. "Did you bring the wine you boasted about so much?" Patrick asked mockingly. "Or were they stolen by my agents?"
  
  "God, I wouldn't be surprised," Perdue muttered jokingly as he walked past Patrick.
  
  When he entered the room, Perdue gasped. He didn't know whether to be fascinated or alarmed by the vision before him. The man at the hearth smiled warmly, his hands obediently folded in front of him. "How are you, Perdue Efendi?"
  
  
  17
  Prelude
  
  
  "I can't believe my eyes!" Perdue exclaimed, and he wasn't joking. "I just can not! Hello! Are you really here my friend?"
  
  "I, Effendi," replied Ajo Kira, feeling quite flattered by the billionaire's joy to see him. "You seem very surprised."
  
  "I thought you were dead," Purdue said sincerely. "After that ledge where they opened fire on us... I was convinced that they killed you."
  
  "Unfortunately, they killed my brother Efendi," the Egyptian complained. "But this is none of your doing. He was shot while he was riding in a jeep to save us."
  
  "I hope this man gets a decent funeral. Trust me, Ajo, I will make amends to your family for everything you did to help me escape the clutches of both the Ethiopians and those damned Cosa Nostra fiends.
  
  "Excuse me," Nina interrupted respectfully. "May I ask who exactly you are, sir? I must admit that I got a little lost here."
  
  The men smiled. "Of course, of course," Perdue chuckled. "I forgot you weren't with me when I... purchased," he looked at Ajo with a mischievous wink, "a fake Ark of the Covenant from Aksum in Ethiopia."
  
  "Do you still have them, Mr. Perdue?" Ajo asked. "Or are they still in that godless house in Djibouti where they tortured me?"
  
  "My God, did they torture you too?" Nina asked.
  
  "Yes, Dr. Gould. Prof. Medli's husband and his trolls are to blame. I have to admit, even though she was present, I could see that she didn't approve. Is she dead now? - Eloquently asked Ajo.
  
  "Yes, she, unfortunately, died during the Hercules expedition," Nina confirmed. "But how did you get involved in this excursion? Purdue, why didn't we know about Mr. Cyrus?"
  
  "Medley's people held him up to find out where I was with the relic they coveted, Nina," Purdue explained. "This gentleman is an Egyptian engineer who helped me escape with the Sacred Box before I brought it here-before the Vault of Hercules was found."
  
  "And you thought he was dead," Sam added.
  
  "That's right," Purdue confirmed. "That's why I was dumbfounded to see my "deceased" friend now 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, not sure how to explain, but Patrick volunteered to fill everyone in on the matter. "Actually, Mr. Kira is here to help you return the artifact to its rightful place from where you stole it, David." He threw a quick reproachful glance at the Egyptian before continuing his explanation so that everyone could get in on the action. "In fact, the Egyptian legal system forced him to do so under pressure from the Department of Archaeological Crime. The alternative would be jail time 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 couldn't pay this fine, Efendi," Ajo explained.
  
  "I don't think so," Patrick agreed. "But you wouldn't be expected to do that either, since you're an accomplice, not the main culprit."
  
  "So that's why they're sending you along, Paddy?" Sam asked. He was clearly still worried about Patrick's inclusion on the expedition.
  
  "Yes, I suppose. Although all expenses are covered by David as part of his punishment, I still have to accompany you all to make sure there are no new shenanigans that could lead to more serious crime," he explained with brutal honesty.
  
  "But they could have sent any senior field agent," Sam replied.
  
  "Yes, they could do it, Sammo. But they chose me, so let's just do our best and deal with this shit, huh?" Patrick suggested, patting Sam on the shoulder. "Besides, it will give us a chance to catch up on the past year or so. David, maybe we can have a drink while you explain the course of the upcoming expedition?"
  
  "I like your way of thinking, Special Agent Smith," Perdue smiled as he held up the bottle as a prize. "Now let's sit down and first write down the necessary special visas and permits that we will need to clear customs. After that, we can work out the best itinerary with the qualified help of my person, who will join Kira here, and start charter flights."
  
  For the rest of the day and until late in the evening, the group planned their return to the country, where they would have to face the contempt of the locals and the rude words of the guides until their mission was completed. It was wonderful for Purdue, Nina and Sam to be together again in the huge historic Purdue mansion, not to mention being in the company of two respective friends who made everything a little more special this time around.
  
  By the next morning, they had everything planned, and each was burdened with the task of gathering their equipment for the trip, as well as checking the correctness of their passports and travel documents on the orders of the British government, military intelligence and the Ethiopian delegates, Professor J. Imru and the colonel. Yemen.
  
  The group briefly gathered for breakfast under the strict eye of Perdue's butler, in case they needed anything from him. This time, Nina didn't notice the quiet conversation between Sam and Purdue as their eyes met at the large rosewood table, while Lily's merry classic rock anthems echoed far into the kitchen.
  
  After the others had gone to bed the night before, Sam and Perdue spent a few hours alone, trading ideas on how to put Joe Carter on public display, and at the same time wrecked most of the Order to make it more convincing. They agreed that the task was difficult and would take some time to prepare, but they knew that they would have to set up some kind of trap for Carter. This man was not stupid. He was calculating and malicious in his own way, so it took the two of them time to think through their plans. They couldn't afford to leave any connections unverified. Sam did not tell Purdue about the visit of MI6 agent Liam Johnson or what he revealed to the visitor that night when he alerted Sam to his apparent spying.
  
  There wasn't much time left to plan Karsten's downfall, but Perdue was adamant that they couldn't rush things. Now, however, Perdue had to focus on getting the case dismissed in court so that his life could return to relatively normal for the first time in many months.
  
  First, they had to arrange for the relic to be transported in a closed container guarded by customs officers under the watchful eye of Special Agent Patrick Smith. He practically carried Carter's authority in his purse with every step taken on this trip, something the Supreme Commander of MI6 would not have readily approved of. In fact, the only reason he sent Smith on a trip to observe the Aksumite Expedition was to get rid of the agent. He knew that Smith was too familiar with Purdue to be missed in the Black Sun scope. 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 knowledge of computer science could know what he was up to. Patrick was not inclined to this, so the billionaire hardly winked when he saw the agent enter the lab.
  
  "Just putting together some stuff I've been working on since before I was away from the labs, Paddy," Perdue cheerfully explained. "There are still so many gadgets that I have to finalize, fix crashes and such, you know. But I thought that 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 littered with inexplicable contraptions that he could only imagine were extremely complex in design. "Very well," he remarked, standing in front of one particularly tall server box and watching the little lights shimmer as the machine hummed inside. "I really admire your tenacity in these things, David, but you would never catch me around all those motherboards and memory cards and stuff."
  
  "Ha!" Perdue smiled, not looking up from his work. "What then, Special Agent, are you good at besides knocking the flame off a candle an astonishing distance?"
  
  Patrick chuckled. "Oh, have you heard about it?"
  
  "I did," Purdue replied. "When Sam Cleve gets drunk, you're usually the subject of his elaborate childhood stories, old chap."
  
  Patrick felt flattered by this discovery. Nodding humbly, he stood up, looking at the floor to imagine a crazy journalist. He knew exactly how his best friend was 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 hilarious memories that had just popped into Patrick's head.
  
  "So, what attracts you the most when you're not working, Patrick?"
  
  "ABOUT!" The agent snapped out of his memories. "Hmm, well, I really like wires."
  
  Perdue looked up from his programming screen for the first time, trying to decipher the cryptic statement. Turning to Patrick, he feigned bewildered curiosity and simply asked, "Wires?"
  
  Patrick laughed.
  
  "I am a climber. I like ropes and cables to keep me in shape. As Sam may or may not have told you before, I am not very thoughtful or mentally motivated. I'd much rather do physical exercise in rock climbing, diving or martial arts," Patrick elaborated, "rather than, unfortunately, learning more about a little-known subject or figuring out the web of physics or theology."
  
  "Why "Unfortunately?" Perdue asked. "Of course, if there were only philosophers in the world, we would not be able to build, research, or, in fact, create brilliant engineers. It would have remained on paper and thought out without the people who physically conducted the reconnaissance, don't you agree? "
  
  Patrick shrugged, "I guess. Never thought about it before."
  
  It was then that he realized that he had just mentioned a subjective paradox, and that made him chuckle shyly. However, Patrick couldn't help but be intrigued by Purdue's diagrams and codes. "Come on, Perdue, teach a layman something about technology," he coaxed, pulling up a chair. "Tell me what you're really doing here."
  
  Perdue thought for a moment before answering with his usual well-founded certainty. "I'm building a security device, Patrick."
  
  Patrick smiled mischievously. "I understand. To keep MI6 out of the future?"
  
  Perdue returned Patrick's mischievous grin and boasted amiably, "Yes."
  
  You're almost right, old rooster, Purdue thought to himself, knowing that Patrick's allusion was dangerously close to the truth, with a twist, of course. Wouldn't you be happy to consider this if you only knew that my device was specifically designed to suck MI6?
  
  "I am like this?" Patrick gasped. "Then tell me how it was... Oh wait," he said cheerfully, "I forgot, I'm in the terrible organization you're fighting here." Perdue laughed along with Patrick, but both men shared unrevealed desires that they could not reveal to each other.
  
  
  18
  Through the skies
  
  
  Three days later, the group boarded Purdue's chartered Super Hercules with a select group of men under the command of Colonel J. The precious Ethiopian cargo is being loaded onto Yemenu under supervision.
  
  "Will you come with us, Colonel?" Perdue asked the grumpy but passionate old veteran.
  
  "On an expedition?" - What is this? he asked Perdue sharply, though he appreciated the wealthy explorer's cordiality. "No, no, not at all. That burden is on you, son. You must make amends on your own. At the risk of sounding rude, I'd rather not engage in small talk with you, if you don't mind."
  
  "It's all right, Colonel," Perdue replied respectfully. "I completely understand".
  
  "Besides," continued the veteran, "I would not want to go through the turmoil and pandemonium that you will have to face when you return to Axum. You deserve the hostility you will face, and frankly, if anything were to happen to you while delivering the Sacred Box, I wouldn"t exactly call it an atrocity."
  
  "Wow," Nina remarked as she sat on the open ramp and smoked. "Don't hold back."
  
  The Colonel squinted at Nina. "Tell your woman to mind her own business too. Rebellion by women is not allowed in my land."
  
  Sam turned on the camera and waited.
  
  "Nina," Perdue said before she could react, hoping she would give up 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 his lens.
  
  The Colonel watched with a smile as the miniature she-devil made her way towards him, cracking her cigarette butt with her fingernail as she went. Her dark hair fell wildly over her shoulders, and a light breeze tossed 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, keeping his eyes on Purdue.
  
  "Did you have to kidnap her, or did you just have your military lackeys mutilate her genitals so she wouldn"t know that your performance was as disgusting as your social propriety?" 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 casually dragged on her cigarette and blew the smoke towards the colonel. Yemenu's face. "My apologies. See you in Ethiopia, colonel." She started back towards the Hercules, but halfway turned around to finish what she had to say. "Oh, and during the flight there, I will take really good care of your Abrahamic abomination here. Don't worry." She pointed to the so-called Sacred Box and winked at the Colonel before disappearing into the blackness of the aircraft's huge cargo hold.
  
  Sam stopped the tape and tried to keep a straight face. "You know they would have put you to death there for what you just did," he teased.
  
  "Yeah, 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 away his camera. "I caught your good side, if that's any consolation."
  
  "You bastard! Did you write it down? she yelled, clutching at Sam. But Sam was much bigger, faster and stronger. She had to take his word that he would not show them to Paddy, or he would have repulsed her from the tour, fearing harassment from the Colonel's men as soon as she arrived in Axum.
  
  Perdue apologized for Nina's remark, even though he couldn't have landed a better low blow. "Just keep her well guarded, son," growled the veteran. "She is small enough for a shallow grave in the desert where her voice would be silenced forever. And not the best archaeologist could analyze her bones even after a month." With that, he started toward his jeep, which was waiting for him on the opposite side of the large, flat area of the airport at Lossiemouth, but before he could get far, Perdue stood in front of him.
  
  "Colonel Yemenu, I may owe your country compensation, but don't think for a second that you can threaten my friends and leave. I will not tolerate death threats against my people - or myself, for that matter - so one piece of advice please," Purdue seethed in a calm tone that implied a slowly building rage. His long index finger rose and floated between his face and Yimenu's. "Do not step on the smooth surface of my territory. You will find that you are so light that you can slip the spikes underneath."
  
  Patrick suddenly shouted: "So, that's it! Get ready for takeoff! I want all my people to be cleared and accounted for before we close the case, Colin!" He was shouting orders non-stop, so much so that Yemenu felt too annoyed to continue his threats against Purdue. Shortly thereafter, he hurried to his car under a cloudy Scottish sky, wrapping his jacket around to fight off the chills.
  
  Halfway through the team, Patrick stopped yelling and looked at Perdue.
  
  "I heard it, you understand?" - he said. "You're a suicidal son of a bitch, David, talking down to the king before they put you in his bear pen." He stepped closer to Purdue. "But it was the coolest fucking thing I've ever seen, mate."
  
  Patrick on the back of the billionaire, Patrick proceeded to contact one of his agents with a request to sign on the sheet attached to the man's tablet. Perdue wanted to smile as he bowed slightly as he entered the plane, but the reality and the rough manner of Yemen's threat to Nina was on his mind. It was one more thing he needed to keep an eye on while keeping track of Karsten's cases, MI6, keeping Patrick in the dark about his boss and keeping them all alive while they replaced the Sacred Box.
  
  "Everything is fine?" Sam asked Purdue as he sat down.
  
  "Perfect," Perdue replied in his easy manner. "Until they shot at us." 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 conversational white noise. Sam and Perdue discussed the territories they'd visited before on assignments and tours, while Nina lifted her legs for a nap.
  
  Patrick looked over the route and noted the coordinates of the makeshift archaeological village where Perdue had last fled for his life. For all his military training and knowledge of the world's laws, Patrick was subconsciously nervous about their arrival there. After all, the safety of the expedition team was his responsibility.
  
  Silently watching the seemingly hilarious exchange between Purdue and Sam, Patrick couldn't help but think of the program he had caught Purdue at work when he entered Reichtishussis' lab complex below the first floor. He had no idea why he was paranoid about it at all, because Purdue explained to him that the system was designed to separate certain areas of his premises using a remote control or something. In any case, he never understood the technical jargon, so he assumed that Purdue was tweaking his house's security system to keep out agents who learned the security codes and protocols while the mansion was under MI6 quarantine. Fair enough, he thought in conclusion, slightly 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 cars!"
  
  "Yes, that fully answers my unprofessional request, Perdue," she told herself, just shaking her head.
  
  "We should reach the African coast in a little less than fifteen hours, Nina," Sam tried to give her a better idea.
  
  "Sam, please don't use that flowery 'landing' phrase right now. The one," she moaned, much to his delight.
  
  "This thing is as safe as home." Patrick smiled and patted Nina's thigh to cheer her up, but he didn't realize where he put his hand until he did. He quickly removed his hand, looking offended, but Nina just laughed. Instead, she placed her hand on his thigh in mock seriousness, "It's all right, Paddy. My jeans will prevent any perversions."
  
  Feeling relieved, he sincerely laughed along with Nina. Although Patrick was more suited to obedient and modest women, he could understand Sam and Purdue's deep attraction to the sassy little story and her direct, fearless approach.
  
  The sun had set over most of the local time zones just after they took off, so by the time they reached Greece they were flying through the night sky. Sam looked at his watch and found that he was the only one still awake. Either out of boredom, or making up for lost time before the future, the rest of the party participants by this time were already sleeping in their places. Only the pilot said something, reverently exclaiming to the co-pilot, "Do you see this, Roger?"
  
  "Ah, is that it?" asked the co-pilot and pointed in front of them. "Yes, I see it!"
  
  Sam's curiosity was a quick reflex, and he quickly looked ahead to 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 as he sat back down.
  
  "What?" Nina asked, still half asleep when she heard her name. "What? Do you see what?"
  
  "Oh, nothing special, I guess," Sam replied. "It was just a beautiful vision."
  
  "What?" she asked, sitting up and wiping her eyes.
  
  Sam smiled, wishing he could shoot with his eyes to share such things with her. "A blindingly bright shooting star, my love. Just a super bright shooting star."
  
  
  19
  In pursuit of 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," replied the weary old man. "In order to follow the Wizard, we will have to wait and see what disease befalls humanity next. This is a very careful and costly test, I'm afraid."
  
  "Why do you say that?" asked Penekal.
  
  Ofar shrugged. "Well, because in the current state of the world-chaos, madness, ridiculous mishandling of elementary human morality-it"s pretty hard to tell what misfortunes will befall humanity, beyond the evil that already exists, isn"t it?"
  
  Penekal agreed, but they had to do something to stop the Wizard from gathering even more celestial power. "I'm going to contact the Masons in Sudan. They need to know if it's one of their people. Don't worry," he cut off Ofar's impending protest against the idea, "I'll tactfully ask."
  
  "You can't let them know that we know something's going on, Penekal. If they even sniff..." Ofar warned.
  
  "They won't, my friend," Penecal replied sternly. They had been on watch at their observatory for more than two days, exhausted, taking turns falling asleep and looking at the sky for any unusual aberrations in the constellations. "I'll be back before noon, hopefully with some answers."
  
  "Hurry, Penekal. The Scrolls of King Solomon predict that it would take only a few weeks for Magic Power to become invincible. If he can bring the fallen to the surface of the earth, imagine what he could do in heaven. The shifting of the stars could wreak havoc on our very existence," Ofar reminded through pauses to catch his breath. "If he has Celeste, none of the iniquities can be corrected."
  
  "I know, Ofar," said Penekal, collecting star charts for his visit to the local master of the Masonic jurisdiction. "The only alternative is to collect all the diamonds of King Solomon and they will be scattered on the ground. It sounds like an insurmountable task to me."
  
  "Most of them are still here in the desert," Ofar consoled his friend. "Very little was stolen. There are not many of them to collect, so we might have a chance to counter the Wizard in this way."
  
  "Are you crazy?" Penecal squealed. "Now we can never claim these diamonds back from their owners!" Tired and feeling utterly hopeless, Penecal sank into the chair in which he had slept the previous night. "They would never give up their precious wealth to save the planet. My God, did you not pay attention to the greed of people at the expense of the very planet that supports their life?
  
  "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 this to prevent an evil man with supernatural powers from changing the alignment of the stars and bringing biblical disasters back to the modern world?"
  
  Ofar took a defensive stance, this time threatening to lose his temper. "Do you think I don't understand what that sounds like, Penekal?" he barked. "I'm not a fool! All I suggest is to consider asking for help to collect what's left so the Wizard can't realize his sick ideas and make us all disappear. Where is your faith, brother? Where is your promise to prevent the fulfillment of this secret prophecy? We have to do everything in our power to try, at least... try... to fight what's going on."
  
  Penekal saw Ofar's lips tremble, and a frightening shudder ran through his bony hands. "Calm down, old friend. Calm down please. Your heart will not bear the tax of your anger."
  
  He sat down next to his friend, cards in hand. Penekal's voice dropped considerably in intensity, if only to keep old Ofar from the violent emotions he was experiencing. "Look, all I'm saying is that if we don't 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 just kill for them and claim the stones. For us, good people, the task of collecting the same ones is, in fact, more difficult."
  
  "Then let's collect all our wealth. Contact the brothers of all our watchtowers, even those in the East, and let us acquire the remaining diamonds," Ofar pleaded through hoarse and weary sighs. Penecal could not grasp the absurdity of this idea, knowing the nature of people, especially the rich in the modern world, who still believed that the stones made them kings and queens, while their future was barren due to misfortune, hunger and suffocation. However, in order not to further upset his lifelong friend, he nodded and bit his tongue in implied surrender. "We'll see, okay? Once I meet with the master and once we know if the Masons are behind this, we can see what other options are available," Penekal said soothingly. "In the meantime, however, rest a little, and I will hasten to tell you, I hope, good news."
  
  "I'll be here," Ofar sighed. "I will keep the defense."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Down in the city, Penekal hailed a taxi to take him to the home of the head of the local Masons. He made the appointment on the premise that he needed to find out if the Masons knew about the rite being performed using this particular star chart. This was not a completely deceptive cover, but his visit was based more on the involvement of the Masonic world in the recent celestial destruction.
  
  There was a lively movement in Cairo, which was a peculiar contrast with the ancient nature of his culture. As the skyscrapers rose and grew towards the sky, the blue and orange firmaments above breathed solemn silence and calmness. Penekal gazed up at the sky through the car window, contemplating the fate of humanity, seated right here on a throne of benevolent-looking thrones of brilliance and peace.
  
  Very much like human nature, he thought. Like most things in creation. Order out of chaos. Chaos, displacing any order at the heights of time. May God help us all in this life, if this is the Wizard that is being spoken of.
  
  "Weird weather, huh?" - suddenly noticed the driver. Penekal nodded in agreement, surprised that the man would pay attention to such a thing while Penekal pondered the impending events.
  
  "Yes, it is," Penekal replied out of courtesy. The fat man behind the wheel was satisfied with Penekal's answer, at least for now. A few seconds later he said: "Pretty gloomy and unpredictable rains too. It"s like something in the air is changing the clouds and the sea has gone crazy."
  
  "Why do you say that?" asked Penekal.
  
  "Didn't you read the papers this morning?" the driver gasped. "Alexandria's coastline has shrunk by 58% in the last four days and there has been no sign of atmospheric change to support this event."
  
  "Then what do they think caused this phenomenon?" Penekal asked, trying to hide his panic behind a question that came out in a flat tone. Despite all his duties as a guard, he did not know that the sea level had risen.
  
  The man shrugged, "I really don't know. I mean, only the moon can control the tides like that, right?"
  
  "I believe. But they said the moon was responsible? That," he felt stupid even for implying it, "did something change in orbit?"
  
  The driver shot a mocking look at Penekal through the rearview mirror. "You're joking, right, mister? This is absurd! I am sure that if the moon were to change, the whole world would know about it."
  
  "Yes, yes, you are right. I was just thinking," Penekal replied quickly to stop the ridicule from the driver.
  
  "Again, your theory is not as crazy as some I've heard since it was first reported," laughed the driver. "I heard some absolutely ridiculous nonsense from some people in this city!"
  
  Penecal shifted in his chair, leaning forward. "ABOUT? Like what?"
  
  "I feel stupid even talking about it," the man chuckled, occasionally glancing in the mirror to talk to his passenger. "There are some senior citizens who spit, lament and weep, saying that this is the work of an evil spirit. Ha! Can you believe this shit? The water demon is on the loose in Egypt, my friend." He ridiculed the idea with a loud laugh.
  
  But his passenger did not laugh with him. With a stony face and deep in thought, Penekal slowly reached for a pen in his jacket pocket, took it out and scrawled on the palm of his hand: "Water Devil".
  
  The driver laughed so merrily that Penekal decided not to burst the bubble and increase the number of madmen in Cairo, saying that in a sense these ridiculous theories were quite correct. Despite all the new worries he had, the old man chuckled shyly to cheer the driver.
  
  "Mister, I can't help but notice that the address you asked me to take you to," the driver hesitated a bit, "is a place that is a great mystery to the average person."
  
  "ABOUT?" Penecal asked innocently.
  
  "Yes," the diligent driver confirmed. "This is a Masonic temple, although few people know about it. They just think it's another one of the great museums or monuments of Cairo."
  
  "I know what it is, my friend," said Penekal quickly, tired of enduring the man's garrulous language as he tried to unravel the cause of the ensuing catastrophe in heaven.
  
  "Ah, I see," the driver replied, looking a little more humble at the harshness of his passenger. It seemed that the message that he knew that his destination was a place of ancient magic rituals and world-ruling forces with a high-class membership slightly frightened the man. But if it scared him to the point that he stopped talking, that was good, thought Penekal. He had enough to worry about.
  
  They moved to a more secluded part of the city, a residential area with several synagogues, churches and temples among three nearby schools. The presence of children in the street gradually decreased, and Penekal felt a change in the air. The houses became more luxurious, and their fences more reliable under the thickness of luxurious gardens in which the street meandered. At the end of the road, the car turned into a small side alley that led to a stately building from which a rigid security gate peeped out.
  
  "Let's go, mister," the driver announced, stopping the car a few meters from the gate, as if he was afraid to be within a certain radius of the temple.
  
  "Thank you," Penekal said. "I'll call you when I'm done."
  
  "Sorry, mister," the driver protested. "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 started off, accelerating hurriedly before he even reached the T-junction to another street. The old astronomer watched the taxi stoplights disappear around the corner before he took a deep breath and turned to face the tall gate. Behind him rose the Masonic Temple, meditative and silent, as if it were waiting for him.
  
  
  20
  Enemy of my enemy
  
  
  "Master Penecal!" - he heard from afar on the other side of the fence. It was the same man he had come to see, the local lodge master. "You're a little early. Wait, I'll come and open for you. I hope you don't mind sitting outside. The electricity went out again."
  
  "Thank you," Penekal smiled. "I have no problem getting some fresh air, sir."
  
  He had never met Prof. Imru, head of the Freemasons of Cairo and Giza. All Penekal knew about him was that he was an anthropologist and executive director of the Popular Movement for the Protection of Heritage Sites, who recently participated in a worldwide tribunal for archaeological crimes in North Africa. Although the professor was a wealthy and influential man, his personality proved to be very pleasant, and with him Penecal immediately felt at home.
  
  "Do you want a drink?" Prof. Imra asked.
  
  "Thank you. I'll have what you have," Penekal replied, feeling rather silly with scrolls of old parchment under his arm here in seclusion from the natural beauty outside the building. Unsure of protocol, he continued to smile heartily and held back his words for answers rather than statements.
  
  "So," professor. Imru began as he sat down with a glass of iced tea, passing to his other guest, "You say you have any questions about the alchemist?"
  
  "Yes, sir," Penekal admitted. "I'm not the type to play games because I'm just too old to waste time on tricks."
  
  "I can appreciate it," Imru smiled.
  
  Clearing his throat, Penekal dived straight into the game. "I'm just wondering if it's possible that Freemasons are currently engaged in an alchemical practice that includes... uh...," he struggled with the wording of his question.
  
  "Just ask, Master Penekal," Imru said, hoping to calm his visitor's nerves.
  
  "Perhaps you are engaged in rituals that could affect the constellations?" Penecal asked, narrowing his eyes and wincing in discomfort. "I understand how it sounds, but..."
  
  "How does this sound?" - With curiosity asked Imra.
  
  "Incredible," admitted the old astronomer.
  
  "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 unbelievable to me, and very few things that are impossible," said the professor. Imru proudly showed.
  
  "You see, my fraternity is also a little-known organization. It was founded so long ago that there is virtually no record of our founders," Penekal explained.
  
  "I know. You are from the Hermopolis Dragon Watchers group. I know," professor. Imru nodded in the affirmative. "After all, I'm an anthropology professor, my good one. And as a Masonic initiate, I am fully aware of the work that your order has been doing all these centuries. In fact, it echoes many of our own rituals and fundamentals. I know your ancestors followed Thoth, but what do you think is going on here?"
  
  Almost jumping with enthusiasm, Penekal laid out his scrolls on the table, unfolding the cards for the professor. I'm going to study carefully. "See?" he exhaled excitedly. "These are the stars that have fallen out of their seats in the last week and a half, sir. Do you recognize them?"
  
  For a long time Prof. Imru silently examined the stars marked on the map, trying to sort them out. Finally he looked up. "I am not a very good astronomer, Master Penekal. I know that this diamond is very important in magical circles, it is also present in the Code of Solomon."
  
  He pointed to the first star that Penekal and Ofar had noted. "This is an important thing in the alchemical practices of mid-18th century France, but I must confess, to the best of my knowledge, we do not currently have a single alchemist working," says the professor. Imru informed Penekal. "Which element plays a role here? Gold?"
  
  Penecal replied with a terrible expression: "Diamonds."
  
  Then he showed Prof. I'm looking at news links about 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 during this incident, Professor, is the Celeste," he groaned.
  
  "I heard about it. I heard that some wonderful stone is of a higher quality than the Cullinan. But what does it matter here?" Prof. Imra asked.
  
  The professor noticed that Penecal looked terribly devastated, his demeanor noticeably grim since the old visitor learned that the Freemasons were not the architects of recent phenomena. "Celeste is the main stone that can defeat Solomon's collection of seventy-two diamonds if used against the Magician, a great sage with terrible intentions and power," Penekal explained so quickly that he caught his breath.
  
  "Please, Master Penekal, have a seat here. You're overexerting yourself in this heat. Stop for a moment. I will still be here to listen, my friend," said the professor. Imru said before suddenly falling into a state of deep contemplation.
  
  "Wh-what... what"s the matter, sir?" asked Penekal.
  
  "Give me a moment, please," the professor pleaded, frowning as memories burned through him. In the shade of the acacia trees that sheltered the old Masonic building, the professor paced thoughtfully. As Penekal sipped his iced tea to cool his body and relieve his anxiety, he watched the professor mutter softly to himself. The owner of the house seemed to come to his senses at once and turned to Penekal with a strange look of disbelief on his face. "Master Penekal, have you ever heard of the sage Ananias?"
  
  "I don't have them, sir. Sounds biblical," Penekal 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 think about it, but we"ve already seen how many absurdities have become true before," he shook his head. "This man sounds like the mystic encountered by the French initiate in 1782, but obviously it cannot be the same person." His last words sounded fragile and uncertain, but there was logic in them. This was something that Penekal understood very well. He sat staring at the intelligent and righteous leader, hoping he had formed some kind of loyalty, hoping the professor knew what to do.
  
  "And he's collecting King Solomon's diamonds to make sure they can't be used to thwart his work?" Prof. Imru asked questions with the same passion with which Penekal first spoke of the predicament.
  
  "That's right, sir. We must get our hands on the rest of the diamonds, of which there are sixty-eight in total. As my poor friend Ofar suggested in his endless and foolish optimism," Penekal smiled bitterly. "Except for buying stones that are in the possession of world famous and rich people, we will not be able to get them before the Wizard does."
  
  Prof. Imru stopped pacing and stared at the old astronomer. "Never underestimate the ludicrous aims of an optimist, my friend," he said with an expression that mixed amusement and renewed interest. "Some suggestions are so ridiculous that they usually end up working."
  
  "Sir, with all due respect, are you seriously considering buying over fifty famous diamonds from the richest people in the world? It would cost... uh... a lot of money!" Penekal struggled with the concept. "That could add up to millions, and who would be crazy enough to spend that much money on such a fantastic conquest?"
  
  "David Purdue", prof. Imru beamed. "Master Penekal, could you come back here in twenty-four hours, please?" he pleaded. "Maybe I just know how we can help your order fight this Mage."
  
  "You understand?" Penecal gasped with delight.
  
  Prof. Imru laughed. "I can't promise anything, but I know a billionaire lawbreaker who has no respect for authority and loves to harass powerful and evil people. And, as luck would have it, he is in my debt and, as we speak, is on his way to the African continent."
  
  
  21
  The Omen
  
  
  Under Oban's bleak skies, news of a traffic accident that killed a local doctor and his wife spread like wildfire. Shocked local shopkeepers, teachers and fishermen shared in mourning for Dr. Lance Beach and his wife, Sylvia. Their children were left in the temporary care of their aunt, still reeling from the tragedy. Everyone liked the GP and his wife, and their horrific death on the A82 was a terrible blow to society.
  
  Muted rumors circulated in supermarkets and restaurants about a senseless tragedy that befell a poor family shortly after the doctor nearly lost his wife to the nefarious couple who kidnapped her. Even then, the townspeople were surprised that Beach kept the events of Mrs. Beach's kidnapping and subsequent rescue such a closely guarded secret. However, most people simply assumed that the Beaches wanted to get away from the terrible ordeal and didn't want to talk about it.
  
  Little did they know that Dr. Beach and local Catholic priest Father Harper were forced to overstep the bounds of morality in order to save Mrs. Beach and Mr. Perdue by giving their disgusting Nazi captors a taste of their own medicine. Obviously, most people simply would not understand that sometimes the best revenge on a villain was - revenge - the good old wrath of the Old Testament.
  
  A teenage boy, George Hamish, was running quickly through the park. Known for his athletic ability as the captain of the high school football team, no one found his purposeful racing odd. He was wearing his tracksuit and Nike sneakers. His dark hair blended into his wet face and neck as he ran at full speed across the rolling green lawns of the park. The hurried boy ignored the tree branches that beat and scratched him as he ran past and under them towards St. Columban's Church across the narrow street from the park.
  
  Barely dodging an oncoming car as he sped across the tarmac, he ran up the steps and slipped into the darkness behind the open doors of the church.
  
  "Father Harper!" he exclaimed, out of breath.
  
  Several of the parishioners present inside turned in their pews and shushed the stupid boy for his lack of respect, but he didn't care.
  
  "Where is father?" he asked, pleading unsuccessfully for information as they looked even more frustrated with him. The old lady next to him would not tolerate the disrespect of the youth.
  
  "You are in the church! People are praying, you impudent brat," she scolded, but George ignored her sharp tongue and ran across the island to the main pulpit.
  
  "People's lives are at stake, lady," he said in flight. "Save your prayers for them."
  
  "Great Scott, George, what the hell...?" Father Harper frowned as he saw the boy hurrying towards his office just outside 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 scowled at the boy. "What the hell is wrong with you, Georgie?"
  
  "Father Harper, you must leave Oban," George warned, trying to catch his breath.
  
  "I'm sorry?" Father said. "What do you have in mind?"
  
  "You must get away and tell no one where you are going, father," pleaded George. "I heard a man ask about you at Daisy's antique shop while I was making out with x... er... while I was in a back alley," George corrected his story.
  
  "What man? What did he ask for?" Father Harper.
  
  "Look dad, I don't even know if this guy's in the head for what he's claiming, 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 spent a lot of time reporting the same fact to the late Dr. Beach every time the priest did something that the cassocked people weren't supposed to know about. "This is true. Nobody is born a priest, Georgie."
  
  "Yes I guess. I never thought about it in that way, I guess," the boy muttered, still out of breath from shock and running.
  
  "What exactly did this person say? Can you explain more clearly what made you think he was going to harm me? the priest asked as he poured the teenager a glass of water.
  
  "Many things. It sounded like he was trying to rape your reputation, you know?"
  
  "Rapping my reputation?" Father Harper asked, but soon understood the meaning and answered his own question. "Ah, my reputation has suffered. Doesn't matter."
  
  "Yes, father. And he was telling some people in the store that you were involved in the murder of some old lady. Then he said that you kidnapped and killed a woman from Glasgow a few months ago when the doctor's wife went missing... he just kept going. Also, he was telling everyone what a hypocritical bastard you are that hides behind your collar to get women to trust you before they disappear." George's story flowed from his memory and his quivering lips.
  
  Father Harper sat in his high-backed chair, just listening. George was surprised that the priest did not show the slightest sign of resentment, however vile his story, but he chalked it up to the wisdom of the clergy.
  
  A tall, powerful priest sat staring at poor George, leaning slightly to the left. His folded arms made him look thick and strong, and the forefinger of his right hand gently brushed his lower lip as he considered the boy's words.
  
  When George took a moment to empty his glass of water, Father Harper finally shifted his position in his chair and rested his elbows on the table between them. With a deep sigh, he asked, "Georgie, can you remember what this man looked like?"
  
  "Ugly," the boy replied, still swallowing.
  
  Father Harper chuckled, "Of course he was ugly. Most Scottish men are not known for their fine features."
  
  "No, that's not what I meant, father," George explained. He placed the glass of drops on the priest's glazed table and tried again. "I mean, he was ugly, like a monster from a horror movie, you know?"
  
  "ABOUT?" Father Harper asked, intrigued.
  
  "Yes, and he was by no means Scottish either. He had an English accent with something else," George described.
  
  "Something else like what?" the priest inquired further.
  
  "Well," the boy frowned, "there is a German note in his English. I know it must sound silly, but it looks like he's a London-raised German. Something like that".
  
  George was frustrated at his inability to describe it correctly, but the priest nodded calmly. "No, I totally get it, Georgie. Do not worry. Tell me, did he not name or introduce himself?"
  
  "No, sir. But he looked really angry and fucked up..." George stopped abruptly due to his careless swearing. "I'm sorry, father."
  
  Father Harper, however, was more interested in information than social decorum. To George's amazement, the priest acted as if he hadn't taken the oath at all. "How?"
  
  "I beg your pardon, father?" George asked in confusion.
  
  "How... how did he... screw it up?" Father Harper asked casually.
  
  "Father?" the astonished boy gasped, but the sinister-looking priest only patiently waited for him to give an answer, with such a serene expression on his face that it was frightening. "Hmm, I mean, he got burned or maybe cut himself." George thought for a moment, and then suddenly exclaimed with enthusiasm: "It looks like his head was entangled in barbed wire, and someone pulled him out of there by his feet. Broken, you understand?
  
  "I see," replied Father Harper, returning to his former contemplative posture. "Okay, so this is it?"
  
  "Yes, father," said George. "Please just get out before he finds you, because he knows where Saint Columbanus is now."
  
  "Georgie, he could have found this on any map. It annoys me that he tried to smear my name in my own city," Father Harper explained. "Don't worry. God does not sleep."
  
  "Well, I won't either, father," the boy said, walking toward the door with the priest. "This guy was up to no good and I really, really don't want to hear about you on tomorrow's news. You should call the cops. Let them patrol here and all."
  
  "Thank you, Georgie, for your concern," said Father Harper sincerely. "And thank you very much for alerting me. I promise I will take your warning to heart and be very careful until Satan backs down, okay? Everything is fine?" He had to repeat himself for the teenager to calm down enough.
  
  He led the boy, whom he had baptized years ago, out of the church, striding wisely and authoritatively beside him until they stepped out into the daylight. From the top of the stairs, the priest winked and waved at George as he jogged back in the direction of his house. A drizzle of cool, broken clouds descended over the park and darkened the pavement as the boy disappeared into a ghostly haze.
  
  Father Harper nodded cordially to a few passers-by before returning to the church foyer. Ignoring the still stunned people on the pews, the tall priest hurried back to his office. He sincerely took the boy's warning to heart. In fact, he had been expecting this all along. There was never any doubt that retribution would come for what he and Dr. Beach did in Fallin when they saved David Perdue from a modern-day Nazi cult.
  
  He quickly entered the dimness of the small corridor of his office, closing the door too loudly behind him. He locked it and drew the curtains. His laptop was the only light in the office, his screen waiting patiently for the priest to use it. Father Harper sat down and typed in a few key words before the LED screen showed what he was looking for-a photograph of Clive Mueller, a longtime operative and well-known Cold War double agent.
  
  "I knew it had to be you," Father Harper muttered in the dusty solitude of his office. Furniture and books, lamps and plants all around him became mere shadows and silhouettes, but the atmosphere changed from its static and calm atmosphere to a tense area 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 imminent collision. The latter explanation, however, did not lessen the severity of what was to come if he dared to let his guard down.
  
  The man in the photo Father Harper called out looked like a grotesque looking monster. Clive Muller made headlines in 1986 for killing the Russian ambassador in front of 10 Downing Street, but due to some legal loophole, was deported to Austria and fled to await trial.
  
  "Looks like you're on the wrong side of the barricade, Clive," said Father Harper, looking through the meager information about the killer that was on the Internet. "All this time we've kept a low profile, haven't we? And now you're killing civilians for dinner money? It must be hard on the ego."
  
  Outside, the weather was getting wetter, and the rain drummed against the study window on the other side of the drawn curtains as the priest closed the search and turned off his laptop. "I know you are already here. Are you too scared to show yourself to the humble man of God?"
  
  When the laptop turned off, the room was 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 being attacked, as he expected, Harper's father received a verbal confrontation. "You? Man of God? The man chuckled.
  
  His shrill voice masked the accent at first, but it was undeniable that the heavy guttural consonants when he spoke in a firm British manner-a perfect balance of German and English-betrayed his personality.
  
  
  22
  Change course
  
  
  "What did he say?" Nina frowned, desperate to figure out why they were changing course mid-flight. She nudged Sam, who was trying to hear what Patrick was saying to the pilot.
  
  "Wait, let him finish," Sam told her, straining himself to figure out the reason for the sudden change in plan. As a seasoned investigative reporter, Sam had learned to distrust such rapid route changes and therefore understood Nina's concerns.
  
  Patrick stumbled back into the belly of the plane, looking at Sam, Nina, Ajo, and Perdue, who were silently waiting for his explanation. "Nothing to worry about, people," Patrick consoled.
  
  "The Colonel ordered a course change to land us in the desert because of Nina"s audacity?" Sam asked. Nina looked at him mockingly and gave him a hard slap on the arm. "Seriously, Paddy. Why are we turning? I do not like it ".
  
  "Me too, mate," Perdue interjected.
  
  "Actually, guys, it's not that bad. I just received a patch from one of the organizers of the expedition, a professor. Imru," said Patrick.
  
  "He was in court," Purdue remarked. "What does he want?"
  
  "In fact, he asked if we could help him with... a more personal matter before we get into legal priorities. Apparently, he contacted Colonel J. Yemenu and informed him that we would arrive a day later than planned, so that side was taken care of," Patrick reported.
  
  "What the hell could he possibly want from me on the personal front?" Perdue thought aloud. The billionaire did not look too 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 pretty much in the grip of archeological crime people, and prof. Imru is one of the leaders of the organization."
  
  "So we have no choice but to help him," Perdue sighed, looking uncharacteristically exhausted by this turn of the plan. Patrick sat across from Perdue and Nina, with Sam and Ajo next to him.
  
  "Let me explain. It's an impromptu detour, folks. From what I have been told, I can pretty much assure you that this will interest you."
  
  "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 game of death, Sam," snapped Patrick. "Don't think that I'm just blindly following orders, or that I think you're naive enough that I have to trick you into cooperating with the Archaeological Crimes Division." After asserting himself, the MI6 agent took time to calm down. "Obviously this has nothing to do with the Sacred Box or David's plea deal. Nothing. Prof. Imru asked if you could help him with a very secret matter that could have disastrous consequences for the whole world."
  
  Perdue decided to dismiss all suspicions for the time being. Perhaps, he thought, he was simply too curious not to. "And he said what's the matter, in this secret case?"
  
  Patrick shrugged. "Nothing specific that I would know how to explain. He asked if we could land in Cairo and meet him at the Masonic Temple in Giza. There he will explain what he called "an absurd request' to see if you are willing to help."
  
  "What does 'must help' mean, I suppose?" Perdue corrected the phrasing that Patrick had wove so carefully.
  
  "I suppose," Patrick agreed. "But to be honest, I think he's sincere about it. I mean, he wouldn't change the delivery of this very important religious relic just to draw attention to himself, right? "
  
  "Patrick, are you sure this isn't some kind of ambush?" Nina asked softly. Sam and Perdue looked as worried as she did. "I wouldn't put anything above Black Sun or these African diplomats, you know? Stealing this relic from them seems to have given these guys some really big hemorrhoids. How do we know they won"t just drop us off in Cairo and kill us all and pretend we never flew 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," Perdue interjected, "she has her reasons. Like all of us. Patrick, we trust you'll figure this out if it's some sort of ambush. We're going anyway, right? Just know that the rest of us need you to smell the smoke before we get trapped in a burning house, got it?"
  
  "I believe," Patrick replied. "And that's why I arranged with some people I know from Yemen to accompany us to Cairo. They will be inconspicuous and will follow us, just to make sure."
  
  "That sounds better," Ajo sighed in relief.
  
  "I agree," Sam said. "As long as we know that external units know our location, we will be able to deal with it more easily."
  
  "Come on, Sammo," smiled Patrick. "You didn"t think that I would just buy into teams if I didn"t have an open back door?"
  
  "But are we going to be long?" Perdue asked. "I must admit that I don't feel like talking too much about this Sacred Box. This is the chapter that I would like to complete and return to my life, you understand?"
  
  "I understand," Patrick said. "I take full responsibility for the safety of this expedition. We'll be back to work as soon as we meet the professor. Imru."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was dark when they landed in Cairo. It was dark not only because it was night, but also in all the nearby cities, making it extremely difficult for the Super Hercules to successfully land on the runway lit by the fire pots. Looking out of the small window, Nina felt an ominous hand fall on her, very similar to a fit of claustrophobia when she got into a closed space. A suffocating, terrifying feeling came over her.
  
  "I feel like I've been locked in a coffin," she told Sam.
  
  He was as startled as she was by what they had encountered over Cairo, but Sam tried not to panic. "Don't worry, love. Only people who are afraid of heights should feel uncomfortable right now. Power outage, 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 buckle. Within a hundred miles below them, the only source of light was the Hercules' control panel in the cockpit. All of Egypt was plunged into pitch darkness, one of the few countries suffering from inexplicable power outages that no one could localize. As much as she hated to show As stunned as she was, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being overcome by a phobia Not only was she in an old flying soup can with engines, but now she found that the lack of light completely simulated an enclosed space.
  
  Perdue sat down next to her, noticing the tremor in her chin and hands. He hugged her and said nothing, which Nina found unusually reassuring. Added Kira and Sam prepared for landing by gathering all their gear and reading materials before buckling up.
  
  "I must admit, Efendi, I am quite curious about this question, Professor. Imru really wants to talk to you," Ajo yelled 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 Prof. Imru is known to be a very wise man and the 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 about the things he's known for. He is a very powerful man with a firm hand in history."
  
  "Noted," Purdue replied. "Then let's hope for the best."
  
  "Masonic Temple," Nina said. "Is he a Mason?"
  
  "Yes ma'am," Ajo confirmed. "Grand Master of the Lodge of Isis at Giza".
  
  Purdue's eyes sparkled. "Masons? And they are looking for my help?" He looked at Patrick. "Now I'm intrigued."
  
  Patrick smiled, pleased that he wouldn't have to take responsibility for a trip that Perdue wasn't interested in. Nina also leaned back in her chair, feeling more seduced by the possibility of meeting. Although traditionally women were not allowed to attend Masonic meetings, she knew many historically great people who belonged to an ancient and powerful organization whose origins had always fascinated her. As a historian, she understood that many of their ancient rites and secrets were the essence of history and its influence on world events.
  
  
  23
  Like a diamond in the sky
  
  
  Prof. Imru greeted Perdue amiably as he opened the high gate for the group. "Good to see you again, Mr. Perdue. I hope everything went well for you?"
  
  "Well, I was a little upset in my sleep and the food still doesn't appeal, but I'm getting better, thanks professor," Perdue replied, smiling. "In fact, the mere fact that I do not enjoy the hospitality of prisoners is enough to please me daily."
  
  "I would have thought so," the professor agreed sympathetically. "Personally, a prison term was not our goal in the first place. Moreover, it seems that the goal of the people from MI6 was to put you in jail for life, not the Ethiopian delegation." The professor's confession shed some light on Karsten's vengeful ambitions, giving even more credibility to the fact that he intended to get Perdue, but that was something for another time.
  
  After the group joined the master mason in the beautiful cool shade in front of the Temple, a serious discussion was about to begin. Penekal couldn't stop staring at Nina, but she gracefully accepted his quiet admiration. Perdue and Sam found his apparent crush on her amusing, but they kept their amusement in check with winks and nudges until the conversation took on an air of formality and seriousness.
  
  "Master Penekal believes that we are haunted by what in mysticism is called Magic. So, in no case should you present this character as a person who is cunning and dexterous in terms of today's standards, "said the professor. Imru started.
  
  "For example, he is the cause of these power outages," Penekal added quietly.
  
  "If you could, Master Penekal, please refrain from getting ahead of ourselves before I explain the esoteric nature of our dilemma," said the professor. Imru asked the old astronomer. "There is a lot of truth in Penekal's statement, but you will understand better once I explain the basics. I understand that you only have a certain amount of time to return the Sacred Box, so we will try to do it as quickly as possible."
  
  "Thank you," Purdue said. "I want to do it as soon as possible."
  
  "Of course," prof. Imru nodded and then proceeded to teach the group what he and the astronomer had collected so far. While Nina, Perdue, Sam, and Ajo were being told about the relationship between shooting stars and the wandering sage's murderous robberies, someone was fiddling with the gate.
  
  "Excuse me, please," Penekal apologized. "I know who it is. I apologize for his delay."
  
  "Through thick and thin. Here are the keys, Master Penekal," said the professor, handing Penekal the key to the gate to let in the frantic Ofar as he continued to help the Scottish expedition catch up with them. Ofar looked exhausted, his eyes wide with panic and foreboding, as his friend opened the gate. "They already understood?" he was breathing heavily.
  
  "We are informing them now, my friend," assured Penekal Ofara.
  
  "Hurry up," Ofar pleaded. "Another star fell no more than twenty minutes ago!"
  
  "What?" Penecal was delirious. "Which of them?"
  
  "The first of seven sisters!" Ofar opened up, his words are like nails in a coffin. "We must hurry, Penekal! We must fight back now, or all will be lost!" His lips trembled like those of a dying man. "We must stop the Wizard, Penekal, or our children will not live to be old!"
  
  "I am well aware of this, my old friend," Ofara Penekal soothed, supporting him with a firm hand behind his back as they approached the warm, cozy fireplace in the garden. The flames were welcoming, illuminating the façade of the great old temple with a magnificent announcement, where the shadows of the participants present were painted on the walls and enlivened their every movement.
  
  "Welcome, Master Ofar", prof. Imru said as the old man sat down, nodding to the other members of the congregation. "Now I have brought Mr. Purdue and his associates up to speed on our speculations. They know that the Wizard is indeed busy weaving a terrible prophecy," the professor announced. "I leave it to the astronomers of the Dragonwatchers of Hermopolis, people descended from the bloodlines of the priests of Thoth, to tell you what this assassin might be trying to do."
  
  Penecal rose from his chair, unrolling the scrolls in the bright lantern light from the containers hung from the branches of the trees. Perdue and his friends immediately gathered closer to carefully study the code and diagrams.
  
  "This is a star map of antiquity, covering directly the skies over Egypt, Tunisia ... in general, the entire Middle East as we know it," Penekal explained. "Over the past two weeks, my colleague Ofar and I have noticed several disturbing celestial phenomena."
  
  "Such as?" Sam asked, carefully examining the old brown parchment and its mind-boggling information written in numbers and in an unknown script.
  
  "Such as shooting stars," he stopped Sam with an objective gesture of an open hand before the reporter could speak, "but... not the ones we can afford to fall. I would venture to say that these celestial bodies are not just gases consuming themselves, but planets, small in distance. When stars of this type fall, it means that they have been dislodged from their orbits." Ofar looked completely shocked by his own words. "This means that their demise could set off a chain reaction in the constellations surrounding them."
  
  Nina gasped. "Sounds like trouble."
  
  "The lady is right," Ofar admitted. "And all these particular bodies are important, so important that they have names by which they are identified."
  
  "Not numbers after the names of ordinary scientists, like many of today's prominent stars," Penekal informed the audience around the table. "Their names are so important, as is their position in the heavens above the earth, that they were known even to the people of God."
  
  Sam was fascinated. Although he spent his life dealing with criminal organizations and secret villains, he had to succumb to the allure that his mystical reputation as a starry sky gave him. "How so, Mr. Ofar?" Sam asked with genuine interest, making a few notes to himself to remember the terminology and position names on the chart.
  
  "In the Testament of Solomon, the wise king of the Bible," said Ofar, like an old bard, "it is said that King Solomon bound seventy-two demons and forced them to build the Temple in Jerusalem."
  
  His statement was naturally received by the group with cynicism disguised as silent contemplation. Only Ajo sat motionless, looking up at the stars above. When the electricity was cut off throughout the nearby country and other regions not like Egypt, the brilliance of the stars surpassed the pitch darkness of space, which constantly lurked over everything.
  
  "I know how it's supposed to sound," Penekal explained, "but you have to think in terms of sickness and bad emotions, not horned demons, to impress the nature of the 'demons'. This will sound absurd at first, until we tell you that we observed what was happening. Only then will you begin to abandon disbelief in favor of warning."
  
  "I assured masters Ofar and Penekal that very few people wise enough to understand this secret chapter would actually have the means to do something about it," says the professor. Imru told visitors from Scotland. "And that is why I thought you, Mr. Perdue, and your friends, were the right people to turn to in this regard. I've read a lot of your work too, Mr. Cleve," he told Sam. "I learned a lot about your sometimes incredible trials and adventures with Dr. Gould and Mr. Perdue. It has convinced me that you are not the kind of people who blindly brush off the strange and confusing issues that we face here on a daily basis within our respective orders."
  
  Great job, Professor, Nina thought. It is good that you will cajole us with this charming, if patronizing, exposition of exaltation. Perhaps it was her feminine strength that allowed Nina to catch the sweet-talking psychology of praise, but she was not going to say it out loud. She had already caused tension between Purdue and the Colonel. Yemenu, just one of his legitimate opponents. It would be redundant to repeat the counterproductive practice with Prof. I will change and permanently destroy Purdue's reputation, just 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 from a fantasy film.
  
  
  24
  Agreement
  
  
  Shortly thereafter, they were served by Prof. Imru's housekeepers. Trays of Baladi bread and ta'meyi (falafel) were followed by two more trays of spicy Khavushi. The 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 silently as they had appeared.
  
  The visitors willingly accepted the treat of the Masons and served it with an approving roar, which the owner liked very much. Once they had all had some refreshment, it was time for more information, as the Purdue Party didn't have much free time.
  
  "Please, Master Ofar, continue", Prof. Imru invited.
  
  "In our possession, my order, we have a set of parchments entitled "Code of Solomon,"" Ofar explained. kept each of the bound demons within a seeing stone-the diamonds." His dark eyes twinkled with mystery as he lowered his voice to each of those listening. "And for each diamond, a specific star was baptized to mark the fallen spirits."
  
  "Star Map," Perdue remarked, pointing to the crazy celestial scribbles on a single sheet of parchment. Both Ofar and Penekal nodded enigmatically, both men looking far more serene at having told the predicament to modern ears.
  
  "Now, as Prof. Perhaps Imru explained to you in our absence that we have reason to believe that the wise man walks among us again," Ofar said. "And every star that has fallen so far has been significant in Solomon's chart."
  
  Penekal added, "And so the special power of each of them manifested itself in some form recognizable only to those who know what to look for, you understand?"
  
  "The housekeeper of the late Madame Chantal, hanged from a hemp rope in a mansion in Nice a few days ago?" Ofar announced as he waited for his colleague to fill in the blanks.
  
  "The Code says that the demon Onoskelis wove hemp ropes that were used in the construction of the Temple in Jerusalem," Penekal said.
  
  Ofar continued: "The seventh star in the constellation of Leo, called Rhabdos, also fell."
  
  "A lighter for lamps in the temple during its construction," Penekal explained in turn. He lifted his open palms up and looked around the darkness that enveloped the city. "Lamps have gone out everywhere in the surrounding lands. Only fire can create light, as you have seen. Lamps, electric lamps, will not."
  
  Nina and Sam exchanged frightened but hopeful looks. Perdue and Ajo showed interest and a little excitement about the strange deals. Perdue nodded slowly, taking in the patterns presented by the observers. "Masters Penekal and Ofar, what exactly do you want us to do? I understand what you say is happening. However, I need some clarification as to what exactly I and my colleagues were called for."
  
  "I heard something troubling about the last falling star, sir, in a taxi on the way here earlier. Apparently the seas are rising, but against any natural cause. According to the star on the map that my friend pointed out to me last, this is a terrible fate," Penekal lamented. "Mr. Perdue, we need your help in obtaining the remaining King Solomon diamonds. The wizard collects them, and while he does so, another star falls; another plague is coming."
  
  "Well, where are these diamonds then? I'm sure I can try to help you dig them out before the Wizard..." he said.
  
  "Wizard, sir," Ofar's voice trembled.
  
  "Sorry. Wizard," Purdue quickly corrected his mistake, "finds them."
  
  Prof. Imru stood up, gesturing for his star-gazing allies for a moment. "You see, Mr. Perdue, that's the problem. Many of King Solomon's diamonds have been scattered over the centuries among wealthy people - kings, heads of state and collectors of rare gems - and so the Magician resorted to fraud and murder to get them one by one."
  
  "Oh my God," Nina muttered. "It's like a needle in a haystack. How can we find them all? Do you have records of the diamonds we are looking for?"
  
  "Unfortunately not, Dr. Gould," Prof. Imru was distressed. He let out a stupid laugh, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. "In fact, observers and I jokingly joked that Mr. Purdue was rich enough to buy back the relevant diamonds, just to save us the hassle and time."
  
  Everyone laughed at the hilarious absurdity, but Nina watched the master mason's manner, knowing full well that he put forward the offer with no expectations other than Purdue's extravagant, risk-averse innate prodding. Once again, she kept the supreme manipulation to herself and smiled. She looked at Perdue, trying to warn him with a look, but Nina could see that he was laughing a little too hard.
  
  Nothing in the world, she thought. He really considers it!
  
  "Sam," she said in a roar of amusement.
  
  "Yes, I know. He'll take the bait and we won't be able to stop him," Sam replied without looking at her, still laughing in an attempt to look distracted.
  
  "Sam," she repeated, unable to formulate an answer.
  
  "He can afford it," Sam smiled.
  
  But Nina couldn't keep it to herself anymore. Promising herself to speak her mind in the most friendly and respectful manner, she rose from her seat. Her petite frame defied the giant shadow of the professor. I stand against the background of the wall of the Masonic temple in the reflection of the fire between them.
  
  "With all due respect, Professor, I don't think so," she countered. "It is inappropriate to resort to ordinary financial trading when items are of such value. I dare say it's absurd to imagine such a thing. And I can almost assure you from my own experience that it is not easy for ignorant people, rich or not, to part with their treasures. And we certainly don't have time to find them all and engage in a tedious exchange before your Wizard finds them."
  
  Nina tried to maintain an imposing tone, her light voice implying that she was simply suggesting a faster method, when in fact she was vehemently opposed to the idea. The Egyptian men, not accustomed to even accepting a woman's presence, let alone allowing her to participate in the discussion, sat silent for a long time while Purdue and Sam held their breath.
  
  To her extreme surprise, Prof. Imru replied, "I do agree, Dr. Gould. Expecting this is pretty absurd, let alone delivering on time."
  
  "Listen," Perdue began about the tournament, settling himself comfortably on the edge of his chair, "I appreciate your concern, my dear Nina, and I agree that it seems farfetched to do such a thing. However, one thing I can attest to is that nothing is ever cut or dried. We can use various methods to achieve what we want. In that case, I'm sure I could approach some of the owners and make them an offer."
  
  "You're kidding me," Sam exclaimed casually from the other side of the table. "What's the catch? There must be one, otherwise you are completely crazy, old man."
  
  "No, Sam, I'm being completely sincere," Perdue assured him. "People, listen to me." The billionaire turned to face the owner. "If you, professor, could collect information on the few individuals who own the stones we need, I could get my brokers and legal entities to purchase these diamonds at a fair price without ruining me. They will issue certificates of ownership after a designated expert confirms their authenticity." He gave the professor a steely look that radiated confidence the likes of which Sam and Nina had not seen in their friend in a long time. "That's the rub, Professor."
  
  Nina smiled in her little corner of shadow and fire, biting into a piece of bread while Perdue made a deal with his former opponent. "The catch is, after we thwarted the Magician"s mission, King Solomon"s diamonds are legally mine."
  
  "That's my boy," whispered Nina.
  
  Shocked at first, Prof. Gradually, Imru realized that this was a fair offer. After all, he hadn't even heard of diamonds until the stargazers discovered the sage's cunning. He was well aware that King Solomon had gold and silver in great quantities, but he did not know that the king had diamonds, per se. In addition to the diamond mines discovered at Tanis, in the northeastern region of the Nile Delta, and some information about other sites, possibly accountable to the king, prof. Imru had to admit that this was new to him.
  
  "Are we in agreement, professor?" Perdue insisted, looking at his watch for an answer.
  
  Wisely, the professor agreed. However, he had his own conditions. "I think it's very sensible, Mr. Purdue, and also helpful," he said. "But I have a kind of counteroffer. After all, I, too, am only helping the Dragonwatchers in their quest to avert a terrible celestial catastrophe."
  
  "I understand. What do you suggest?" Perdue asked.
  
  "The rest of the diamonds, which are not in the possession of wealthy families throughout Europe and Asia, will become the property of the Egyptian Archaeological Society," insisted the professor. "The ones that your brokers manage to intercept are yours. What do you say?
  
  Sam frowned, tempted to grab his notebook. "In which 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 are buried in a cemetery not far from where you and your colleagues will be conducting this terrible official business."
  
  "In Ethiopia?" Ajo spoke for the first time since he stuffed his mouth with the delicious dishes in front of him. "They're not in Aksum, sir. I can assure you. I have spent years working on excavations with various international archaeological groups in this region."
  
  "I know, Mr. Kira", prof. Imru said firmly.
  
  "According to our ancient texts," Penekal solemnly announced, "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 scowls he received, he shrugged and explained, "I'm Scottish. I don't know anything about Africa that isn't in a Tarzan movie."
  
  Nina smiled. "They say there is an island in Lake Tana where the Virgin Mary allegedly rested on her way from Egypt, Sam," she explained. "It was also believed that the real Ark of the Covenant was kept here before it was brought to Aksum in 400 AD."
  
  "I'm impressed with your historical knowledge, Mr. Purdue. Maybe Dr. Gould could someday work for the People's Heritage Movement?" Prof. Imru grinned. "Or even for the Egyptian Archaeological Society, or perhaps Cairo University?"
  
  "Perhaps as a temporary advisor, Professor," she gracefully declined. "But I love modern history, especially the German history of World War II."
  
  "Ah," he replied. "It's a pity. This is such a dark, cruel era that you should give your heart to. Dare I ask what it betrays in your heart?"
  
  Nina raised an eyebrow, quickly answering. "It only says that I am afraid of the repetition of historical events where it concerns me."
  
  The tall dark-skinned professor looked down at the contrasting marble-skinned little doctor, his eyes filled with true admiration and cordiality. Perdue feared another cultural scandal from his lover Nina, so he cut short the little bonding experience between her and the professor. Imru.
  
  "All right then," Purdue clapped his hands and smiled. "Let's start first thing in the morning."
  
  "Yes," Nina agreed. "I was tired as a dog, and the delay in the flight didn"t do me any good either."
  
  "Yes, climate change in your native Scotland is pretty aggressive," agreed the presenter.
  
  They left the meeting in high spirits, leaving the old astronomers relieved for their help, and Prof. I'm excited about the upcoming treasure hunt. Ajo stepped aside, letting Nina into the taxi as Sam caught up with Perdue.
  
  "Did you tape it all?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Yeah, the whole deal," Sam confirmed. "So now we"re stealing from Ethiopia again?" he asked innocently, finding it all 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 walking down a busy street in Berchem, a quaint neighborhood in the Flemish region of Antwerp. He was on his way to the home business of an antiquary named Hannes Vetter, a Flemish gem-obsessed connoisseur. 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 that interested him, and of that thing he needed only a fifth.
  
  Wetter had spoken to Raya on the phone three days earlier, before the floods began in earnest. They shelled out an eccentric sum for a mischievous depiction of Indian origin that was in the Wetter collection. Although he insisted that this particular item was not for sale, he could not refuse Rai's strange offer. The buyer discovered Wetter on eBay, but from what Wetter learned from his conversation with Raya, the Egyptian knew a lot about ancient art and nothing about technology.
  
  Flooding anxiety has increased throughout Antwerp and Belgium in the past few days. All along the coast, from Le Havre and Dieppe in France to Terneuzen in the Netherlands, houses were evacuated as sea levels continued to rise for no reason. With Antwerp sandwiched in the middle, the already submerged landmass of the Sunken Land, Saftinge, was already lost to the tides. Other cities such as Goes, Vlissingen and Middelburg were also inundated by the waves, all the way to The Hague.
  
  Raya smiled, knowing that he was the master of secret weather channels that the authorities could not figure out. On the streets, he continued to meet people animatedly talking, thinking, and terrified by the continued rise in sea levels that would soon flood Alkmaar and the rest of North Holland over the course of the next day.
  
  "God is punishing us," he heard a middle-aged woman say to her husband outside a cafe. "That's why it's happening. This is the wrath of God."
  
  Her husband looked as shocked as she did, but he tried to find solace in the reasoning. "Matilda, calm down. Maybe it's just a natural phenomenon that the weather people couldn't pick up on those radars," he pleaded.
  
  "But why?" she insisted. "Natural phenomena are caused by the will of God, Martin. This is divine punishment."
  
  "Or divine evil," muttered her husband, to the consternation of his religious wife.
  
  "How can you say that?" she squealed, just as Raya passed by. "For what reason could God send evil upon us?"
  
  "Oh, I can't resist this," Abdul Raya exclaimed loudly. He turned to join the woman and her husband. They were taken aback by his unusual gaze, his claw-like hands, his sharp, bony face and sunken eyes. "Madam, the beauty of evil is that, unlike good, evil does not need a reason to sow destruction. In the very essence of evil lies deliberate destruction for the pure pleasure of it. Good afternoon." As he leisurely left, the man and his wife froze in shock, mostly at his revelation, but definitely at his appearance as well.
  
  Warnings were sent out on TV channels everywhere, while reports of flood deaths joined other reports from the Mediterranean Basin, Australia, South Africa and South America of threatening floods. Japan lost half its population as myriad islands sank.
  
  "Oh, wait, my dears," Raya sang cheerfully as he approached Hannes Vetter's house, "it's the curse of water. Water is found everywhere, not only in the sea. Wait, the fallen Kunospaston is a water demon. You could drown in your own baths!"
  
  This was the last fall of a star that Ofar observed after Penekal heard about the rise in sea levels in Egypt. But Raya knew what was about to happen, for he was the architect of this chaos. The emaciated Wizard sought only to remind humanity of their insignificance in the eyes of the universe, of the countless eyes that sparkled at them every night. And to top it off, he enjoyed the power of destruction he controlled and the youthful thrill of being the only one who knew why.
  
  Of course, the latter was just his opinion on the matter. The last time he shared knowledge with mankind, the Industrial Revolution happened as a result. After that, he didn't have to do much. Humans opened up science in a new light, engines replaced most vehicles, and technology required the blood of the Earth to continue effectively in the race to destroy other nations in competition for power, money, and evolution. As he expected, the humans were using knowledge to destroy-a delightful wink at evil incarnate. But Raya grew bored with the repetitive wars and monotonous greed, so he decided to do something more...something final...to dominate the world.
  
  "Mr Raya, it's so good to see you. Hannes Vetter, at your service." The antiquary smiled as the strange fellow came up the steps to his front door.
  
  "Good afternoon, Mr. Vetter," Raya greeted gracefully, shaking the man's hand. "I am looking forward to receiving my prize."
  
  "Certainly. Come in," Hannes replied calmly, smiling from ear to ear. "My store is in the basement. Here you are. He gestured for Raya to take her down a very chic staircase, adorned with beautiful and expensive jewelery on stands that led down along the railing. Above them, under the light breeze of a small fan, with which Hannes kept cool, some woven products gleamed.
  
  "This is an interesting little place. Where are your clients? Rai asked. The question puzzled Hannes slightly, but he suggested that the Egyptian was simply more inclined to do things the old way.
  
  "My clients usually order online and we ship them," Hannes explained.
  
  "Do they trust you?" - began the thin Wizard with sincere surprise. "How do they pay you? And how do they know that you will keep your word?"
  
  The salesman let out a puzzled chuckle. "Here, Mr Raya. In my office. I decided to leave the decoration you asked for there. They have provenance, so you are sure of the authenticity of your purchase," Hannes replied politely. "Here's my laptop."
  
  "Yours what?" - coldly asked the suave dark Mage.
  
  "My laptop?" Hannes repeated, pointing to the computer. "Where can you transfer funds from your account to pay for the goods?"
  
  "ABOUT!" Ray understood. "Of course yes. I'm sorry. I had a long night."
  
  "Women or wine?" the cheerful Hannes chuckled.
  
  "I'm afraid I'm walking. You see, now that I'm older, it's even more tiring," Raya remarked.
  
  "I know. I know it too well," Hannes said. "I used to run marathons when I was younger and now I struggle to climb stairs without stopping to catch my breath. Where did you walk?
  
  "Gent. I couldn't sleep, so I went on foot to visit you," Raya explained as if nothing had happened, looking around the office in surprise.
  
  "I'm sorry?" Hannes gasped. "Did you walk from Ghent to Antwerp? Fifty plus kilometers?
  
  "Yes".
  
  Hannes Vetter was startled, but noted that the client's appearance seemed rather eccentric, someone who seemed unfazed by most things.
  
  "It's impressive. Would you like some tea?"
  
  "I would like to see the picture," Raya said firmly.
  
  "Oh, sure," Hannes said, and went to the wall safe to retrieve the twelve-inch figurine. When he returned, Rai's black eyes immediately identified the six uniform diamonds hidden in the sea of gems that made up the outer part of the figurine. It was a disgusting-looking demon, with bared teeth and long black hair on its head. Carved from black ivory, the item boasted two facets on each side of the main facet, though it had only one body. A diamond was inserted on the forehead of each facet.
  
  "Like me, this imp is even uglier in real life," Raya said with a sickly smile as he took the figurine from a laughing Hannes. The seller wasn't about to challenge his buyer's point of view as it was largely true. But his sense of propriety was saved from embarrassment by Rai's curiosity. "Why does it have five faces? One would be enough to scare off intruders."
  
  "Oh, that," said Hannes, eager to describe the origin. "Judging by its origin, it used to have only two owners. A king from the Sudan owned them in the second century, but claimed they were cursed, so he donated them to churches in Spain during a campaign in the Alboran Sea, near Gibraltar."
  
  Raya looked at the man with a confused expression. "So that"s why it has five faces?"
  
  "No, no, no," Hannes laughed. "I'm still getting to it. This decoration was modeled after the Indian evil god Ravana, but Ravana had ten heads, so it was probably an inaccurate ode to the god king."
  
  "Or it's not a god-king at all," Raya smiled, counting the remaining diamonds as six of the Seven Sisters, demons from King Solomon's Testament.
  
  "What do you mean?" Hannes asked.
  
  Raya rose to his feet, still smiling. In a soft, edifying tone, he said, "Look."
  
  One by one, despite the vehement objection of the antiquary, Raya removed each diamond with his pocketknife until he had six in his palm. Hannes didn't know why, but he was too scared by the visitor to do anything to stop him. A creeping fear seized him, as if the devil himself were standing in his presence, and he could do nothing but watch as his visitor insisted. The tall Egyptian gathered the diamonds in his palm. Like a parlor magician at a cheap party, he showed the stones to Hannes. "See this?"
  
  "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 showman-like information. "They were responsible for digging the foundations of the Temple in Jerusalem."
  
  "Interesting," Hannes choked out, trying to keep his voice steady and not panic. What his client told him was both absurd and frightening, which in Hannes' eyes made him crazy. This gave him reason to think that Raya could be dangerous, so he played along for the time being. He realized that he probably wouldn't be paid for the artifact.
  
  "Yes, it's very interesting, Mr. Vetter, but you know what's really fascinating?" Raya asked while Hannes stared blankly. With the other hand, Raya pulled Celeste out of his pocket. The smooth, gliding movements of his elongated arms were quite beautiful to behold, like those of a ballet dancer. But Rai's eyes darkened as he brought his two hands together. "Now you will see something really interesting. Call it alchemy; the alchemy of the Great Design, the transmutation of the gods!" Raya wept over the ensuing roar that came from all directions. Inside his claws, between his thin fingers and the folds of his palms, there was a reddish gleam. He raised his hands, proudly demonstrating the power of his strange alchemy to Hannes, who clutched his chest in horror.
  
  "Delay this heart attack, Mr. Vetter, until you see the foundation of your own temple," Raya pleaded cheerfully. "Look!"
  
  This terrible command to look was too strong for Hannes Vetter, and he sank to the floor, clutching his constricting chest. Above him, the evil Wizard was in awe of the crimson glow in his hands as Celeste met the six diamond sisters, triggering their attack. The ground trembled beneath them, and the tremors displaced the supporting pillars of the building in which Hannes lived. He heard the building quake shatter windows, and the floor crumble with large chunks of concrete and steel bars.
  
  Outside, seismic activity increased sixfold, shaking all of Antwerp like the epicenter of an earthquake, and then crawling across the surface of the earth in all directions. Soon they were to arrive in Germany, the Netherlands and pollute the ocean floor of the North Sea. Raya got what he needed from Hannes, leaving a dying man under the rubble of his house. The magician had 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. Carsten."
  
  
  26
  We release the scorpion on the snake
  
  
  Nina finished the last of her beer before the Hercules began circling over a makeshift landing strip near the Dansha clinic in the Tigray region. It was, as they had planned, early evening. With the help of his administrative assistants, Purdue recently secured permission to use the abandoned airstrip after he and Patrick discussed strategy. Patrick took the liberty of informing the Colonel. Yeemen, as he was required to do in accordance with the deal that the Purdue litigation team made with the Ethiopian government and its representatives.
  
  "Drink, boys," she said. "We're behind enemy lines now..." she glanced at Perdue, "...again." She sat down as they all opened their last cold beer before the Sacred Box returned to Aksum. "So, just to be clear. Paddy, why don't we land at a great airport in Axum?"
  
  "Because that's what they, whoever they are, expect," Sam winked. "There is nothing better than an impulsive change of plans to keep the enemy on their toes."
  
  "But you told Yemen," she protested.
  
  "Yes, Nina. But most of the civilians and archeological experts who are mad at us won't be notified soon enough to make it 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 will be traveling in an unmarked 'Two and a Half' truck with no visible colors or emblems, making us virtually invisible to Ethiopian citizens." He exchanged a smirk with Purdue.
  
  "Great," she replied. "But why here if it's important to ask?"
  
  "Well," Patrick pointed to the map under the pale light fixed on the roof of the ship, "you'll see that Dansha is roughly in the center, halfway between Aksum, right here," he pointed to the name of the city and ran the tip of his index finger over the paper left and down. "And your destination is Lake Tana, right here, southwest of Aksum."
  
  "So we double down as soon as we drop the box?" Sam asked before Nina could doubt that Patrick had used the word "your" instead of "ours".
  
  "No Sam," smiled Perdue, "our beloved Nina will join you on your journey to Tana Kirkos, the island where the diamonds are found. In the meantime, Patrick, Ajo and I will travel to Aksum with the Sacred Box, keeping up appearances to the Ethiopian government and the people of Yemenu."
  
  "Wait what?" Nina gasped, grabbing Sam's hip as she leaned forward, frowning. "Sam and I go alone to steal the damn diamonds?"
  
  Sam smiled. "I like it".
  
  "Oh, back off," she moaned, leaning back against the plane's belly as it lurched into a roll, ready to land.
  
  "Come on, Dr. Gould. Not only would this save us time getting 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 infamous 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 city, hey? What a shame," said the pilot.
  
  Perdue and Sam also perked up with Nina, both as distracted as she was. "What people?" she asked. "What's happened?"
  
  "Oh, I saw this in a newspaper in Edinburgh about three days ago, maybe longer," the pilot said. "The doctor and his wife died in a car accident. Drowned in Loch Lomond after their car fell into the water or something."
  
  "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, looking frightened. "Did you recognize the name?"
  
  "Yes, let me think," he shouted over the roar of the engines. "We were still saying that his name had something to do with water, you know? The irony is that they drown, you know? Uh..."
  
  "Beach?" she choked out, desperate to know but dreading any confirmation.
  
  "That's all! Yes, Beach, that's all. Dr. Beach and his wife," he snapped his thumb and ring finger before realizing the worst. "Oh my god, I hope they weren't your friends."
  
  "Oh Jesus," Nina wailed into her palms.
  
  "I'm sorry, Dr. Gould," the pilot apologized as he turned to prepare for a landing in the thick darkness that has been prevalent across North Africa of late. "I had no idea you didn't hear."
  
  "It's all right," she breathed, devastated. "Of course, there was no way you could know that I knew about them. Everything is fine. Everything is fine".
  
  Nina did not cry, but her hands were trembling, and sadness froze in her eyes. Perdue put his arm around her. "You know, they wouldn"t be dead right now if I hadn"t gone to Canada and made all this mess with the person that led to her kidnapping," she whispered, gritting her teeth at the guilt that gnawed at her heart.
  
  "Bullshit, Nina," Sam protested softly. "You know this is crap, right? That Nazi bastard would still kill anyone in his path to..." Sam stopped short of stating the awful evidence, but Perdue finished blaming him. Patrick remained silent and chose to remain so for now.
  
  "On the way to destroy me," Purdue muttered fearfully in his confession. "It wasn't your fault, my dear Nina. As always, your cooperation with me has made you an innocent target, and Dr. Beech's involvement in my rescue has drawn the attention of his family. Jesus Christ! I'm just a walking omen of death, am I not? he said, more introspection than self-pity.
  
  He let go of Nina's trembling body, and for a moment she wanted to pull him back, but she left him to his thoughts. Sam could very well understand what was taxing both of his friends accordingly. He looked at Ajo, sitting across from him, as the wheels of the Hercules-powered plane crashed into the cracked, somewhat overgrown asphalt of the old runway. The Egyptian blinked very slowly, signaling to Sam to relax and not react so quickly.
  
  Sam nodded imperceptibly and mentally prepared for the upcoming trip to Lake Tana. Soon, the Super Hercules gradually came to a halt, and Sam saw Purdue staring at the Sacred Box relic. The white-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 took a deep breath. It was the worst time for worldly inquiries, but it was also very important information he needed. Choosing the most tactful moment he could, Sam glanced at the silent Patrick before asking Perdue, "Do Nina and I have a car to get to Lake Tana, Purdue?"
  
  "You understand. It's an inconspicuous little Volkswagen. I hope you don't mind," Perdue said languidly. Nina's wet eyes rolled back and fluttered as she tried to stop her tears before stepping out of the huge plane. She took Purdue's hand and squeezed it. Her voice cracked 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 associate with you because you are, because you are enthusiastic about existence and interested in beautiful things. You pave the way to a better standard of living with your genius, with your inventions."
  
  Against the backdrop of her mesmerizing voice, Purdue could dimly hear the creaking of the back cover and other people, steadily preparing to carry the Sacred Box from the bowels of Mount Yeha. He could hear Sam and Ajo discussing the weight of the relic, but all he really heard were Nina's final sentences.
  
  "We all decided to partner with you long before the checks were paid, 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 are more than a star in the sky to the people who know you. You are the sun that keeps us all in balance, keeps us warm and makes us thrive in orbit. People yearn for your magnetic presence, and if I have to die for that privilege, then so be it."
  
  Patrick didn't want to interrupt, but he had a schedule to stick to and slowly approached them to signal it was time to leave. Perdue didn't know how to react to Nina's words of devotion, but he could see Sam standing in all his stern glory, arms crossed over his chest and smiling as if he was supporting Nina's feelings. "Let's do it, Perdue," Sam said zealously. "Let's get their damn box back and get to the Wizard."
  
  "I have to admit, I want Karsten more," Perdue admitted bitterly. Sam walked over to him and put a firm hand on his shoulder. When Nina followed Patrick after the Egyptian, Sam secretly shared a special comfort with Purdue.
  
  "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.
  
  "Remember you asked me to record all trades, right? I've written down all the information we've gathered about this entire excursion, as well as the Magician. You remember that you asked me to keep an eye on the diamonds that your people purchased and so on," Sam continued, trying to keep his voice especially low, "because you want to plant them in Karsten's mansion to frame the main member of the Black Sun, right? "
  
  "Yes? Yes, yes, 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 in a tone that betrayed the stress he was drowning in.
  
  "I remember you saying you wanted to catch a 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 figured out where the Magician's victims were getting his services," Sam hurriedly shared before Nina could start looking. "And just as my new experienced buddy succeeded in hacking into the Austrian"s computer servers, it happened that our respected friend from Black Sun apparently invited an unknown alchemist to his house 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 get the advertised diamond to Carsten Manor by Wednesday, and then we'll watch the snake get stung by a scorpion until there's no venom left in our veins," Sam grinned.
  
  "Mr. Cleave, you're a genius," Perdue remarked as he planted a firm kiss on Sam's cheek. Nina, entering, stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms over her chest. Raising an eyebrow, she could only speculate. "Scots. As if wearing skirts isn't enough to test their masculinity."
  
  
  27
  wet desert
  
  
  As Sam and Nina were packing their jeep for the trip to Tana Kirkos, Perdue spoke to Ajo about the local Ethiopians who would be escorting them to the archeological site behind Mount Yeha. Soon Patrick joined them to discuss the details of their delivery with the least noise.
  
  "I'll call the colonel. Yemenu to let him know when we arrive. He'll just have to be content with that," Patrick said. "While he's there, when the Holy Box is returned, I don't see why we have to tell him which side we're on."
  
  "Too true, Paddy," Sam agreed. "Just remember, whatever the reputation of Purdue and Ajo, you represent the United Kingdom under the command of the tribunal. No one is allowed to molest or attack anyone there to retrieve the relic."
  
  "Right," Patrick agreed. "This time we have an international exemption as long as we stick to the terms of the deal and even Yimenu should stick to that."
  
  "I really like the taste of this apple," Purdue sighed as he helped Ajo and three of Patrick's men lift the fake Ark onto the military truck they had prepared to transport it. "This seasoned trigger dealer pisses me off every time I look at him."
  
  "Oh!" Nina exclaimed, turning up her nose at the sight of Perdue. "I understand now. You're sending me away from Aksum so that Yemenu and I don't get in each other's way, hey? And you send Sam to make sure I don't go off the leash."
  
  Sam and Perdue stood side by side, preferring to remain silent, but Ajo chuckled and Patrick stepped between her and the men to save the day. "That's really the best, Nina, don't you think? I mean, we really need to deliver the remaining diamonds to the Egyptian Dragon people..."
  
  Sam grimaced, trying not to laugh at Patrick's miscalculation of the Stargazers' order as "poor," but Perdue smiled openly. Patrick looked back at the men reproachfully before turning back to the intimidating little historian. "They urgently need the stones, and with the delivery of the artifact..." he continued, trying to calm her down. But Nina just raised her hand and shook her head. "Leave it, Patrick. Doesn't matter. I will go and steal something else from this poor country in the name of Britain, just to avoid the diplomatic nightmare that is sure to cross my mind if I see that misogynistic idiot again."
  
  "We have to go, Effendi," Ajo Perdue said, happily defusing the looming tension with a sobering statement. "If we delay, we won't get there in time."
  
  "Yes! Everyone better hurry up," Perdue suggested. "Nina, you and Sam will meet us here in exactly twenty-four hours with diamonds from the island monastery. Then we should be back in Cairo in record time."
  
  "You can call me a nitpick," Nina frowned, "but am I missing something? I thought these diamonds were to become the property of the professor. Egyptian Archaeological Society of Imru."
  
  "Yes, that was the deal, but my brokers got the list of stones from the professor. Imru's people in the community while Sam and I were in direct contact with Master Penekal," Purdue explained.
  
  "Oh God, I feel like a double game," she said, but Sam grabbed her arm gently and pulled her away from Purdue with a heartfelt, "Greetings, old chap! Come on, Dr. Gould. We need to commit a crime and we have very little time to do it."
  
  "God, the rotten apples of my life," she moaned as Perdue waved at her.
  
  "Don't forget to look at the sky!" Perdue joked before opening the passenger door of an old idling truck. In the back seat, the relic was watched by Patrick and his men while Perdue rode a shotgun with Ajo at the wheel. The Egyptian engineer was still the best guide in the region, and Purdue thought that if he had driven the car himself, he wouldn't have had to give directions.
  
  Under the cover of night, a group of men moved the Sacred Box to the excavation site on Mount Yeha in order to return it as soon as possible with as little trouble from the angry Ethiopians as possible. A large, dirty-colored truck creaked and roared down the potholed road, heading east toward the famous Aksum, believed to be the resting place of the biblical Ark of the Covenant.
  
  Heading southwest, Sam and Nina raced to Lake Tana in what would have taken them at least seven hours in a jeep provided to them.
  
  "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 said to him in Hercules, my love," Sam replied. "We do it because it's necessary." He looked at her. "You really meant what you said to him, right? Or did you just want him to feel less shitty?"
  
  Nina responded reluctantly, using chewing as a way to buy time.
  
  "I only know one thing," Sam shared, and that is that Perdue was tortured by the Black Sun and left for dead ... and that alone causes all systems to have a bloodbath."
  
  After Nina swallowed the candy, she looked at the stars forming one by one over the unknown horizon they were heading towards, wondering how many of them were potentially diabolical. "The nursery rhyme makes more sense now, you know? Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder who you are."
  
  "Actually, I never thought about it from that point of view, but there is some mystery in it. You are right. And also make a wish on a shooting star," he added, looking at the beautiful Nina sucking on her fingertips to savor her chocolate. "It makes you wonder why a shooting star could, like a genie, grant your wishes."
  
  "And you know how vicious those bastards really are, right? If you're basing your desires on the supernatural, I think you're bound to get your ass kicked. You must not use fallen angels, or demons, whatever the hell they are called, to fuel your greed. That's why anyone who uses..." She trailed off. "Sam, this is the rule you and Perdue apply to the professor. Imr or Karsten?"
  
  "What rule? There is no rule," he defended politely, his eyes fixed on the difficult road in the gathering darkness.
  
  "Is it possible that 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 awfully sure of herself. It's time for Sam to confess. The cheeky little storyteller wasn't stupid, 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 looked like a crater with severe pimples. By eleven o'clock the stars shone pristine against the unblemished sky, but Sam was too busy admiring the wetlands that lined the dirt road they took to the lake.
  
  "Nina?" he said, arousing her as gently as he could.
  
  "What are we, are we already there?" she muttered in shock.
  
  "Almost," he replied, "but I need you to see something."
  
  "Sam, I'm not in the mood for your youthful sexual advances right now," she frowned, still croaking like a revived mummy.
  
  "No, I'm serious," he insisted. "Look. Just look out your window and tell me if you see what I see."
  
  She obeyed with difficulty. "I see darkness. It's the middle of the night now."
  
  "The moon is full, so it's not completely dark. Tell me what you notice in this landscape," he urged insistently. Sam seemed confused and upset at the same time, something completely out of character for him, so Nina knew it must be important. She looked more closely, trying to understand what he meant. It wasn't until she remembered that Ethiopia was a mostly arid and desert landscape that she realized what he meant.
  
  "Are we driving on water?" she asked carefully. Then the full blow of weirdness hit her and she exclaimed, "Sam, why are we riding on water?"
  
  The jeep's tires were wet, although the road was not flooded. On either side of the gravel road, the moon shone on creeping shoals that rippled in the gentle breeze. Since the road was slightly elevated above the surrounding rough ground, it was not yet submerged as much as the rest of the surrounding area.
  
  "We shouldn't be like this," Sam replied with a shrug. "As far as I know, this country is known for drought, and the landscape must be absolutely dry."
  
  "Wait," she said, turning on the roof light to check the map Ajo had given them. "Let me think, where are we now?"
  
  "Just passed Gondar about fifteen minutes ago," he replied. "Now we should be close to Addis Zemen, which is about fifteen minutes from Vereta, our destination, before we take a boat ride on the lake."
  
  "Sam, this road is about seventeen kilometers from the lake!" she gasped as she measured the distance between the road and the nearest body of water. "It can't be the water of the lake. Could it?
  
  "Nope," Sam agreed. "But what amazes me is that according to Ajo and Purdue's preliminary research during this two-day garbage collection, this region has not had rain in over two months! So, I would like to know where the hell the lake got the extra water from to cover this fucking road."
  
  "That," she shook her head, unable to figure it out, "is not... natural."
  
  "You understand what that means, right?" Sam sighed. "We will have to get to the monastery exclusively by water."
  
  Nina didn't seem too dissatisfied with the new developments: "I think it's a good thing. Moving completely in the water has its advantages - it will be less noticeable than doing tourism business."
  
  "What do you mean?"
  
  "I propose to get a canoe in Veret and from there make a whole trip on it," she suggested. "No change of transport. You don't have to meet the locals for that either, you know? We take a canoe, put on some clothes and report it to our diamond keeper brothers."
  
  Sam smiled in the pale light from the rooftop.
  
  "What?" she asked, no less surprised.
  
  "Oh, nothing. I just love your newfound criminal honesty, Dr. Gould. We must be careful not to completely lose you to the Dark Side." He chuckled.
  
  "Oh, back off," she said, smiling. "I'm here to get the job done. Besides, you know how much I hate religion. In any case, why the hell are these monks hiding the diamonds anyway?"
  
  "Good point," Sam admitted. "I can"t wait to rob a group of humble, suave people, depriving them of the last wealth that their world has." As he feared, Nina did not like his sarcasm, and she answered in a flat tone: "Yes."
  
  "By the way, who's going to give us a canoe at 1:00 a.m. Dr. Gould?" Sam asked.
  
  "No one, I guess. We'll just have to borrow one. It would be a good five hours before they woke up and realized they were gone. By then, we will have already selected the monks, right? she ventured.
  
  "Godless," he smiled as he shifted the jeep into low gear to negotiate the tricky potholes obscured by the strange tide. "You are absolutely godless."
  
  
  28
  Grave Robbery 101
  
  
  By the time they got to Vereta, the jeep was threatening to sink three feet into the water. The road had disappeared a few miles back, but they kept moving towards the edge of the lake. Night cover was necessary for their successful entry into Tana Kirkos before too many people got in their way.
  
  "We'll have to stop, Nina," Sam sighed hopelessly. "What worries me is how we will get back to the meeting point if the jeep sinks."
  
  "Things for another time," she replied, placing her hand on Sam's cheek. "Now we have to finish the job. Just do one feat at a time or we will, pardon the pun, drown in worry and fail the mission."
  
  Sam couldn't argue with that. She was right, and her suggestion not to reload until a solution appeared made sense. He stopped the car at the entrance to the city in the early morning. From there, they would need to find something like a boat to get to the island as soon as possible. It was a long journey to even get to the shores of the lake, not to mention paddle to the island.
  
  Chaos reigned in the city. Houses vanished under the pressure of the water, and most shouted 'witchcraft' because there was no rain, which caused the flood. Sam asked one of the locals, who was sitting on the steps of the town hall, where he could get a canoe. The man refused to talk to the tourists until Sam pulled out a pack of Ethiopian birrs to pay.
  
  "He told me that there had been power outages in the days leading up to the floods," Sam told Nina. "On top of that, all the power lines went down just an hour ago. These people had started the evacuation in earnest a few hours before, so they knew things were going to get bad."
  
  "Poor things. Sam, we have to stop this. Whether or not an alchemist with special skills is doing all this is still a bit farfetched, but we have to do our best to stop the bastard before the whole world is destroyed," said Nina. "Just in case he somehow has the ability to use transmutation to cause natural disasters."
  
  With compact bags on their backs, they followed the lone volunteer a few blocks to the Agricultural College, all three wading through knee-deep water. Around them, the inhabitants still plodded on, shouting warnings and suggestions to each other, as some tried to save their homes while others wanted to escape to the higher slope. The young man who had brought Sam and Nina finally stopped in front of a large warehouse on campus and pointed to the workshop.
  
  "Here, this is a metal fabrication workshop, where we conduct classes in the construction and assembly of agricultural machinery. Maybe you can find one of the tankwa the biologists keep in the barn, mister. They use it to take samples on the lake."
  
  "A tan-?" Sam tried to repeat.
  
  "Tankwa," the young man smiled. "The boat we make out of um, pa-p... papyrus? They grow in the lake and we have been making boats from them since the time of 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 all walk 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 steps of the town hall where they had found him. "Good luck!"
  
  After a few frustrating minutes of sneaking into the small warehouse, they finally stumbled upon something worth the trouble. Sam dragged Nina across the water for a long time, lighting the way with his flashlight.
  
  "You know, it's a godsend that it's not raining, either," she whispered.
  
  "I was thinking the same thing. Can you imagine this journey across the water with the dangers of lightning and heavy rain impairing our eyesight?" he agreed. "Here! Up there. It looks like a canoe."
  
  "Yes, but they are terribly tiny," she lamented the sight. The handmade vessel was hardly large enough for Sam alone, let alone both of them. Finding nothing else even remotely useful, the two had to face an inevitable decision.
  
  "You'll have to go alone, Nina. We just don't have time for nonsense. In less than four hours, dawn will come, and you are light and petite. You will travel much faster alone," Sam explained, dreading sending her alone to an unknown location.
  
  Outside, several women screamed as the roof of the house collapsed, prompting Nina to retrieve the diamonds and end the suffering of innocent people. "I really don't want to," she admitted. "The thought horrifies me, but I will go. I mean, what could a bunch of peaceful, celibate monks want from a pale heretic like me?"
  
  "Except burn you at the stake?" Sam said without thinking, in an attempt at a joke.
  
  A slap on the arm conveyed Nina's dismay by his rash suggestion before she gestured for him to lower the canoe. For the next forty-five minutes, they dragged her along the water until they found an open area with no buildings or fences to block her path.
  
  "The moon will light your path, and the lights on the walls of the monastery will indicate your goal, beloved. Be careful, okay?" He shoved his Beretta with a fresh clip into her hand. "Watch out for the crocodiles," Sam said, picking her up and holding her tightly in his arms. In truth, he was terribly troubled by her lonely effort, but he dared not compound her fears with the truth.
  
  As Nina pulled a burlap cloak over her petite body, Sam felt a lump in his throat from the dangers she had to face alone. "I'll be right here waiting for you at the town hall."
  
  She didn't look back when she started rowing, and she didn't utter a single word. Sam took this as a sign that she was focused on her task, when in fact she was crying. He could never know how terrified she was to travel alone to the ancient monastery, having no idea what awaited her there, while he was too far away to save her if something happened. It wasn't just the unknown destination that frightened Nina. The thought of what lurked in the elevated waters of the lake-the lake from which the Blue Nile springs-frightened her out of her wits. Fortunately for her, however, many of the townspeople had the same idea as she did, and she was not alone in the vast swath of water that now hid the real lake. She had no idea where the real Lake Tana began, but as Sam had told her, she could only look for the flames of the fire pots along the walls of the monastery on Tana Kirkos.
  
  It was eerie to be afloat among so many canoe-like boats, to hear people around her speaking in languages she didn't understand. "I think this is what crossing the River Styx is like," she told herself with pleasure as she paddled at a strong pace to reach her destination. "All voices; all the whispers of many. Men and women and different dialects, all sail in darkness on black waters by the grace of the gods."
  
  The historian looked at the clear, starry sky. Her dark hair fluttered in the gentle breeze over the water, peeking out from under her hood. "Twinkle, twinkle, Little Star," she whispered, clutching the hilt of her firearm as tears silently rolled down her cheeks. "Fucking evil, that's who you are."
  
  Only the screams echoing over the water reminded her that she was not bitterly alone, and in the distance she could see the faint glow of the fires Sam had spoken of. Somewhere in the distance a church bell rang, and at first it seemed that this alarmed the people in the boats. But then they started singing. At first it was a lot of different melodies and keys, but gradually the people of the Amhara region began to sing in unison.
  
  "Is this their national anthem?" Nina wondered aloud, but didn't dare to ask for fear of betraying her identity. "No, wait. This is... an anthem."
  
  In the distance, a gloomy bell tolled across the water as new waves, seemingly out of nowhere, were born. She heard some people interrupt their song to exclaim in horror, while others sang louder. Nina closed her eyes as the water shook violently, leaving her in no doubt that it could be a crocodile or a hippopotamus.
  
  "Oh my God!" she screamed as her "tankwa" tipped over. Grabbing the oar with all her might, Nina rowed faster, hoping that whatever monster was out there under the water would choose another canoe and let her live for a few more days. Her heart pounded wildly as she heard the screams of people somewhere behind her, along with a loud splashing water that ended in a mournful howl.
  
  Some creature took over a boat full of people, and Nina was horrified at the thought that in a lake of this size, every living creature had brothers and sisters. There were many more attacks to come under the indifferent moon, where fresh meat appeared tonight. "I thought you were joking about the crocodiles, Sam," she gasped in fear. Unconsciously, she imagined that the guilty beast was exactly what it was. "Water demons, all of them," she croaked as her chest and arms burned from the effort of paddling through the treacherous waters of Lake Tana.
  
  By four o'clock in the morning, Nina's tankwa delivered her to the shores of the island of Tana Kirkos, where the remaining diamonds of King Solomon were hidden in the cemetery. She knew the location, but still Nina had no idea where the stones would be stored. In a case? In a bag? In a coffin, God forbid? As she approached the fortress built in ancient times, the historian felt relieved because of one unpleasant thing: it turned out that the rising water level led her directly to the wall of the monastery, and she would not have to wade through dangerous terrain infested with unknown guardians or animals.
  
  Using her compass, Nina determined the location of the wall she had to break through, and with the help of a climbing rope she tied her canoe to a projecting support. The monks were feverishly busy receiving people at the main entrance, as well as moving their food supplies to the higher towers. All this chaos went to the benefit of Nina's mission. Not only were the monks too busy to pay any attention to the intruders, but the ringing of the church bell ensured that her presence was never detected by sound. In fact, she didn't have to sneak or be quiet while she made her way to the graveyard.
  
  Rounding the second wall, she was glad to find the graveyard exactly as Perdue had described it. Unlike the rough map she was given showing the area she was to find, the cemetery itself was much smaller in scale. In fact, she easily found it at a glance.
  
  It's too easy, she thought, feeling a little uncomfortable. Maybe you're just so used to digging through shit that you can't appreciate what's called 'lucky chance'.'
  
  Perhaps she will be lucky long enough until the abbot, who saw her transgression, seizes her.
  
  
  29
  Bruihladdich Karma
  
  
  With her latest obsession with fitness and strength training, Nina couldn't argue with the benefits now that she had to use her conditioning to avoid getting caught. Most of the physical effort was done quite comfortably as she climbed the barrier of the inner wall to find her way into the lower section adjoining the hall. Stealthily, Nina gained access to a series of graves that looked like narrow trenches. It reminded her of the creepy train cars lined up lower than the rest of the cemetery.
  
  What was unusual was that the third grave from hers, marked on the map, had a remarkably new marble slab, especially compared to the visibly worn and dirty coverings of everyone else in the row. She suspected it was an indication of access. As she approached it, Nina noticed that the headstone had "Ephippas Abizitibod" written on it.
  
  "Eureka!" she said to herself, pleased that the find was exactly where it should have been. Nina was one of the best historians in the world. Although she was the foremost expert on World War II, she also had a taste for ancient history, apocrypha, and mythology. The two words carved into the ancient granite did not represent the name of any 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 that King Solomon hired to lift the heavy cornerstone of his temple, a huge slab very similar to this one," she whispered, carefully examining the tombstone for some device or lever to open it. "And Abizifibod," she proudly announced, wiping the dust off her name with her palm, "you were that mischievous bastard who helped the Egyptian magicians against Moses..."
  
  Suddenly, the slab began to move under her knees. "God damn it!" - exclaimed Nina, stepping back and looking directly at the giant stone cross, installed on the roof of the main chapel. "Sorry".
  
  Note to self, she thought, call Father Harper when this is all over.
  
  Although there was not a cloud in the sky, the water continued to rise higher and higher. As Nina apologized to the cross, another shooting star caught her eye. "Oh my gosh!" she moaned, crawling through the mud to get out of the way of the evenly animated marble. They were so thick in width that they would have crushed her legs in an instant.
  
  Unlike other tombstones, this one had the names of demons bound by King Solomon, irrefutably stating that this was where the monks kept the lost diamonds. As the slab slammed into the granite shell, Nina winced as she thought about 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 glittered on the skull, inlaid with rubies and sapphires. It was pale yellow, real raw 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 to inspect the grave. Picking up the bones one by one and muttering restlessly, she did not notice how the water flooded the narrow channel with the graves, where she was busy searching. The first grave filled with water as the wall of the enclosure collapsed under the weight of the rising lake level. Prayers and lamentations were heard from the people on the higher side of the fortress, but Nina was adamant to get the diamonds before all was lost.
  
  As soon as the first grave was covered, the loose earth with which it was covered turned into mud. The casket and tombstone went under the water, allowing the flow to freely reach the second grave, just behind Nina.
  
  "Where the hell do you keep your diamonds, for God"s sake?" she squealed to the maddening ringing of the church bell.
  
  "For heaven's sake?" someone said above her. "Or for Mammon?"
  
  Nina didn't want to look up, but the cold end of the gun barrel made her obey. A tall young monk towered over her, looking definitely furious. "Of all the nights when you can desecrate a grave in search of treasure, do you choose this one? May the Lord have mercy on you for your devilish greed, woman!"
  
  The abbot dispatched him, while the chief monk concentrated his efforts on saving souls and delegating them for evacuation.
  
  "No Please! I can explain everything! My name is Dr. Nina Gould!" Nina screamed, throwing up her hands in surrender, having no idea that Sam's Beretta, tucked into her belt, was in full view. He shook his head. The monk's finger played on the M16 trigger he held, but his eyes widened and rested on her body. That's when she remembered the gun. "Listen, listen!" she pleaded. "I can explain."
  
  The second grave sank into loose quicksand, formed by the evil current of muddy lake water, which was approaching the third grave, but neither Nina nor the monk understood this.
  
  "You don't explain anything," he exclaimed, looking clearly unbalanced. "You shut up! Let me think!" Little did she know that he was staring at her breasts, where the buttoned shirt had parted to reveal a tattoo that also fascinated Sam.
  
  Nina didn't dare touch the gun she was carrying, but she desperately wanted to find the diamonds. She needed to relax. "Watch out, water!" she shouted, feigning panic and looking past the monk to deceive him. When he turned to look, Nina jumped up and coolly cocked the hammer with the butt of the Beretta, hitting him at the base of the skull. The monk fell to the ground with a dull thud, and she frantically rummaged through the bones of the skeleton, even tore the satin fabric, but nothing came of it.
  
  She sobbed furiously in defeat, waving a purple rag in rage. The movement separated the skull from the spine with a grotesque crack that twisted the head bone. Two small untouched pebbles fell out of the eye socket onto the cloth.
  
  "No way, damn it!" Nina groaned happily. "You let it all get into 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 collected the diamonds, stuffed them back into her skull, and wrapped her head in purple cloth. When the water spilled onto the third grave bed, she slipped the prize into her bag and threw it back onto her back.
  
  A plaintive groan came from a drowning monk a few meters away from us. He was upside down in a funnel-shaped tornado of muddy water flowing down into the cellar, but the grate kept him from passing through. So he was left to sink, caught in a downward spiral of suction. Nina had to leave. It was almost dawn, and the water flooded the entire sacred island along with the unfortunate souls who sought refuge there.
  
  Her canoe bounced wildly against the wall of the second tower. Had she not hurried, she would have sunk along with the landmass and lay dead under the muddy fury of the lake like the rest of the dead bodies tied to the graveyard. But the gurgling screams, from time to time coming from the seething water above the basement, appealed to Nina's compassion.
  
  He was going to shoot you. Fuck him, her inner bitch urged. If you bother to help him, the same thing awaits you. Besides, he probably just wants to grab you and hold you for hitting him with a club right then. I know what I would do. Karma.
  
  "Karma," Nina muttered, realizing something after a night in the hot tub with Sam. "Bruich, I told you that Karma would flog me with water. I have to fix everything."
  
  Cursing herself for her banal superstition, she hurried through the powerful current to reach the drowning man. His arms flailed wildly as his face went under the water as the historian rushed towards him. Basically, the problem Nina had the most with was her small frames. She simply didn't weigh enough to save a grown man, and the water knocked her over as soon as she stepped into the seething whirlpool, into which more lake water was pouring.
  
  "Hold on!" she shouted, trying to grab hold of one of the iron bars that barred the narrow windows leading to the basement. The water was furious, sinking her under the water and tearing through her esophagus and lungs without resistance, but she did her best not to loosen her grip as she reached out her hand to the monk's shoulder. "Grab my hand! I'll try to get you out!" she screamed as water entered her mouth. "I owe the damn cat something to repay," she said to no one in particular as she felt his hand close around her forearm, squeezing her forearm lower.
  
  She pulled him up with all her might, even just to help him catch his breath, but Nina's tired body was beginning to fail her. And again she tried unsuccessfully, watching the walls of the basement crack under the weight of the water, only to soon collapse on them both with certain death.
  
  "Let's!" she screamed, deciding this time to put her toe on the wall and use her body as leverage. The force was too great for Nina's physical abilities, and she felt her shoulder dislocate as the monk's weight, along with the current, tore it out of the rotator cuff. "Jesus Christ!" she screamed in agony just before a flood of mud and water engulfed her.
  
  Like the seething liquid madness of a crashing ocean wave, Nina's body jerked violently and was thrown against the bottom of the collapsing wall, but she still felt the monk's hand holding her tightly. As her body hit the wall for the second time, Nina grabbed the counter with her good hand. "Like a chin higher," her inner voice assured her. "Just pretend it's a really hard hit because if you don't, you'll never see Scotland again."
  
  With the last roar, Nina broke away from the surface of the water, freeing herself from the force holding the monk, and he rushed up like a buoy. For a moment he lost consciousness, but when he heard Nina's voice, his eyes opened. "Are you with me?" she called. "Please grab onto something, because I can't hold your weight anymore! My hand is badly damaged!"
  
  He did as she asked, holding on to his feet, holding on to one of the bars next to the window. Nina was exhausted to the point of passing out, but she had the diamonds and wanted to find Sam. She wanted to be with Sam. She felt safe with him, and now she needed it more than anything.
  
  Leading the wounded monk behind her, she climbed to the top of the wall to follow her to the buttress where her canoe was waiting. The monk did not chase after her, but she jumped on a small boat and paddled furiously across Lake Tana. Looking back frantically every few steps, Nina raced back to Sam, hoping he hadn't already drowned with the rest of the Vereta. In the pale morning dawn, with anti-predator prayers escaping from her lips, Nina sailed away from the dwindling island, which was now nothing more than a lone beacon in the distance.
  
  
  thirty
  Judas, Brutus and Cassius
  
  
  Meanwhile, as Nina and Sam struggled through their hardships, Patrick Smith was tasked with arranging for the Sacred Box to be transported to its resting place on Mount Yeha, near Aksum. He was preparing documents to be signed by the colonel. Yeeman and Mr. Carter for transfer to MI6 headquarters. Mr. Carter's administration, as head of MI6, would then submit documents to the Purdue court to close the case.
  
  Joe Carter arrived at Axum airport a few hours earlier to meet with Colonel J. Yemenu and legitimate representatives of the Ethiopian government. They would oversee the delivery, but Carter was wary of being back in David Purdue's company, fearing that the Scottish billionaire would try to reveal Carter's true identity as Joseph Carsten, a first-level member of the sinister Order of the Black Sun.
  
  During the trip to the tent city at the foot of the mountain, Karsten's mind was racing. Perdue was becoming a serious burden not only for him, but for Black Sun as a whole. Their release of the Wizard to throw the planet into a terrible pit of disaster progressed like clockwork. Their plan could only fail if Karsten's double life was revealed and the organization was exposed, and these problems had only one trigger - David Purdue.
  
  "Have you heard about the floods in northern Europe that are now hitting Scandinavia?" Colonel. Yemenu asked Karsten. "Mr. Carter, I apologize for the power outages that cause such inconvenience, but most of the countries of North Africa, as well as Saudi Arabia, Yemen, all the way to Syria, suffer from darkness."
  
  "Yes, I heard so. First, it must be a terrible burden on the economy," Karsten said, playing the role of ignorance superbly while he was the architect of the current global dilemma. "I am sure that if we all pool our minds and financial reserves, we could save what is left of our countries."
  
  After all, that was the purpose of the Black Sun. Once the world is hit by natural disasters, business failures, and security threats causing large-scale looting and destruction, it will cause enough damage to the organization to overthrow all the superpowers. With their limitless resources, skilled professionals and collective wealth, the Order will be able to take over the world under the new Fascist regime.
  
  "I don't know what the government will do if this darkness, and now the floods, cause even more damage, Mr. Carter. I just don't know," Yemenu lamented to the noise of the jolting ride. "I assume the United Kingdom has some form of emergency measure in place?"
  
  "They should," Karsten replied, looking hopefully at Yimena, his eyes betraying his contempt for what he considered to be an inferior species. "In terms of the military, I believe we will use our resources to the best of our ability against the actions of God." He shrugged, looking sympathetic.
  
  "That's true," Yimenu replied. "These are the works of God; cruel and angry god. Who knows, maybe we are on the brink of extinction."
  
  Karsten had to suppress a smile, feeling like Noah watching the downtrodden meet their fate at the hands of a god they didn't worship enough. Trying not to get caught up in the moment, he said, "I'm sure the best of us will survive this apocalypse."
  
  "Sir, we have arrived," the driver said to the colonel. Yemen. "Looks like the Purdue group has already arrived and taken the Sacred Box inside."
  
  "Nobody's here?" Qty. Yemenu squealed.
  
  "Yes, sir. I see Special Agent Smith waiting for us by the truck," the driver confirmed.
  
  "Oh, good," Colonel. Yemenu sighed. "This man is top notch. I have to congratulate you on Special Agent Smith, Mr. Carter. He is always one step ahead, making sure all orders are completed."
  
  Karsten grimaced at Yemenu Smith's praise, faking it as a smile. "Oh yeah. That's why I insisted that Special Agent Smith accompany Mr. Perdue on this trip. I knew he would be the only person suitable for the job."
  
  They got out of the car and met up with Patrick, who informed them that the early arrival of Purdue's group was due to a change in the weather, which forced them to take an alternate route.
  
  "It seemed odd to me that your Hercules wasn't at the Axum airport," Karsten remarked, hiding how furious he was that his designated killer was left without a target at the designated airport. "Where did you land?"
  
  Patrick didn't like his boss's tone, but since he wasn't let in on his boss's true identity, he had no idea why the respected Joe Carter was so insistent on trivial logistics. "Well, sir, the pilot dropped us off at Danches and proceeded to another runway to oversee repairs to the landing damage."
  
  Carsten had no objection to this. It sounded perfectly logical, especially given that most of the roads in Ethiopia were unreliable, not to mention maintaining them in proper condition during the rainless floods that have recently hit the countries of the continents around the Mediterranean Sea. He unconditionally accepted Patrick's resourceful lie to the colonel. Yemen and suggested that they go to the mountains to make sure that Perdue was not engaged in some kind of swindle.
  
  Qty. Yemenu then received a satellite phone call and excused himself and left, gesturing for the MI6 delegates to continue their tour of the site in the meantime. Once inside, Patrick and Karsten, along with two of Patrick's assigned men, followed the sound of Purdue's voice to find their way.
  
  "Here, sir. Thanks to the courtesy of Mr. Ajo Kira, they were able to secure the area to make sure that the Sacred Box was returned to its original location without fear of collapses," Patrick informed his supervisor.
  
  "Mr. Kira knows how to prevent collapses?" Karsten asked. With great condescension, he added, "I thought he was just a guide."
  
  "It is, sir," Patrick explained. "But he is also a skilled civil engineer."
  
  A winding narrow corridor led them down to the hall where Perdue first encountered the locals, just before stealing the Sacred Box, mistaken for the Ark of the Covenant.
  
  "Good evening, gentlemen," Karsten greeted, his voice ringing in Purdue's ears like a song of horror, ripping through his soul 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, hi," Perdue greeted cheerfully, fixing Karsten with his ice blue eyes. In mockery, he underlined the name of the charlatan. "So nice to see you... Mr. Carter, isn't it?"
  
  Patrick frowned. He thought that Perdue knew the name of his boss, but being a very perceptive guy, Patrick quickly realized that something more was going on between Purdue and Carter.
  
  "I see you started without us," Karsten noted.
  
  "I explained to Mr. Carter why we arrived early," said Patrick Purdue. "But now all we have to worry about is getting this relic back into place so we can all go home, hey?"
  
  Even though Patrick maintained a friendly tone, he could feel tension tightening around them like a noose around his neck. According to him, it was just an inappropriate emotional surge due to the bad taste that the theft of the relic left in everyone's mouth. Karsten noticed that the Sacred Box had been correctly placed in place, and as he turned to look back, he realized that Colonel J. Yemenu, fortunately, had not yet returned.
  
  "Special Agent Smith, would you please join Mr. Perdue at the Sacred Box, please?" he instructed Patrick.
  
  "Why?" Patrick frowned.
  
  Patrick immediately learned the truth about his superior's intentions. "Because I fucking told you so, Smith!" he roared furiously, drawing his pistol. "Give me your weapon, Smith!"
  
  Perdue froze in place, hands raised in surrender. Patrick was dumbfounded, but nevertheless obeyed his superior. His two subordinates fidgeted in uncertainty, but soon calmed down, deciding not to holster their weapons and move.
  
  "Finally showing your true colors Karsten?" Perdue scoffed. Patrick frowned in his confusion. "You see, Paddy, this man you know as Joe Carter is actually Joseph Carsten, head of the Austrian branch of the Order of the Black Sun."
  
  "God," Patrick muttered. "Why did not you tell me?"
  
  "We didn't want you involved, Patrick, so we kept you in the dark," Perdue explained.
  
  "Great job, David," moaned Patrick. "I could have avoided it."
  
  "No, you couldn't do that!" Karsten called out, his fat red face trembling with derision. "There's a reason I'm in charge of British military intelligence and you're not, boy. I plan ahead and do my homework."
  
  "Boy?" Perdue chuckled. "Stop pretending you're worthy of the Scots, Karsten."
  
  Karsten? Patrick asked, scowling at Purdue.
  
  Joseph Karsten, Patrick. Order of the Black Sun, First Class, and a traitor that Iscariot himself could not match."
  
  Karsten pointed his service firearm straight at Purdue, his hand trembling violently. "I should have finished you off at your mother"s house, over-privileged 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 stated calmly.
  
  "Shut your mouth, traitor! You were Renatus, the leader of the "Black Sun"...!" he yelled piercingly.
  
  "By default, not by choice," Purdue corrected for Patrick.
  
  "...and you chose to give up all that 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 lunatic pushed 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 around and fired two bullets into each of Patrick's MI6 support staff. "There will be no witnesses left. This malice stops right here, forever."
  
  Patrick was nauseated. The sight of his men lying dead on the floor of a cave in a foreign land infuriated him. He was in charge of everyone! He had to know 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 now he was as good as dead.
  
  "Yimenu will be back soon," Karsten announced. "And I will return to the United Kingdom to lay claim to your property. After all, this time you won't be considered dead."
  
  "Just remember one thing, Karsten," Perdue retorted, "you have a lot to lose. I don't know. You also have estates."
  
  Karsten pulled back the trigger of his weapon. "What do you play?"
  
  Perdue shrugged. This time, he got rid of any fear of the consequences of what he was about to say, because he accepted whatever fate was in store for him. "You have," Perdue smiled, "you have a wife and daughters. Won't they arrive home in the Salzkammergut in, oh," Perdue sang, glancing at his watch, "about four o'clock?"
  
  Karsten's eyes went wild, his nostrils flared, and he let out a stifled cry of extreme annoyance. Unfortunately, he couldn't shoot Perdue because it had to look like an accident in order for Karsten to be acquitted, to be believed by Yemenu and the locals. Only then was Karsten able to play the victim of circumstances in order to divert attention from himself.
  
  Purdue quite liked Karsten's dazed, horrified look, but he could hear Patrick panting next to him. He felt sorry for Sam's best friend, who was once again on the brink of death because of his association with Purdue.
  
  "If anything happens to my family, I will send Clive to give your girlfriend, that Gould bitch, the best time of her life... before he takes it!" Karsten warned, spitting through thick lips as his eyes burned with hatred and defeat. "Come on, Ajo."
  
  
  31
  Flight from Veret
  
  
  Karsten headed for the exit of the mountain, leaving Purdue and Patrick completely dumbfounded. Ajo followed Karsten, but he stopped at the tunnel entrance to decide Perdue's fate.
  
  "What the hell!" Patrick growled as his bond with all the traitors came to an end. "You? Why you, Ajo? How? We saved you from the damned Black Sun, and now you're their pet?"
  
  "Don't take it personally, Smith-Efendi," Ajo warned, his thin brown hand resting just below a stone key the size of his palm. "You, Perdue Efendi, can take this very much to heart. Because of you, my brother Donkor was killed. I almost got killed to help you steal that relic, and then?" he howled angrily, his chest heaving in rage. "Then you left me to die before your accomplices kidnapped me and tortured me to find out where you were! All this I endured for you, Efendi, while you joyfully pursued what you found in this Sacred Box! You have every reason to take my betrayal to heart, and I hope that you will die slowly under a heavy stone tonight." He looked around inside the chamber. "This is where I was cursed to meet you, and this is where I curse you to be buried."
  
  "Jesus, you definitely 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 misgivings.
  
  Outside, they could hear Karsten yelling at the colonel. Yemenu's people must go into hiding. It was Ajo's signal, and he pressed the dial under his hand, causing a terrible rumble above them in the rocks. The foundation stones that Ajo had painstakingly erected in the days leading up to the meeting in Edinburgh had collapsed. He disappeared into the tunnel, running past the cracking walls of the corridor. He stumbled in the night air, already covered in some debris and dust from the collapse.
  
  "They are still inside!" he shouted. "Other people will be crushed! You must help them!" Ajo grabbed the Colonel by the shirt, pretending to be desperately coaxing him. But Colonel. Yimenu pushed him away, knocking him to the ground. "My country is under water, threatening my children"s lives and getting more and more destructive as we talk, and you keep me here because of the collapse?" Yemenu reprimanded Ajo and Karsten, suddenly losing his sense of diplomacy.
  
  "I understand, sir," Karsten said dryly. "Let's consider this accident as the end of the relic debacle for now. After all, as you say, you have to look after the children. I fully understand the urgency of saving my family."
  
  With that, Karsten and Ajo watched the colonel. Yimenu and his driver retire into a pinkish hint of dawn on the horizon. It was almost the same time that the Sacred Box was originally supposed to be returned. Soon the local construction workers will perk up, waiting for what they thought was Perdue's arrival, planning to give a good beating to the grey-haired intruder who has plundered their country's treasures.
  
  "Go and see if they collapsed properly, Ajo," Karsten ordered. "Hurry, we have to go."
  
  Ajo Kira hurried to what was the entrance to Mount Yeha to make sure its collapse was tight and final. He did not see Karsten follow in his footsteps and, unfortunately, stooping to assess the success of his work cost him his life. Karsten lifted one of the heavy rocks above his head and brought it down on the back of Ajo's head, crushing it instantly.
  
  "There are no witnesses," Karsten whispered, dusting off his hands and heading for Purdue's truck. Behind him, Ajo Kira's corpse covered the loose rock and rubble in front of the ruined entrance. With his shattered skull leaving a grotesque mark on the desert sand, there was no doubt that he would look like another victim of a rockfall. Karsten turned around in Purdue's Two and a Half military truck to race back to his home in Austria before the rising waters of Ethiopia could trap him.
  
  Farther south, Nina and Sam were less fortunate. The entire region around Lake Tana was under water. People were furious, panicking not only because of the flood, but also because of the inexplicable way in which the waters came. Rivers and wells flowed without any current from the supply source. There was no rain, but fountains gushed out of nowhere from dry riverbeds.
  
  Cities around the world suffered from power outages, earthquakes and floods that destroyed important buildings. The UN headquarters, the Pentagon, the World Court in The Hague and many other institutions responsible for order and progress were destroyed. By now, they feared that the airstrip at Dansha might be blown up, but Sam was hopeful, as the community was far enough away that Lake Tana was not 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 destruction of the night in all its terrible reality. He filmed the remnants of the whole tragedy as often as he could, taking care to conserve battery power in his compact camcorder while he anxiously waited for Nina to return to him. Somewhere in the distance, he continued to hear a strange buzzing sound that he could not identify, but attributed it to some kind of auditory hallucination. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours and could feel the effects of fatigue, but he had to stay awake for Nina to find him. Besides, she did hard work, and he owed it to her to be there when, not if, she returned. He abandoned the negative thoughts that tormented him about her safety in a lake full of treacherous creatures.
  
  Through his lens, he sympathized with the citizens of Ethiopia who now had to leave their homes and their lives in order to survive. Some wept bitterly from the rooftops of their houses, others bandaged their wounds. From time to time, Sam encountered floating bodies.
  
  "Jesus Christ," he muttered, "it really is the end of the world."
  
  He was filming a huge expanse of water that seemed to extend endlessly before his eyes. When the sky in the east tinted the horizon pink and yellow, he could not fail to notice the beauty of the backdrop against which this terrible play was staged. The smooth water stopped bubbling and filling the lake, for the moment, and it adorned the landscape, bird life inhabited the liquid mirror. Many were still on their tanks, fishing for food or just swimming. But among them, only one small boat moved-actually moved. It seemed to be the only ship heading somewhere, for the amusement of spectators from other ships.
  
  "Nina," Sam smiled. "I just know it's you, baby!"
  
  To the annoying howl of an unknown sound, he zoomed in on the fast-moving boat, but as the lens adjusted for better vision, Sam's smile faded. "Oh my God, Nina, what have you done?"
  
  It was followed by five equally hasty boats, moving more slowly only because of Nina's head start. Her face spoke for itself. Panic and painful effort contorted her beautiful face as she paddled away from the pursuing monks. Sam jumped down from his perch in the town hall and discovered the source of a strange sound that baffled him.
  
  Military helicopters flew in from the north to pick up citizens and transport them to land further southeast. Sam counted about seven helicopters landing from time to time to pick up people from their makeshift holds. One, a CH-47F Chinook, stood a few blocks away while the pilot picked up a few people for airlift.
  
  Nina had almost made it to the outskirts of town, her face pale and wet with fatigue and wounds. Sam navigated difficult waters to reach her before the monks following her trail could. She slowed down significantly as her hand began to fail her. With all his strength, Sam used his arms to move faster and overcome potholes, sharp objects and other obstacles underwater that he could not see.
  
  "Nina!" he shouted.
  
  "Help me, Sam! I dislocated my shoulder!" she moaned. "There is nothing left in me. P-please, he's just..." she stammered. When she got to Sam, he scooped her up and, turning around, slipped into the cluster of buildings south of the town hall to find a place to hide. Behind them, the monks were shouting, calling on the 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 as she held her hand. "If you could plug it back into the socket, I could make a real effort."
  
  Through his years in the field, filming and reporting in war zones, Sam has learned valuable skills from the EMTs he has worked with. "I'm not going to lie, love," he warned. "It's going to hurt like hell."
  
  As willing citizens strode down the narrow alleyways to find Nina and Sam, they had to keep quiet while performing Nina's shoulder replacement. Sam handed her his bag so she could bite on the strap, and as their pursuers screamed down in the water, Sam stepped on her ribcage with one foot, holding her trembling hand in both hands.
  
  "Ready?" he whispered, but Nina only closed her eyes and nodded. Sam tugged hard on her arm, slowly pulling her away from his body. Nina squealed in agony under the tarp, tears streaming down her eyelids.
  
  "I hear them!" someone exclaimed in their own language. Sam and Nina didn't need to know the language to understand the statement, and he gently twisted her arm until it lined up with the rotator cuff before relenting. Nina's muffled scream wasn't loud enough to be heard by the monks who were looking for them, but two men were already climbing a ladder jutting out of the water's surface to find them.
  
  One of them was armed with a short spear, and he headed straight for Nina's weak body, aiming the weapon at her chest, but Sam intercepted the stick. He punched him directly in the face, temporarily rendering him unconscious, while the other attacker jumped off the windowsill. Sam swung his spear like a baseball hero, cracking the man's cheekbone on impact. The one he hit came to his senses. He snatched the spear from Sam and stabbed him in the side.
  
  "Sam!" Nina howled. "Head up!" She tried to get up, but was too weak, so she threw his Beretta at him. The journalist grabbed a firearm and in one motion plunged the attacker's head under water, driving a bullet into the back of the neck.
  
  "They must have heard the shot," he told her, pressing on his stab wound. A scandal erupted in the flooded streets against the backdrop of a deafening flight of military helicopters. Sam peeked out from the cover of the high ground and saw that the helicopter was still standing.
  
  "Nina, can you go?" he asked again.
  
  She sat up with difficulty. "I can walk. What's the plan?
  
  "Based on your shame, I take it you managed to get your hands on King Solomon"s diamonds?"
  
  "Yes, in the skull in my backpack," she replied.
  
  Sam didn't have time to ask about the mention of the skull, but he was glad she got the prize. They moved to a nearby building and waited for the pilot to return to the Chinook before quietly limping towards it while the rescued people were being seated. On their trail, no less than fifteen monks from the island and six men from Vetera pursued them through the seething waters. As the co-pilot prepared to close the door, Sam pressed the muzzle of his gun 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 grunted as he held Nina's hand and held her behind him.
  
  "No! You can't do this!" the co-pilot protested sharply. The screams of the angry monks were getting closer. "You stay behind!"
  
  Sam couldn't let anything stop them from boarding the helicopter, and he had to prove he was serious. Nina looked back at the angry mob hurling stones at them as they drew closer. The stone hit Nina in the temple, but she did not fall.
  
  "Jesus!" she screamed, finding blood on her fingers where she had touched her head. "Stoning women every chance you get, you fucking primitive..."
  
  The shot silenced her. Sam shot the co-pilot in the leg, to the dismay of the passengers. He took aim at the monks, stopping them halfway. Nina couldn't see the monk she had saved among them, but while she was looking for his face, Sam grabbed her and dragged her into a helicopter full of terrified passengers. The co-pilot lay groaning on the floor next to her, and she removed the strap to bandage his leg. In the cockpit, Sam was yelling orders to the pilot at gunpoint, ordering him to head north to Dansha for the rendezvous point.
  
  
  32
  Flight from Aksum
  
  
  Several locals gathered at the foot of Mount Yeha, horrified at the sight of the dead Egyptian guide, whom they all knew from the excavation sites. Another amazing shock for them was a colossal rockfall that closed the bowels of the mountain. Unsure what to do, a group of diggers, archaeologists' assistants, and vindictive locals looked into the unexpected event, muttering among themselves to try to figure out exactly what happened.
  
  "There are deep tire tracks here, so a heavy truck was parked here," one worker suggested, pointing to prints in the ground. "There were two, maybe three cars here."
  
  "Maybe it's just the Land Rover that Dr. Hessian uses every few days," suggested another.
  
  "No, there it is, over there, right where he left it before he went to buy new tools in Mek"ele yesterday," protested the first worker, pointing to the visiting archaeologist"s Land Rover parked under the canvas roof of a tent a few meters away. From him.
  
  "Then how do we know if the box has been returned? This is Ajo Kira. Dead. Perdue killed him and took the box!" one man shouted. "That's why they destroyed the cell!"
  
  His aggressive deduction made a splash among the locals in neighboring villages and in tents near the excavation site. Some of the men tried to be reasonable, but most wanted nothing more than pure revenge.
  
  "Do you hear it?" Purdue asked Patrick where they had come from under the east side of the mountain. "They want to skin us alive, old chap. Can you run on this leg?"
  
  "Shit yourself," Patrick grimaced. "I have a broken ankle. Look."
  
  The cave-in caused by Ajo did not kill the two men, because Purdue had memorized an important feature of all Ajo's designs - the exit from the mailbox, hidden under a false wall. Luckily, the Egyptian told Purdue about the old ways of setting up traps in Egypt, especially inside the old 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, gouges, and dust, Purdue and Patrick crawled out behind several large boulders at the foot of the mountain, careful not to be discovered. Patrick cringed as a sharp pain in his right ankle shot through him with every drag forward.
  
  "Can...w-can we just take a little breather?" he asked Perdue. The grey-haired explorer 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 weapons these people are brandishing, do I? Shovels, spikes, hammers..." Perdue reminded his companion.
  
  "I know. This Landy is too far for me. They will catch up with me before my second step," he admitted. "My leg is trash. Go ahead, get their attention, or go out and call for help."
  
  "Bullshit," Perdue replied. "We'll get to this Landy together and get the hell out of here."
  
  "How do you suggest we do this?" Patrick gasped.
  
  Purdue pointed to the nearby digging tools and smiled. Patrick followed the direction with his eyes. He would have laughed along with Purdue if his life didn't depend on the result.
  
  "No way, damn it, David. No! Are you crazy?" he whispered loudly, slapping Perdue on the arm.
  
  "Can you imagine a better wheelchair here on gravel?" Perdue grinned. "Be ready. When I get back, we will go to Landy."
  
  "And I suppose you will then have time to plug it in?" Patrick asked.
  
  Perdue pulled out his trusty little tablet, which served as several gadgets in one.
  
  "Oh, you little faith," he smiled at Patrick.
  
  Typically Purdue used its infrared and radar functions, or used it as a communications device. However, he constantly improved the device, adding new inventions and improving its technology. He showed Patrick a small button on the side of the device. "Electric surge. We have a psychic, Paddy."
  
  "What is he doing?" Patrick frowned, his eyes occasionally darting past Purdue to stay alert.
  
  "It starts the cars," Perdue said. Before Patrick could think of a response, Perdue jumped to his feet and rushed to the tool shed. He moved furtively, bending his lanky body forward to keep his head down.
  
  "So far so good, you crazy bastard," whispered Patrick as he watched Perdue pick up the car. "But you know this thing is going to make a fuss, right?"
  
  Preparing for the upcoming chase, Perdue took a deep breath and appreciated how far the crowd was from him and Patrick. "Let's go," he said, and pressed the button to start the Land Rover. It had no lights on other than those on the dashboard, but some people at the entrance to the mountain could hear the engine idling. Perdue decided that he should use their moment of confusion to his advantage, and he rushed to Patrick with a screeching car.
  
  "Jump! Faster!" he called out to Patrick as he was about to reach him. The MI6 agent lunged at the wheelbarrow, nearly knocking it over with his speed, but Purdue's adrenaline held it in place.
  
  "Here they are! Kill those bastards! roared the man, pointing at two men speeding towards the Land Rover with a wheelbarrow.
  
  "God, I hope he has a full tank!" Patrick yelled as he drove the rickety iron bucket right into the passenger door of the 4x4. "My spine! My bones are in my ass, Purdue. Lord, you're killing me here!" was all the crowd could hear as they rushed towards the fleeing men.
  
  When they got to 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 lunatics convinced him to use his reserve powers and he threw his body into the car. They set off, wheels spinning, hurling rocks at anyone in the crowd who got too close. Then Perdue finally stepped on the pedal and covered some distance between them and a gang of bloodthirsty locals.
  
  "How long do we have to get to Dansha?" Perdue asked Patrick.
  
  "About three hours before Sam and Nina are due to meet us there," Patrick told him. He glanced at the gas gauge. "My God! it will not take us further than 200 kilometers."
  
  "It's all right as long as we're moving away from Satan's bee hive on our trail," Purdue 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 are still alive."
  
  Patrick groaned every time the Land Rover jumped over a pothole or jerked when shifting gears. His ankle was killing him, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
  
  "You knew all along about Carter. Why did not 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 be involved."
  
  "And this business with his family? Have you sent someone to take care of them too?" Patrick asked.
  
  "Oh my God, Patrick! I am not a terrorist. I was bluffing," Purdue assured him. "I needed to shake his cage, and thanks to Sam's research and the mole in Karsten'... Carter's office, we've received information that his wife and daughters are on their way to his home in Austria."
  
  "Impossible to fucking believe," Patrick replied. "You and Sam should sign up as Her Majesty's agents, you understand? You are insane, reckless and secretive to the point of hysteria, you two. And Dr. Gould is not far behind."
  
  "Well, thanks, Patrick," Perdue smiled. "But we like our freedom, you know, to do the dirty work without being seen."
  
  "No shit," Patrick sighed. "What mole did Sam use?"
  
  "I don't know," Purdue replied.
  
  "David, who is this fucking mole? I won't slap a guy, trust me," Patrick snapped.
  
  "No, I really don't know," Purdue insisted. "He reached out to Sam as soon as he discovered Sam's clumsy hack into Karsten's personal files. Instead of setting him up, he offered to get us the information we needed on the condition that Sam expose Karsten for who he is."
  
  Patrick ran the information through his head. It made sense, but after this assignment, he was no longer sure who to trust. "Krot" gave you Karsten"s personal details, including the location of his property and the like?"
  
  "Right down to his blood type," Purdue said, smiling.
  
  "However, how does Sam plan to expose Karsten? He could legally own the property, and I'm sure the head of military intelligence knows how to cover up the traces of bureaucratic red tape," suggested Patrick.
  
  "Oh, it is," Perdue agreed. "But he chose the wrong snakes to play with Sam, Nina and me. Sam and his "mole" have hacked into the communication systems of the servers that Karsten uses for his own purposes. As we speak, the alchemist responsible for the diamond murders and global catastrophes is on his way to Karsten's mansion in the Salzkammergut."
  
  "For what?" Patrick asked.
  
  "Karsten announced that he has a diamond to sell," Purdue shrugged. "A very rare primary stone called the Sudanese Eye. Like the first-class Celeste and Pharaoh stones, the Sudanese eye can interact with any of the smaller diamonds that King Solomon made after the completion of his Temple. Prime numbers are needed to free every plague bound by the seventy-two King Solomon."
  
  "Charming. And now what we're experiencing here is forcing us to reconsider our cynicism," Patrick noted. "Without prime numbers, the Magician cannot perform his diabolical alchemy?"
  
  Perdue nodded. "Our Egyptian friends at the Dragonwatchers have informed us that, according to their scrolls, King Solomon's magicians tied each stone to a specific celestial body," he relayed. "Of course, the text preceding the familiar scriptures states that there were two hundred fallen angels, and that seventy-two of them were summoned by Solomon. This is where star cards come into play with each diamond."
  
  "Does Karsten have a Sudanese eye?" Patrick asked.
  
  "No, I have. This is one of two diamonds that my brokers were able to acquire, respectively, from a bankrupt Hungarian baroness and an Italian widower who wants to start a new life away from his mafia relatives, can you imagine? I have two prime numbers out of three. The other, "Celeste", is in the possession of the Wizard."
  
  "And Karsten put them up for sale?" Patrick frowned as he tried to make sense of it all.
  
  "Sam did this using Karsten's personal email," Purdue explained. "Karsten has no idea that the Magician, Mr. Raya, will come to purchase his next top quality diamond from him."
  
  "Oh, it's good!" Patrick smiled, clapping his hands. "As long as we can deliver the remaining diamonds to Master Penekal and Ofar, Raya can't come up with any other surprises. I pray to God that Nina and Sam manage to get them."
  
  "How can we contact Sam and Nina? My devices got lost in the circus," asked Patrick.
  
  "Here," Purdue said. "Just scroll down to Sam's name and see if satellites can connect us."
  
  Patrick did as Perdue asked. The small speaker clicked randomly. Suddenly, Sam's voice crackled faintly over the speaker, "Where the hell have you been? We have been trying to connect for hours!"
  
  "Sam," said Patrick, "we are on our way from Axum, traveling empty. When you get there, could you pick us up if we send you the coordinates?"
  
  "Look, we're up to our necks in shit," Sam said. "I," he sighed, "I sort of...fooled the pilot and hijacked a military rescue helicopter. Long story."
  
  "My God!" Patrick yelped, throwing his hands in the air.
  
  "They just landed here on the airstrip in Danche, as I forced them to, but we are going to be arrested. There are soldiers everywhere, so I don't think we can help you," Sam lamented.
  
  In the background, Purdue could hear the sound of a helicopter propeller and people screaming. It sounded like a war zone to him. "Sam, did you get the diamonds?"
  
  "Nina got them, but now they're probably going to be confiscated," Sam reported, sounding completely miserable and furious. "In any case, check your coordinates."
  
  Purdue's face twisted into focus, as it always did when he had to plan a way out of a predicament. Patrick took a very deep breath. "Fresh from the frying pan."
  
  
  33
  Apocalypse over the Salzkammergut
  
  
  Under the drizzle, Karsten's extensive green gardens looked unblemished. In the gray veil of rain, the colors of the flowers seemed almost luminescent, and the trees towered majestically in lush fullness. However, for some reason, all natural beauty could not contain the heavy feeling of loss, doom, which was in the air.
  
  "God, what a pathetic paradise you live in, Joseph," remarked Liam Johnson as he parked his car under a shady cluster of silver birches and lush fir trees on the hill above the property. "Just like your father, Satan."
  
  In his hand he held a pouch containing several cubic zirconia and one rather large stone, which Perdue's assistant had provided at the request of her boss. Under Sam's guidance, Liam had visited Reichtishusis two days earlier to collect stones from Purdue's private collection. The pretty forty-something lady who manages Purdue's money business was kind enough to warn Liam of the disappearance with the certified diamonds.
  
  "Steal this and I'll cut your balls off with a stupid nail clipper, okay?" the charming Scottish lady said to Liam as she handed over the pouch that he was supposed to plant at Karsten's mansion. It was a really nice memory, because she also looked like a type - sort of ... Miss Moneypenny meets American Mary.
  
  Once inside the easily accessible country estate, Liam remembered scrutinizing the blueprints of the house to find his way to the office where Karsten did all his secret business. Outside, you could hear the mid-level security people chatting with the housekeeper. Carsten's wife and daughters had arrived two hours earlier, and all three retired to their bedrooms to get some sleep.
  
  Liam entered the small lobby at the end of the first floor's east wing. He picked the cabinet's lock with ease and gave the entourage one more spy before entering.
  
  "God damn it!" he whispered, making 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 out 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 by Himmler and Göring, and several busts of other high-ranking SS commanders. A banner hung on the wall behind his chair. "Never! Order of the Black Sun," Liam confirmed, creeping closer to the horrific symbol embroidered in black silk thread on red satin fabric. What bothered Liam the most was the repetitive video clips of award ceremonies held by the Nazi Party in 1944, which were constantly playing on a flat screen monitor. Inadvertently, it turned into another picture, which depicted the hideous face of Yvette Wolf, daughter of Karl Wolf, SS Obergruppenführer. "That's her," Liam muttered softly, "Mother."
  
  Brace yourselves, boy, Liam's inner voice urged. You don't want to spend your last moment in that hole, do you?
  
  For a seasoned covert operative and technological espionage expert like Liam Johnson, hacking Karsten's safe was child's play. In the safe, Liam found another document with the Black Sun symbol on it, an official memorandum to all members that the Order had tracked down the exiled Egyptian Freemason Abdul Raya. Karsten and his senior colleagues arranged for Rai's release from a hospital in Turkey after a study introduced them to his work during World War II.
  
  His age alone, the fact that he was still alive and well, were incomprehensible traits that Black Sun admired. In the opposite corner of the room, Liam also set up a CCTV monitor with sound, similar to Karsten's personal cameras. The only difference was that this one sent messages to Mr. Joe Carter's security team, where they could easily be intercepted by Interpol and other government agencies.
  
  Liam's mission was an elaborate job of unmasking the backstab leader of MI6 and exposing his closely guarded secret on live television as soon as Perdue activated it. Along with the information obtained by Sam Cleve for his exclusive reporting, Joe Carter's reputation was in grave danger.
  
  "Where are they?" Karsten's shrill voice echoed through the house, frightening the stalking MI6 intruder. Liam quickly put the bag of diamonds in the safe and closed it as fast as he could.
  
  "Who, sir?" the security officer asked.
  
  "My wife! M-m-my daughters, you fucking idiots!" he barked, his voice blasting past the office doors and whining all the way up the stairs. Liam could hear the sound of the intercom next to the looped recording on the monitor in the office.
  
  "Herr Carsten, a man has come to see you, sir. His name is Abdul Raya?" - announced a voice over all the intercoms in the house.
  
  "What?" Karsten's squeal came from above. Liam could only laugh at his successful framing work. "I don"t have an appointment with him! He is supposed to be in Bruges wreaking havoc!"
  
  Liam crept to the office door, listening to Karsten's objections. Thus, he could track the whereabouts of the traitor. The MI6 agent slipped out of a second-floor restroom window to avoid the main areas now haunted by paranoid security personnel. Laughing, he jogged away from the ominous walls of a terrible paradise, in which a terrible confrontation was about to take place.
  
  "Are you crazy, Raya? Since when do I have diamonds to sell?" Karsten barked as he stood at the door of his office.
  
  "Mr. Karsten, you contacted me offering to sell the Sudanese Eye Stone," Raya replied calmly, his black eyes twinkling.
  
  "Sudanese eye? What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about?" Karsten hissed. "We did not release you for this, Raya! We have released you to fulfill our request, to bring the world to its knees! Now you come and bother me with this absurd shit?"
  
  Rai's lips twitched, revealing disgusting 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!" Ray seethed with anger. "I am the great sage, the magician responsible for the locust invasion of North Africa in 1943, the courtesy I showed the Nazi forces towards the Allied forces stationed in the godforsaken barren land on which they shed their blood!"
  
  Karsten leaned back in his chair, sweating profusely. "I... I n-have no diamonds, Mr. Raya, I swear!"
  
  "Prove it!" Rai screamed. "Show me your safes and chests. If I don't find anything and you've wasted my precious time, I'll turn you inside out while you're alive."
  
  "Oh my God!" Karsten howled, staggering towards the safe. His eyes fell on the portrait of his mother, who was staring at him. He remembered Purdue's words about his spineless running away when he abandoned the old woman when her home was invaded to save Purdue. After all, when news of her death reached the Order, there were already questions about the circumstances, as Karsten was with her that night. How is it that he ran away and she didn't? The "Black Sun" was an organization of evil, but all of their members were men and women with powerful intellects and powerful means.
  
  When Karsten opened his safe in relative safety, he was confronted with a terrible vision. A few diamonds gleamed from a discarded pouch in the darkness of a wall-mounted safe. "It's impossible," he said. "This is impossible! That's not mine!"
  
  Raya pushed the trembling fool aside and collected the diamonds in his palm. Then he turned to Karsten with a bloodcurdling frown. His emaciated face and black hair gave him the distinct look of some kind of harbinger of death, perhaps the Reaper himself. Karsten called his security personnel, but no one answered.
  
  
  34
  Top hundred pounds
  
  
  When the Chinook landed on an abandoned airstrip outside Dansha, three military jeeps were parked in front of the Hercules plane Perdue had rented for a tour of Ethiopia.
  
  "We're screwed," Nina muttered, still clutching the wounded pilot's leg with her bloodied hands. Nothing threatened his health, since Sam aimed at the outer part of the thigh, as a result of which he had nothing worse than a minor wound. The side door opened and the citizens were let out before the soldiers came to take Nina away. Sam had already been disarmed and thrown into the back seat of one of the jeeps.
  
  They confiscated two bags that Sam and Nina had and handcuffed them.
  
  "You think you can come to my country and steal?" the Captain called to them. "Do you think you can use our air patrol as your personal taxi? Hey?"
  
  "Look, it will be a tragedy if we don't get to Egypt soon!" Sam tried to explain, but he got punched in the gut for it.
  
  "Please listen!" Nina pleaded. "We have to get to Cairo to stop the floods and power outages before the whole world collapses!"
  
  "Why not stop earthquakes at the same time, huh?" The captain taunted her, squeezing Nina's graceful jaw in his rough hand.
  
  "Captain Ifili, take your hands off the woman!" ordered a male voice, urging the captain to obey immediately. "Let her go. And the man too."
  
  "With all due respect, sir," the captain said, not leaving Nina, "she robbed the monastery, and then this ungrateful one," he growled, kicking Sam, "had the audacity 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 have you court-martialed for insubordination. I may be retired, but I'm still the main financial donor to the Ethiopian army," the man roared.
  
  "Yes, sir," the captain replied, and gestured for the men to release Sam and Nina. When he stepped aside, Nina couldn't believe who her savior was. "Col. Yemen?"
  
  Beside him, his personal retinue, four in all, was waiting. "Your pilot informed me of the purpose of your visit to Tana Kirkos, Dr. Gould," Yimenu told Nine. "And since I am in your debt, I have no choice but to clear the way for you to Cairo. I will leave at your disposal two of my men and security clearance from Ethiopia via Eritrea and Sudan to Egypt."
  
  Nina and Sam exchanged looks of bewilderment and disbelief. "Um, thanks, Colonel," she said carefully. "But may I ask why you are helping us? It's no secret that you and I got up on the wrong foot."
  
  "Despite your terrible judgment of my culture, Dr. Gould, and your virulent attacks on my privacy, you saved my son's life. For this, I cannot help but release you from any vendetta I may have had against you", col. Yemenu yielded.
  
  "Oh my god, I feel like shit right now," she muttered.
  
  "I'm sorry?" he asked.
  
  Nina smiled and extended her hand to him. "I said, I would like to apologize to you for my assumptions and my harsh statements."
  
  "Did you save someone?" Sam asked, still reeling from the blow to the stomach.
  
  Qty. Yimenu looked at the journalist, allowing him to withdraw his statement. "She saved my son from imminent drowning when the monastery flooded. Many died last night, and my Cantu would have been among them if Dr. Gould hadn't pulled him out of the water. He called me just as I was about to join Mr. Perdue and others inside the mountain to oversee the return of the Sacred Box, calling it Solomon's angel. He told me her name and that she had stolen the skull. I would say that this is hardly a crime worthy of the death penalty."
  
  Sam glanced at Nina over the viewfinder of his compact camcorder and winked. It would be better if no one knew what the skull contained. Shortly thereafter, Sam went with one of Yemenu's men after Perdue and Patrick to where their stolen Land Rover ran out of diesel. They managed to get over half way before coming to a stop, so it didn't take long for Sam's car to find them.
  
  
  Three days later
  
  
  With Yemenu'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 Watcher sanctuary.
  
  "Have you seen the news?" Perdue asked. "They found Karsten's mansion completely deserted, except for the traces of a fire that left soot on the walls. He is officially listed as missing along with his family."
  
  "And we... he... put those diamonds in the safe?" Sam asked.
  
  "Disappeared," Purdue replied. "Either the Wizard took them before realizing they were fake, or Black Sun took them when they came to pick up their traitor to answer for his mother abandoning him."
  
  "Whatever form the Wizard left him in," Nina cringed. "You heard what he did to Madame Chantal, her assistant and housekeeper that night. God knows what he came up with for Karsten."
  
  "Whatever happened to that Nazi pig, I'm thrilled about it and don't feel bad at all," Purdue said. They climbed the last flight, still feeling the effects of their painful journey.
  
  After a tiring journey back to Cairo, Patrick was admitted to a local clinic to fix his ankle and stayed at the hotel while Perdue, Sam and Nina climbed the stairs to the observatory where Masters Penekal and Ofar were waiting.
  
  "Welcome!" Ofar chimed, 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 there will be an ocean above us," Penekal's cynical grunt came from a hill where he was looking through a telescope.
  
  "Looks like you guys survived another world war," Ofar remarked. "I hope you didn't get any serious injuries."
  
  "They will leave scars, Master Ofar," said Nina, "but we are still alive and well."
  
  The entire observatory was adorned 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 Purdue. "But weren't they promised by Prof. Imru?"
  
  "Could you take a chance and leave them at his disposal, along with the alchemical rituals he knows?" Perdue asked Ofar.
  
  "Absolutely not, but I thought it was your deal," Ofar said.
  
  "Prof. Imru finds out that Joseph Carsten stole them from us when he tried to kill us on Mount Yeha, so we can't get them back, you know?" Perdue explained with great amusement.
  
  "So we can store them here in our vaults to thwart any other sinister alchemy?" Ofar asked.
  
  "Yes, sir," Purdue confirmed. "I purchased two of the three common diamonds through private sales in Europe and as per the deal, as you know, what I bought remains mine."
  
  "Fair enough," Penekal said. "I'd rather you keep them for yourself. In this way, the prime numbers will be kept separate from..." he quickly appraised the diamonds, "...the other sixty-two of King Solomon's diamonds.
  
  "So the Wizard has used ten of them so far to cause the plague?" Sam asked.
  
  "Yes," Ofar confirmed. "Using one prime number, Celeste. But they've already been set free, so he can't do any more harm until he can get these and Mr. Perdue's two primes."
  
  "Good show," Sam said. "And now your alchemist will destroy the epidemics?"
  
  "Not undo, but stop the current damage, unless the Wizard lays hands on them before our alchemist has reformed their composition to render them powerless," Penekal replied.
  
  Ofar wanted to change the painful subject. "I heard you made a whole exposure &# 233; failure of corruption in MI6, Mr. Cleve."
  
  "Yes, it will air on Monday," Sam said proudly. "I had to edit and retell it all in two days while I was tormented by a knife wound."
  
  "Great job," Penekal smiled. "Especially when it comes to military matters, the country should not be left in the dark...so to speak." He looked at Cairo, still devoid of power. "But now that the missing head of MI6 is shown on international television, who will take his place?"
  
  Sam smirked, "Looks like Special Agent Patrick Smith is getting promoted for his outstanding prowess in bringing Joe Carter to justice. And count. Yimenu also supported his impeccable feats in front of the camera."
  
  "It's great," Ofar was delighted. "I hope our alchemist will hurry up," 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," Penekal said. "You worry too much. Remember, life is unpredictable."
  
  "This is definitely for the unprepared," came an angry voice from the top of the stairs. They all turned around, feeling the air grow cold with malevolence.
  
  "Oh my God!" Perdue exclaimed.
  
  "Who is this?" Sam asked.
  
  "This... this... sage!" Ofar answered, trembling and clutching his chest. Penekal stood in front of his friend as Sam stood in front of Nina. Perdue stood in front of everyone.
  
  "Will you be my opponent, tall man?" asked the Magician politely.
  
  "Yes," Perdue replied.
  
  "Perdue, what do you think you are doing?" Nina hissed in horror.
  
  "Don't do it," Sam Purdue said, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "You can't be a martyr out of guilt. People prefer to do shit to you, remember. We choose!"
  
  "I ran out of patience and my course was delayed enough because that pig lost twice in Austria," Raya growled. "Now hand over Solomon's stones, or I'll skin you all alive."
  
  Nina held the diamonds behind her back, unaware that the unnatural being had a flair 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 terrible teeth in Nina's face. She couldn't defend herself as her hands held the diamonds tightly.
  
  With terrifying force, he grabbed Nina and turned her towards him. She pressed her back against his stomach, he pulled her against him to unclench her arms.
  
  "Nina! Don't give them to him!" Sam growled, rising to his feet. Perdue was creeping up on them from the other side. Nina was crying in horror, her body shaking in the terrible embrace of the Magician, when his claw painfully squeezed her left breast.
  
  A strange scream escaped him, growing into a cry of terrible agony. Ofar and Penekal stepped back, and Perdue stopped crawling to find out what was going on. Nina couldn't get away from him, but his grip on her quickly loosened as 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 said with her lips, I don't know.
  
  It was then that Penekal had the audacity to walk around to determine what was happening to the screeching Wizard. His eyes widened as he saw the tall, thin sage's lips fall apart along with his eyelids. His hand rested on Nina's chest, shedding her skin as if he was being electrocuted. The smell of burning flesh filled the room.
  
  Ofar exclaimed and pointed to Nina's chest: "It's a mark on her skin!"
  
  "What?" Penekal asked, looking more closely. He noticed what his friend was talking about and his face lit up. "Doctor Mark Gould destroys the Sage! Look! Look," he smiled, "this is the Seal of Solomon!"
  
  "What?" I asked. Perdue asked, holding out his hands to Nina.
  
  "Seal of Solomon!" Penecal repeated. "A trap for demons, a weapon against demons, which is 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 paused for a moment in astonished silence.
  
  "The best hundred pounds I've ever spent," Nina said in an unremarkable tone, stroking her tattoo, seconds before she passed out.
  
  "Best moment I've ever filmed," Sam lamented.
  
  As soon as they all began to recover from the incredible madness they had just witnessed, the alchemist appointed by Penecal lazily walked up the stairs. In a completely indifferent tone, he announced: "Sorry, I'm late. Refurbishment at Talinki's Fish & Chips kept me for dinner. But now my belly is full and I'm ready to save the world."
  
  
  ***END***
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Preston W. Child
  Scrolls of Atlantis
  
  
  Prologue
  
  
  
  Serapeum, temple - 391 AD e.
  
  
  An ominous gust of wind rose from the Mediterranean Sea, breaking the silence that reigned over the peaceful city of Alexandria. In the middle of the night, only oil lamps and firelight were visible in the streets as five figures disguised as monks moved quickly through the city. From a high stone window, a boy barely in his teens watched them as they walked, mute as the monks were known to be. He pulled his mother to him and pointed at them.
  
  She smiled and assured him that they were on their way to midnight mass at one of the city's temples. The boy's large brown eyes followed the tiny specks beneath him in fascination, tracing their shadows with his gaze as the black, elongated shapes lengthened each time they passed the fire. In particular, he could clearly observe one person who was hiding something under his clothes, something substantial, the form of which he could not discern.
  
  It was a mild late summer night, the street was full of people and the warm lights reflected off the fun. Above them, the stars twinkled in the clear sky, while below, massive merchant ships rose like breathing giants on the rising and falling waves of the tossing sea. From time to time a burst of laughter or the sound of a broken jug of wine broke the atmosphere of anxiety, but the boy was used to it. A breeze played in his dark hair as he leaned over the windowsill to get a better look at the mysterious group of holy men he was so fascinated by.
  
  When they reached the next crossroads, he saw them suddenly run away, albeit at the same speed, in different directions. The boy frowned, wondering if they each attended different ceremonies in different parts of the city. His mother was talking to her guests and told him to go to sleep. Fascinated by the strange movement of the holy people, the boy donned his own robe and sneaked past his family and their guests into the main room. Barefoot, he descended the stonework of the wide steps on the wall to descend to the street below.
  
  He was determined to follow one of these people and see what the strange formation was. The 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. A robed figure walked past a 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 like a spear at the thought of even setting foot on the same ground as the pagan place of worship, but his curiosity only intensified. He should have known why.
  
  Across the entire width of the quiet lane, the majestic temple appeared in full view. Still chasing the thief monk, the boy diligently pursued his shadow, hoping to stay close to the man of God at a time like this. His heart pounded in awe before the temple, where he heard his parents tell of the Christian martyrs kept there by the pagans to inspire the pope and the king with their rivalry. The boy lived in times of great upheaval, when the conversion of paganism to Christianity was evident across the continent. In Alexandria, the conversion became bloody, and he was afraid to be even so close to such a powerful symbol, the very home of the pagan god Serapis.
  
  He could see two other monks in the side streets, but they were just keeping watch. He followed the robed figure into the flat, square façade of the mighty structure, almost losing sight of him. The boy was not as fast as the monk, but in the dark he could follow his steps. In front of it was a large courtyard, and across it stood an elevated structure on majestic columns, which represented all the splendor of the temple. When the boy stopped being surprised, he realized that he was left alone and lost track of the holy man who brought him here.
  
  But still, prompted by the fantastic prohibition from which he suffered, by that excitement that only the forbidden could give, he remained. Voices were heard nearby, where two pagans, one of whom was a priest of Serapis, were heading towards the building of the great pillars. The boy crept closer and began to listen to them.
  
  "I will not succumb to this delusion, Salodius! I will not allow this new religion to win the glory of our ancestors, our gods!" - hoarsely whispered a man who looked like a priest. In his hands he carried a collection of scrolls, while his companion carried a golden figurine of a half-human half-breed under his arm. He held a stack of papyrus in his hand as they made their way to the entrance at the right corner of the courtyard. From what he heard, it was the chambers of a man, Salodius.
  
  "You know, I will do everything in my power to protect our secrets, Your Grace. You know that I will give my life," said Salodius.
  
  "I fear that this oath will soon be tested by the Christian horde, my friend. They will try to destroy every last remnant of our existence in their heretical purge disguised as piety," the priest chuckled bitterly. "It is for this reason that I will never convert to their faith. What hypocrisy can be higher than betrayal when you make yourself a god over people, when you claim that you serve the god of people?
  
  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 ground of his great city. Outside the quarters of Salodius 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 could not see what they were doing.
  
  Motivated by his growing interest in their affairs, he decided to sneak inside and see for himself why the two men had gone silent, as if they were just residual ghosts of a previous event. But because of the place where he was hiding, the boy heard a brief fuss and froze in his place so that he would not be found. To his amazement, he saw the monk and two other robed men move past him in quick succession, and they entered the room in quick succession. A few minutes later, an astonished boy watched as they appeared, blood spattered on the brown cloth they wore to disguise their uniforms.
  
  They are not monks! This is the Papal Guard of the Coptic Pope Theophilus! He exclaimed in his mind, which made his heart beat faster with horror and awe. Too scared to move, he waited for them to leave to find more pagans. To the quiet room he ran on bent legs, moving crouched to ensure his unnoticed presence in this terrible place sanctified by the pagans. He slipped into the room unnoticed and closed the door behind him to hear if anyone came in.
  
  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 fell silent.
  
  So it's true. Christian guardians are as bloodthirsty as the heretics their faith condemns, the boy thought. This sobering revelation broke his heart. The priest was right. Pope Theophilus and his servants of God do this only for the sake of power over people, and not for the exaltation of the father. Doesn't that make them as evil as the pagans?
  
  At his age, the boy was incapable of reconciling himself to the barbarity of people who claimed to be serving the doctrine of love. He winced in horror at the sight of their slit throats and choked on a smell that reminded him of the sheep his father had slaughtered, a warm coppery stench that his mind forced him to recognize was human.
  
  God of love and forgiveness? Do the pope and his church love their fellow men and forgive those who sin? He struggled in his head, but the more he thought about it, the more compassion he felt for the murdered people on the floor. Then he remembered the papyrus they carried with them and began to rummage through everything as quietly as he could.
  
  Outside, in the yard, the boy heard more and more noise, as if the stalkers had now given up their secrecy. From time to time he could hear someone screaming in agony, often followed by the sound of steel on steel. Something happened to his city that night. He knew it. He felt it in the whisper of the sea breeze that drowned out the creaking of merchant ships, the ominous premonition that this night was unlike any other.
  
  Furiously opening the lids of chests and cupboards, he could not find the documents he had seen Salodius bring to his quarters. Finally, in the growing tumult of the violent religious warfare in the temple, the boy fell to his knees, exhausted. Next to the dead pagans, he wept bitterly because of the shock caused by the truth and the betrayal of his faith.
  
  "I don"t want to be a Christian anymore!" he shouted, not afraid that they would find him now. "I will be a pagan and defend the old ways! I renounce my faith and put it in the way of the first nations of this world!" he wailed. "Make me your protector, Serapis!"
  
  The clash of weapons and the screams of those being killed were so loud that his cries would have been interpreted as just another sound of carnage. Frantic screams warned him that something far more destructive had happened, and he ran to the window to see the pillars in the section of the great temple above being destroyed one by one. But the real threat came from the very building he occupied. A searing heat touched his face as he looked out the window. Flames as tall as tall trees licked the buildings as statues fell with mighty thuds that sounded like the tread of giants.
  
  Petrified and sobbing, the frightened boy was looking for an emergency exit, but as he jumped over the lifeless corpse of Salodius, his leg caught on the man's arm, and he collapsed heavily to the floor. After recovering from the blow, the boy saw a panel under the cabinet, which he searched. It was a wooden panel hidden in the concrete floor. With great difficulty, he pushed aside the wooden cabinet and lifted the lid. Inside, he found a bunch of ancient scrolls and maps that he was looking for.
  
  He looked at the dead man, who he believed pointed him in the right direction, literally and spiritually. "My thanks to you, Salodius. Your death will not be in vain," he smiled, clutching the scrolls to his chest. Using his small body as his asset, he made his way through one of the conduits that ran under the temple as a storm drain and escaped unnoticed.
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  Bern stared up at the vast blue expanse above him, which seemed to stretch on forever, interrupted only by a pale brown line where a flat plain marked the horizon. His cigarette was the only sign that the wind was blowing, blowing its hazy white smoke to the east as his steely blue eyes scanned the perimeter. He was exhausted, but he didn't dare show it. Such absurdities would undermine his authority. Being one of the 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 retain their unit's name in the hazy whispers of the natives and the muffled tones of those far beyond the oceans. His hair was shaved short, his scalp visible under a black-and-gray stubble that had not been tousled by the gusty wind. Pressed between pursed lips, his hand-rolled cigarette flashed an instant orange flash before he swallowed its formless venom and tossed the cigarette butt over the balcony railing. Beneath 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 others. Bern ran his fingers through his black and gray mustache and beard, stroking them several times until they were neat and without any trace of ash. He didn't need a uniform-none of them did-but their rigid discipline betrayed their background and their training. Its people were highly regimented, and each was trained to perfection in various fields, their membership dependent on knowing a little of everything and specializing in most. The fact that they lived in seclusion and kept a strict fast in no way meant that they had the morality or chastity of monks.
  
  In fact, the people of Bern were a bunch of tough, multiracial bastards who liked everything most savages did, but learned to use their pleasures. As long as each man carried out his task and all his missions with diligence, Bern and his two companions allowed their pack to be the dogs they were.
  
  This gave them excellent cover, the appearance of mere brutes doing the bidding of military brands and desecrating anything that dared to cross their fence threshold without good reason or carry any currency or flesh. However, every man under Bern's command was highly skilled and educated. Historians, gunsmiths, medical workers, archaeologists and linguists walked shoulder to shoulder with murderers, 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 went through several grueling mind games as heartless as his physical training regimen during the years the German served in the Russian special forces. Being under his wing, he was gradually oriented by his immediate commander to the secret missions of the secret German order. After becoming a very effective agent for this secret group of German aristocracy and world tycoons with nefarious plans, Berne was finally offered an entry-level mission whereby he was granted Level 5 membership if successful.
  
  When it became clear that he had to kidnap the infant child of a member of the British Council and kill the child if his parents did not comply with the terms of the organization, Bern realized that he was serving a group of powerful and repulsive bloodlines 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 knew from reliable sources that the members operated under various government agencies, that their tentacles penetrated far beyond Eastern European prisons and Hollywood studios, down to imperial banks and real estate in the United Arab Emirates and Singapore.
  
  In fact, Berne soon recognized them as the devil, the shadows; all things that were invisible but omnipresent.
  
  Leading a mutiny of like-minded operatives and second-level members with vast powers of their own, Bern and his colleagues defected from the order and decided to make it their sole goal to destroy all subordinates and members of the Black Sun's high council without exception.
  
  Thus was born the Renegade Brigade, the rebels responsible for the most successful countermeasure the Order of the Black Sun has ever faced, the only enemy horrifying enough to merit a warning within the Chapter's ranks.
  
  Now the Renegade Brigade made its presence known at every opportunity to remind the Black Sun that they had an intimidatingly competent enemy, although not as powerful in the world of information technology and finance as the order, but superior in ability to tactical approach. and intelligence. The latter were skills that could uproot and destroy governments, even without the help of limitless wealth and resources.
  
  Bern passed under 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 be that as it may, he was working on the hundredth piece, which claimed to know nothing. Bern had always marveled that their displays of loyalty never got them anywhere, and yet they seemed to feel compelled to sacrifice themselves for an organization that kept them in line and repeatedly proved to reject their efforts for granted. For what?
  
  In any case, the psychology of these slaves proved how some invisible force of malicious intent had managed to turn hundreds of thousands of normal, good people into masses of uniformed tin soldiers marching for the Nazis. Something about the Black Sun acted with the same fear-inspired brilliance that made decent men under Hitler burn live babies and watch children suffocate from gas fumes while they called for their mothers. Every time he destroyed one of them, he felt relieved; not so much because of getting rid of the presence of another enemy, but because he was not like them.
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  Nina choked on her hodgepodge. Sam couldn't help but chuckle at her sudden jerk and the odd expression she made, and she censured him with a narrowed look that quickly straightened him out.
  
  "Sorry, Nina," he said, trying in vain to hide his amusement, "but she just told you that the soup is hot, and you just go and stick a full spoon into it. What do you think should have happened?"
  
  Nina's tongue was numb from the scalding soup she had tasted too soon, but she could still swear.
  
  "Do I need to remind you how fucking hungry I am?" she chuckled.
  
  "Yes, at least fourteen more times," he said with his annoying boyishness, which made her tightly clench the spoon in her fist under the blinding light bulb in Katya Strenkova's kitchen. It smelled of mold 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 brusque businesslikeness of Russian families.
  
  It has been two days since Nina, Sam and Alexander crossed the continent by train and finally reached Novosibirsk, from where Alexander gave them all a lift in a rented car that was not roadworthy, which took them to Strenkov's farm on the Argut River , north of the border between Mongolia and Russia.
  
  Since Perdue left their company in Belgium, Sam and Nina were now at the mercy of the experience and loyalty of Alexander, by far the most reliable of all the unreliable people they had dealt with lately. The night that Perdue disappeared with the captive Renata of the Order of the Black Sun, Nina gave Sam his nanite cocktail, the same as hers, which Perdue had given to rid them both of the Black Sun's all-seeing eye. As much as she hoped, it was as frank as he could be, given that she preferred Sam Cleve's affections to Dave Perdue's wealth. By his departure, he assured her that he was far from giving up his claim to her heart, despite the fact that it was not 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 to gain access to the renegade compound where Black Sun's rivals kept their stronghold. This would have been a very dangerous and exhausting task, since they no longer had their trump card - the future deposed Renata from the Black Sun. Yet Alexander, Sam, and Nina knew that the defector clan was their only refuge from the Order's relentless pursuit to find and kill them.
  
  Even if they managed to convince the rebel leader that they weren't spies for the order's Renata, they had no idea what the Renegade Brigade had in mind to prove it. That in itself was a scary idea at best.
  
  The people who guarded their fortress at Monkh Saridag, the highest peak of the Sayan Mountains, were not the kind to joke with. Their reputation was well known to Sam and Nina, as they had learned during their imprisonment at the Black Sun headquarters in Bruges less than two weeks prior. It was still fresh in their minds how Renata was about to send either Sam or Nina on a fateful mission to infiltrate the Renegade Brigade and steal the coveted Longinus, a weapon about which not much has been revealed. So far, they have never figured out if the so-called Longinus mission was a legitimate mission or just a ruse to satisfy Renata's vicious appetite to send her victims to cat-and-mouse games to make their deaths more entertaining and sophisticated for her amusement.
  
  Alexander set out alone on a reconnaissance trip to see what kind of security the Renegade Brigade provided in their territory. With his technical knowledge and survival training, he was hardly a match for the likes of the renegades, but he and his two comrades couldn't hole up on Katya's farm forever. In the end, they had to contact a group of rebels, 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 somehow the order was still tracking the three of them, they certainly wouldn't be looking for the hand of a lone farmer in a battered LDV (light duty vehicle) on the plains of Mongolia or along the Russian river. In addition, he knew his homeland like the back of his hand, which contributed to faster travel and better command of the language. If one of his colleagues is interrogated by officials, their lack of knowledge of the language could seriously hinder the plan unless they are captured or shot.
  
  He rode along a deserted little gravel road that meandered towards a mountain range that marked the border and silently heralded the beauty of Mongolia. The little vehicle was a battered old light blue thing that creaked with every movement of the wheels, causing the rosary on the rearview mirror to swing like a sacred pendulum. Just because it was a trip dear Katya, Alexander endured the annoying clatter of beads on the dashboard in the silence of the cabin, otherwise he would have torn the relic from the mirror and thrown it out the window. In addition, the area was quite forgotten by God. In the rosary there would be no salvation for this.
  
  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 swore at the tattered handle that couldn't lift the glass to give him any comfort from the cold breath of the flat wasteland he was crossing. A small voice inside him chided him for his ingratitude for still being alive after the heartbreaking events in Belgium, where his beloved Axel was killed and he narrowly escaped the same fate.
  
  Ahead, he could see the border post, where, fortunately, Katya's husband worked. Alexander took a quick glance at the rosary that had been scrawled on the dashboard of the shaking car, and he knew they, too, reminded him of that blessed blessing.
  
  "Yes! Da! I know. I know, damn it, - he croaked, looking at the swaying contraption.
  
  The frontier post was nothing more than another ramshackle little building, surrounded by extravagant lengths of old barbed wire and patrolling men with long guns just waiting for some action. They strolled lazily back and forth, some lighting cigarettes for their friends, others questioning a strange tourist who was trying to get through.
  
  Alexander saw among them Sergey Strenkov, who was photographed with a loud Australian woman who insisted on learning how 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 Maria", convincing her that this was exactly the phrase she asked for. Alexander had to laugh and shake his head as he listened to the conversation while he waited to talk to the guard.
  
  "Oh, wait, Dima! I'll take this one!" Sergei yelled at his colleague.
  
  "Alexander, you should have come at night," he muttered under his breath, pretending to ask for his friend's documents. Alexander handed him his documents and replied: "I would do that, but you finish before that, and I don"t trust anyone but you to know what I"m going to do on the other side of this fence, you understand?"
  
  Sergei nodded. He had a thick mustache and thick black eyebrows, which made him look even more intimidating in uniform. Both Sibiryak and Sergei and Katya were childhood friends of the crazy Alexander and spent many nights in prison because of his reckless ideas. Even then, the skinny, sturdy boy was a threat to anyone who sought 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 illegal fun adventures.
  
  But the three remained friends even after Alexander left to serve in the Gulf War as a navigator in one of the British units. His years as a scout and survival expert helped him quickly rise through the ranks until he became an independent contractor who quickly won the respect of all those organizations that hired him. In the meantime, Katya and Sergei were making steady progress in their academic lives, but lack of funding and political unrest in Moscow and Minsk, respectively, forced both of them to return to Siberia, where they reunited once more, almost a decade after leaving for more important things that did not take place.
  
  Katya inherited her grandparents' farm when her parents died in an explosion at the munitions factory where they worked when she was a second-year IT student at Moscow University, and she had to return to lay claim to the farm before her sold to the state. Sergey joined her, and the two of them settled there. Two years later, when Alexander the Unstable was invited to their wedding, the three got to know each other again, talking about their adventures over a few bottles of moonshine until they remembered those wild days as if they lived in them.
  
  Katya and Sergei found rural life enjoyable and eventually became church-going citizens, while their wild friend chose a life of danger and constant change of scenery. Now he called for their help to give him and two Scottish friends shelter until he could sort things out, leaving aside, of course, the danger he, Sam, and Nina were really in. Kind-hearted and always happy to have good company, the Strenkovs invited three friends to stay with them for a while.
  
  Now it was time to do what he came for, and Alexander promised his childhood friends that he and his companions would soon be out of danger.
  
  "Go through the left gate; those over there are falling apart. The padlock is fake, Alex. Just pull the chain and you'll see. Then go to the house by the river, there-" he pointed to nothing in particular, "about five kilometers away. There is a carrier, Costa. Give him some liquor or whatever you have in that flask. It is sinfully easy to bribe him," Sergey laughed, "and he will take you where you need to go."
  
  Sergei stuck his hand deep into his pocket.
  
  "Oh, I saw it," Alexander joked, embarrassing his friend with a healthy blush and a stupid laugh.
  
  "No, you're an idiot. Here, "Sergey handed Alexander the broken rosary.
  
  "Oh, Jesus, not another one of them," Alexander groaned. He saw the hard look Sergei gave him for blasphemy and raised his hand in apologetic tone.
  
  "This one is different from the one on the mirror. Listen, give this to one of the guards at the camp and he will take you to one of the captains, okay?" Sergei explained.
  
  "Why broken rosary?" Alexander asked, looking completely puzzled.
  
  "This is the symbol of the apostate. The renegade gang use that to identify each other," his friend nonchalantly replied.
  
  "Wait, how are you-?"
  
  "Never mind, my friend. I was in the military 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?" - Asked Alexander. He wondered if Sergei was just another leg of the Black Sun spider and if he could be trusted at all. Then he thought of Sam and Nina, unsuspectingly, at the manor.
  
  "Listen, you show up at my house with two strangers who have practically nothing with them: no money, no clothes, no fake documents... And you think I can't see a refugee when I see him? Besides, they are with you. And you don't run company with safe people. Now go on. And try to get back to the farm before midnight," Sergei said. He rapped on the roof of the wheeled garbage heap and whistled to the guard at the gate.
  
  Alexander nodded his thanks, placing the rosary on his knees as the car drove through the gate.
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  Purdue's glasses reflected the electronic circuitry in front of him, illuminating the darkness in which he sat. It was quiet, dead of night in his part of the world. He missed Reichtishusis, he missed Edinburgh and the carefree days he spent in his mansion, impressing guests and clients with his inventions and unsurpassed genius. The attention was so innocent, so gratuitous with its already known and obscenely impressive state, but he missed it. Back then, before he got into deep shit with revelations on Deep Sea One and an unfortunate choice of business partners in the Parashant desert, life was full of interesting adventure and romantic swindle.
  
  Now his wealth barely supported his life, and the safety of others fell on his shoulders. Try as he might, he found that holding everything together had become almost impossible. Nina, his lover, a recently lost ex-lover he intended to fully reclaim, was somewhere in Asia with a man she thinks she loves. Sam, his rival for Nina's love and (let's not deny it) a recent winner of similar contests, was always there to help Purdue in his endeavors - even when it was unjustified.
  
  His own safety was at stake, regardless of his personal safety, especially now that he had temporarily stopped the leadership of Black Sun. The council overseeing the leadership of the order was probably watching him and for some reason at the moment retained their ranks, and this made Purdue extremely nervous - and he was by no means a nervous person. All he could do was keep his head down until he devised a plan to join Nina and get her to safety until he figured out what to do if the council went into action.
  
  His head was pounding from the severe nosebleed he had suffered a few minutes ago, but now he couldn't stop. Too much was at stake.
  
  Over and over again Dave Perdue redesigned the device on his holographic screen, but there was something wrong that he just couldn't see. His concentration was not as sharp as ever, although he had just woken up from a nine-hour uninterrupted sleep. The headache was already there when he woke up, but this was not surprising, since he alone drank almost a whole bottle of red Johnnie Walker, sitting in front of the fireplace.
  
  "For heaven's sake!" Perdue screamed without a voice 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 for such an insignificant task as a simple electronic circuit, the likes of which he had already mastered at the age of fourteen. His grim demeanor and impatience had been the result of the last few days, and he knew he had to admit that leaving Nina with Sam had hurt him in the end.
  
  Usually his money and charm could take any prey with ease, and to top it off, he had Nina for over two years, and yet he took it for granted and disappeared from the radar, not bothering to tell her that he was alive. He was used to this behavior, and most people took it as part of his eccentricity, but now he knew that this was the first serious blow to their relationship. The birth only upset her even more, mainly because she knew then that he deliberately kept her in the dark, and then, in a fatal blow, dragged her into the most threatening confrontation with the mighty "Black Sun" to date.
  
  Perdue removed his glasses and placed them on the small bar stool next to him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he lightly pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and tried to clear his confused thoughts and return his mind to tech mode. The night was mild, but the wind made the dead trees lean towards the window and scratch like a cat trying to get inside. Something lurked at night outside the small bungalow where Purdue resided indefinitely while he planned his next move.
  
  It was difficult to distinguish between the relentless tapping of tree branches brought on by the storm and fiddling with a pick or flicking a spark plug against the windowpane. Perdue stopped to listen. Normally he wasn't a man of intuition at all, but now, in obedience to his own nascent instinct, he was faced with serious causticity.
  
  He knew better than to look, so he used one of his devices, not yet tested, before escaping under cover of night from his mansion in Edinburgh. It was a kind of spyglass, repurposed for more than just clearing the distance to scrutinize the actions of those who knew nothing. It contained an infrared feature complete with a red laser beam that resembled the beam of a task force rifle, however this laser could cut through most surfaces within a hundred yard radius. With the flick of a switch under his thumb, Purdue could adjust the spyglass to pick up heat signatures, so although he couldn't see through walls, he was able to detect any human body temperature when moving outside his wooden walls.
  
  He quickly climbed the nine steps of the wide makeshift staircase leading to the second floor of the hut, and tiptoed to the very edge of the floor, where he could peer into the narrow gap where it joined the thatched roof. Putting his right eye to the lens, he surveyed the area directly outside the building, moving slowly from corner to corner.
  
  The only source of heat he could detect was the engine of his jeep. Other than that, there was no sign of any immediate threat. Puzzled, he sat there for a moment, contemplating his newfound sixth sense. He was never wrong about these things. Especially after his last encounters with mortal enemies, he had learned to recognize an impending threat.
  
  When Perdue climbed back down to the first floor of the cabin, he closed the hatch that led into the room above him and jumped over the last three steps. He landed heavily on his feet. When he looked up, a figure was sitting in his chair. He instantly knew who it was and his heart stopped. Where did she come from?
  
  Her large blue eyes seemed unearthly in the bright light of the colorful hologram, but she was looking straight at him through the diagram. 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 wished for the same instead of counting on its real 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 dominated and hid her from him. Her eyes slid down and traced the lines of his drawing.
  
  "Your cyclic quadrilateral is wrong here, did you know?" she said as if nothing had happened. Her eyes were riveted on Purdue's mistake, and she forced herself to shut up despite his barrage of questions on other topics, such as her presence there, until he came to correct the mistake she'd noticed.
  
  It was just typical of Agatha Purdue.
  
  The personality of Agatha, a genius with obsessive personality traits that made her twin brother look downright ordinary, was an acquired taste. If anyone didn't know that she had a mind-boggling IQ, she might very well be mistaken for being crazy in some way. In contrast to her brother's suave use of his wits, Agatha was on the brink of certification when she focused on a problem that needed a solution.
  
  And in this, the twins were very different from each other. Purdue successfully used his aptitude for science and technology to acquire the fortune and reputation of ancient kings among his academic peers. But Agatha was no less than a beggar compared to her brother. Because of her unattractive introversion, which went so far as to turn her into a staring freak, men simply found her strange and intimidating. Her self-esteem was largely based on correcting the mistakes that she effortlessly found in the work of others, and it was this that basically dealt a serious blow to her potential every time she tried to work in the competitive fields of physics or the natural sciences.
  
  In the end, Agatha became a librarian, but not just a librarian, forgotten among the towers of literature and the twilight light of archival chambers. She did show some ambition, striving to become something more than her anti-social psychology dictated. Agatha had a side career as a consultant for various wealthy clients, mostly those who invested in esoteric books and the inevitable occult pursuits that came with the gruesome trappings of ancient literature.
  
  For people like them, the latter was a novelty, nothing more than a prize in an esoteric pissing contest. None of her clients ever showed genuine appreciation for the Old World or the scribes who recorded events that new eyes would never see. It pissed her off, but she couldn't turn down a random six-figure reward. That would be sheer idiocy, no matter how keen she was to remain true to the historical significance of the books and places she so freely led them to.
  
  Dave Perdue looked at the problem pointed out by his annoying sister.
  
  How the hell did I miss this? And what the hell was she supposed to be here to show me? he thought, establishing a paradigm, secretly testing its response to every redirect he made on the hologram. Her expression was blank and her eyes barely moved as he completed his rounds. It was a good sign. If she sighed, shrugged, or even blinked, he would know that she was refuting what he was doing-in other words, that would mean she would sanctimoniously patronize him in her own way.
  
  "Happy?" he dared to ask, just expecting her to find another mistake, but she just nodded. Finally, her eyes opened like a normal person's, and Purdue felt the tension subside.
  
  "So, to what do I owe this intrusion?" he asked as he went to fetch another bottle of liquor from his travel bag.
  
  "Ah, polite as always," she sighed. "I assure you, David, my intrusion is very justified."
  
  He poured himself a glass of whiskey and handed the bottle to her.
  
  "Yes thank you. I'll take some," she replied and leaned forward, bringing her palms together and slipping 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, ash gray in disbelief.
  
  "Oh come on, melodrama," she said impatiently. "Is it really so incomprehensible that I might need your help?"
  
  "No, not at all," Perdue replied, pouring her a glass of trouble liquid. "It's incomprehensible that you deign 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 that she knew almost everything about his fiancée's gruesome death at the hands of an international weapons organization led by ex-husband's best friend Nina. Many times before, Nina has lamented her connection to the heartless man who stopped Sam's dreams on a bloody path when he brutally murdered the love of his life. However, his notes contained a certain subliminal resentment, he did not want Nina to see if she had read them, and so he decided to hide them from her.
  
  But now, as they awaited Alexander's return with a message on how to join the renegades, Sam realized that this period of boredom in the Russian countryside north of the border would be the right time to continue his memoirs.
  
  Alexander went boldly, perhaps foolishly, to talk to them. He would offer his help along with Sam Cleve and Dr. Nina Gould to confront the Order of the Black Sun and eventually 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 leader of the Black Sun, Alexander planned to use this momentary weakness in the Chapter's operations to strike effectively.
  
  Nina helped Katya in the kitchen, learned how to cook dumplings.
  
  From time to time, as Sam wrote down his thoughts and painful memories in his battered notebook, he heard the two women burst into shrill laughter. This would be followed by an admission of some ineptitude on the part of Nina, while Katya would deny her shameful mistakes.
  
  "You're very good..." Katya yelled, falling into her chair with a hearty laugh: "For a Scot! But we will still make a Russian out of you!"
  
  "I doubt it, Katya. I'd offer to teach you how to make Highland haggis, but to be honest, I'm not good at that either!" Nina burst into loud laughter.
  
  It all sounds a little too festive, Sam thought, closing the cover of the notebook and tucking it securely into his bag, along with his pen. He got up from his wooden single bed in the guest room he shared with Alexander and walked down the wide corridor and down the short stairs towards the kitchen, where the women were making a hell of a noise.
  
  "Look! Sam! I created... oh... I made a whole batch... out of many? Many things...?" she frowned and gestured for Katya to help her.
  
  "Dumplings!" Katya exclaimed joyfully, pointing with her hands at the mess of dough and spilled meat on the wooden kitchen table.
  
  "So much!" Nina giggled.
  
  "Are you girls drunk by any chance?" he asked, amused by the two beautiful women with whom he had the good fortune to be stuck in the middle of nowhere. If he were a more cavalier person with vicious views, he might well have had a dirty thought, but being Sam, he just flopped down in his chair and watched Nina try to cut the dough properly.
  
  "We are not drunk, Mr. Cleave. We're just tipsy," Katya explained, approaching Sam with a plain glass jam jar half-filled with an ominous clear liquid.
  
  "Oh!" he exclaimed, running his hands through his thick dark hair, "I've seen this before, and this is what we Cleaves would call the shortcut to Slocherville. A bit early for me, thanks."
  
  "Early?" Katya asked, genuinely bewildered. "Sam, it's an hour until midnight!"
  
  "Yes! We started drinking as early as 7 pm," Nina intervened, her hands splattered with pork, onions, garlic and parsley, which she minced to fill dough pockets.
  
  "Don't be stupid!" Sam was startled 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 acting like a lazy bastard, wanting to get 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 first imagined at the sound of her name, just before they first arrived at the farm. With large blue eyes sunken into bony eye sockets and a wide, full-lipped mouth, she looked stereotypically Russian. Her cheekbones were so pronounced that they cast shadows on her face in the harsh light from above, and her straight blond hair fell over her shoulders and forehead.
  
  Slender and tall, she towered over the diminutive figure of the dark-eyed Scottish girl beside her. Nina was finally given back her own hair color, the rich dark brown that he loved to sink his face into when she mounted it in Belgium. Sam was relieved to see that her pale haggardness was gone, and she could once again show off her graceful curves and ruddy skin. Time away from the Black Sun's clutches had healed her quite a bit.
  
  Perhaps it was the country air far, far away from Bruges that calmed them both, but they felt more revitalized and rested in their damp Russian setting. Everything was much simpler here, and the people were polite but tough. This land was not for prudence or sensibility, and Sam liked it.
  
  Looking at the flat plains turning purple in the fading light, and listening to the fun 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 are a spy!" shouted the skinny Italian rebel, patiently walking in circles around Alexander's prostrate body. This gave the Russian a terrible headache, which was only exacerbated by his inverted position over the tub of water.
  
  "Listen to me!" Alexander prayed for the hundredth time. His skull was bursting with a rush of blood that rushed to the back of his eyeballs, and his ankles gradually threatened to dislocate under the weight of his body, which hung from rough rope and chains attached to the cell's stone ceiling. "If I were a spy, why the hell would I come right in here? Why would I come here with information that would help your cause, you stupid fucking spaghetti?"
  
  The Italian did not appreciate Alexander's racial slurs and, without objection, simply plunged the Russian's head back into the bath of ice water, so that only his jaw remained higher. 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 pasta, and this interrogation is already taking my time to drink. I'll fucking leave you to drown, I'll do it!" he shouted, kneeling next to the tub so that the submerged Russian could hear him.
  
  "Carlo, what's the problem?" Bern called from the corridor from which he was approaching. "You seem unnaturally agitated," the captain said bluntly. His voice grew louder as he approached the arched entrance. The other two men stood at attention at the sight of the leader, but he waved them dismissively to relax.
  
  "Captain, this idiot says he has information that can help us, but he only has Russian documents that seem fake to us," the Italian reported as Bern unlocked the solid black gate to enter the interrogation area, more precisely - in the torture chamber.
  
  "Where are his papers?" asked the captain, and Carlo pointed to the chair to which he had first tied the Russian. Berne glanced at the well-forged border pass and identity card. Without taking his eyes off the Russian inscription, he calmly said: "Carlo."
  
  "Si, capitano?"
  
  "The Russian is drowning, Carlo. Let him get up."
  
  "Oh my God!" Carlo jumped up and lifted the panting Alexander. The drenched Russian gasped desperately for air, coughing violently before throwing up excess water in his system.
  
  "Alexander Arichenkov. Is it your real name?" Bern asked his guest, but then realized that the person's name didn't matter in their prodding. "I guess it doesn't matter. You'll be dead before midnight."
  
  Alexander knew he had to take his case to a superior before he was left to the mercy of his attention-deficit tormentor. Water still accumulated at the back of his nostrils and burned his nasal passages, making it almost impossible to speak, but his life depended on it.
  
  "Captain, I am not a spy. I want to join your company, that's all," the wiry Russian said incoherently.
  
  Byrne turned on his heels. "And why do you want to do this?" He signaled to Carlo to introduce the subject to the bottom of the tub.
  
  "Renata is deposed!" Alexander screamed. "I was part of a conspiracy to overthrow the leadership of the Black Sun Order, and we succeeded... sort of."
  
  Berne raised his hand to stop the Italian from carrying out his last order.
  
  "You don't have to torture me, captain. I am here to give you information freely!" the Russian explained. Carlo glared at him, his hand twitching on the block that controlled Alexander's fate.
  
  "In exchange for this information, do you want to...?" Bern asked. "Do you want to join us?"
  
  "Yes! Da! Two friends and myself who are also running away 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, uncomfortably finding the right words, while the water in his throat still made it difficult to breathe.
  
  "Where are those two friends of yours? Are they hiding, Mr. Arichenkov?" Byrne asked sarcastically.
  
  "I have come alone, captain, to find out if the rumors about your organization are true; are you still operating," Alexander quickly muttered. Byrne knelt beside him and glared at him. 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 forefinger over the scar, now purple on the Russian's cold, pale wet skin.
  
  "I hope this wasn"t the result of a car accident or something?" he asked Alexander. The wet man's pale blue eyes were bloodshot from the pressure and nearly drowning as he looked at the captain and shook his head.
  
  "I have many scars, captain. And none of them came from a crash, I assure you of that. Mostly bullets, shrapnel and hot-tempered women," Alexander answered with trembling blue lips.
  
  "Women. Oh yes, I like it. You sound like my type, friend," Byrne smiled and threw a silent but hard look at Carlo, which unsettled Alexander a little. "Okay, Mr. Arichenkov, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. I mean, we're not fucking animals! he growled at the amusement of the men present, and they growled ferociously in agreement.
  
  And Mother Russia welcomes you, Alexander, his inner voice echoed in his head. I hope I don't wake up dead.
  
  When Alexander was relieved that he had not died, to the sound of the howling and greetings of the bestial pack, his body went limp, and he fell into oblivion.
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  Shortly before two o'clock in the morning, Katya laid out her last card on the table.
  
  "I'm turning."
  
  Nina chuckled jokingly, clutching her hand so that Sam couldn't read her impenetrable expression.
  
  "Let's. Get it, Sam!" Nina laughed when Katya kissed her on the cheek. The Russian beauty then kissed the top of Sam's head and murmured indistinctly, "I'm going to bed. Sergei will be back from his shift soon."
  
  "Good night, Katya," Sam smiled, placing his hand on the table. "Two pairs".
  
  "Ha!" Nina exclaimed. "Full room. Pay, partner."
  
  "Damn," Sam muttered and took off his left sock. Strip poker sounded better until he found out that the ladies played it better than he first thought when he agreed to play. In his short pants and one sock, he was shivering at the table.
  
  "You know it's a hoax and we only allowed it because you're drunk. It would be terrible of us to take advantage of you, right?" she lectured him, barely holding back. Sam wanted to laugh, but he didn't want to spoil the moment by putting on his best pitiful stoop.
  
  "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 right," Nina agreed, pouring a second can of moonshine into her glass. But just a few drops, they just splashed unceremoniously into the bottom of the glass, proving to her dismay that the fun and games of the night had come to a blunt end. "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 mingled with the poisonous onslaught of distilled spirits as she planted a gentle kiss on his lips.
  
  "Come sleep with me," she said, and led the staggering Y-shaped Scot out of the kitchen as he painstakingly gathered his clothes on the way out. Sam didn't say anything. He thought he was taking Nina to her room to make sure she didn't fall hard 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 on his jeans, his shirt slung over his shoulder.
  
  "I'm freezing as hell, Nina. Just give me a second," he replied, frantically wrestling with the zipper.
  
  Nina's thin fingers closed around his trembling hands. She slipped her hand into his jeans, pulling the copper zipper teeth apart again. Sam froze, fascinated 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, just as a caveat. In fact, he wanted her so badly he could burst.
  
  "The only thing I'll regret is that I 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 lunge at him, clumsily crushing his genitals with her weight.
  
  "Carefully!" he moaned. "I need them!"
  
  "Me too," she said, kissing him passionately before he could reply. Sam tried not to lose his composure as Nina pressed her small body against him, breathing into his neck. He gasped as her warm, bare skin touched his, still cold from two hours of shirtless poker.
  
  "You know that I love you, right?" she whispered. Sam's eyes rolled back in reluctant ecstasy as he heard those words, but the alcohol that accompanied each syllable ruined his bliss.
  
  "Yes, I know," he reassured her.
  
  Sam had selfishly allowed her free reign over his body. He knew he would feel guilty about it later, but now he told himself he was giving her what she wanted; that he was only the lucky recipient of her passion.
  
  Katya didn't sleep. Her door creaked gently open as Nina began to moan, and Sam tried to silence Nina with deep kisses, hoping they wouldn't disturb her. But in the midst of all this, he wouldn't give a damn if Katya came into the room, turned on the light and offered to join - as long as Nina minds her own business. His hands caressed her back, and he ran his finger over one or two scars, the cause of each of which he could remember.
  
  He was there. Since they'd met, their lives had spiraled uncontrollably into a dark, endless well of danger, and Sam wondered when they would reach a solid, waterless base. But he didn't care, as long as they crashed together. Somehow, with Nina at his side, Sam felt safe, even in the clutches of death. And now that she was in his arms right there, her attention was for a moment riveted on him and him alone; he felt invincible, untouchable.
  
  Katya's steps came from the kitchen, where she unlocked the door for Sergei. After a short pause, Sam heard their muffled conversation, which he still couldn't make out. 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 below 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. Sergei was silent, but Katya said something and then gently knocked on Nina's door, having no idea that Sam was 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 dark he had no idea where Nina had dropped them. Nina was unconscious. Her orgasm lifted the fatigue that the alcohol had been causing all night, and her wet, limp body pressed blissfully against him, motionless as a corpse. Katya knocked again: "Nina, do I need to talk to you, please? Please!"
  
  Sam frowned.
  
  The request on the other side of the door sounded too insistent, almost alarmed.
  
  Ah, to hell with everything! he thought. So, I beat up Nina. In any case, what would it matter? he thought, groping in the dark with his hands on the floor, looking for anything that looked like clothes. He barely had time to pull on his jeans when the doorknob turned.
  
  "Hey what's going on?" Sam asked innocently as he appeared through the dark crack of the opening door. Under Katya's hand, the door came to an abrupt halt as Sam slammed his foot into it from the back.
  
  "ABOUT!" she twitched, startled to see the wrong face. "I thought Nina was here."
  
  "She is like that. Lost consciousness. All those homegrown brethren kicked her ass," he replied with a shy chuckle, but Katya didn't look surprised. In fact, she looked completely scared.
  
  "Sam, just get dressed. Wake up Dr. Gould and come with us," Sergey said ominously.
  
  "What's happened? Nina is drunk as hell and it looks like she won't wake up until doomsday," Sam said to Sergei more seriously, but he was still trying to get back.
  
  "God, we don"t have time for this shit!" the man called from behind the couple. "Makarov" appeared at Katya's head, and his finger pressed the trigger.
  
  Click!
  
  "The next click will be made of lead, comrade," the shooter warned.
  
  Sergei began to sob, muttering insanely to the men who stood behind him, begging for his wife's life. Katya covered her face with her hands and fell to her knees in shock. From what Sam gathered, they were not Sergey's colleagues, as he first thought. Although he did not understand Russian, he deduced from their tone that they were very serious about killing them all if he did not wake up Nina and go with them. Seeing the quarrel escalating dangerously, Sam raised his hands and left the room.
  
  "Good good. We will go with you. Just tell me what's going on and I'll wake Dr. Gould up," he soothed the four evil-looking thugs.
  
  Sergei hugged his crying wife and shielded her.
  
  "My name is Bodo. I have to believe that you and Dr. Gould accompanied a man named Alexander Arichenkov to our beautiful piece of land," the shooter asked Sam.
  
  "Who wants to know?" Sam snapped.
  
  Bodo cocked his pistol and took aim at the cowering couple.
  
  "Yes!" Sam shouted, holding out his hand to Bodo. "Jesus, can you relax? I'm not going to run away. Point that fucking thing at me if you need shooting practice at midnight!"
  
  The French thug lowered his weapons while his comrades held theirs at the ready. Sam swallowed hard and thought of Nina, who had no idea what was going on. He regretted confirming her presence there, but if these intruders discovered him, they would surely kill Nina and the Strenkovs and hang him outside by the balls to be torn to pieces by the wild.
  
  "Wake up the woman, Mr. Cleve," Bodo ordered.
  
  "Fine. Just... just calm down, okay?" Sam nodded in surrender as he walked slowly back into the dark room.
  
  "The light is on, the door is open," Bodo said firmly. Sam had no intention of putting Nina in danger with his witticisms, so he simply agreed and turned on the light, grateful for covering Nina before opening the door for Katya. He didn't want to imagine what those beasts would do to a naked, unconscious woman if she was already sprawled out on the bed.
  
  Her small figure barely lifted the covers on which she slept on her back, her mouth gaping in a drunken siesta. Sam hated having to ruin such a beautiful vacation, 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 hung around the doorway while one of them held off the homeowners. "Nina, wake up."
  
  "For heaven's sake, turn off that fucking light. My head is already killing me, Sam!" she whimpered and rolled over on her side. He quickly cast apologetic glances at the men in the doorway, who were simply staring in surprise, trying to catch a glimpse of a sleeping woman who might shame the sailor.
  
  "Nina! Nina, we have to get up and get dressed right now! You understand?" Sam urged her on with his heavy arm, but she only frowned and pushed him away. Out of nowhere, Bodo intervened and punched Nina in the face so hard that her knot bled instantly.
  
  "Get up!" he bellowed. The deafening bark of his cold voice and the excruciating pain from his slap shook Nina, sobering her like a piece of glass. She sat up, confused and furious. Waving her hand at the Frenchman, she shouted: "Who the hell do you think you are?"
  
  "Nina! No!" Sam screamed, terrified that she had just earned herself a bullet.
  
  Bodo caught her arm and hit her with the back of his hand. Sam lunged forward, pinning the tall Frenchman against a closet along the wall. He landed three right hooks on Bodo's cheekbone, feeling his own knuckles shift back with each punch.
  
  "Never 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 on the floor, but before he could land a second blow, Bodo grabbed Sam in the same way.
  
  "Do you miss Scotland?" Bodo laughed through his bloodied teeth and pulled Sam's head to his own, delivering a debilitating headbutt that immediately rendered Sam unconscious. "It"s called the Glasgow Kiss... boy!"
  
  The men rolled with laughter as Katya pushed through them to come to Nina's aid. Blood was flowing from Nina's nose, and there was a severe bruise on her face, but she was so angry and disoriented that Katya had to hold on to the miniature story. Unleashing a torrent of curses and promises of imminent death in Bodo, Nina gritted her teeth as Katya covered her in a bathrobe and hugged her tightly to comfort her, for the good of them all.
  
  "Leave it, Nina. Let it go," Katya said in Nina's ear, holding her so close that the men couldn't hear their words.
  
  "I'm going to fucking kill him. I swear to God he will die the moment I get my chance," Nina chuckled into Katya"s neck as the Russian woman pressed her against her.
  
  "You will get your chance, but first you have to get over it, okay? I know you're going to kill him, honey. Just stay alive, because..." Katya comforted her. Her tear-drenched eyes looked at Bodo through Nina's hair. "Dead women can't kill."
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  Agatha had a small hard drive that she used just in case she might need it while traveling. She plugged it into Purdue's modem, and with unparalleled ease, it took her only six hours to create a software manipulation platform with which she hacked into Black Sun's previously inaccessible financial database. Her brother sat silently next to her in the frosty early morning, tightly clutching a cup of hot coffee. There were few people who could still surprise Purdue with technical savvy, but he had to admit that his sister was still quite capable of inspiring awe in him.
  
  It wasn't that she knew more than he did, but somehow she was more willing to use the knowledge they both had while he constantly neglected some of his learned formulas, causing him to frequently rummage through his brain's memory like lost soul. It was one of those moments that made him question yesterday's diagram, and that's why Agatha was able to find the missing diagrams so easily.
  
  Now she was typing at the speed of light. Perdue barely had time to read the codes she entered into the system.
  
  "What, pray tell, are you doing?" he asked.
  
  "Tell me the details about those two friends of yours again. I'll need identification numbers and last names, for now. Come on! Over there. You put it over there," she said incoherently, snapping her index finger about to point as if she were writing her name in the air. What a miracle she was. Perdue had forgotten how funny her manners could be. He went to the chest of drawers she pointed to and pulled out two folders where he kept Sam and Nina's notes from when he first used them to help him on his trip to Antarctica to find the fabled Wolfenstein ice station.
  
  "Can I have some more of this material?" she asked, taking the papers from him.
  
  "What is the material?" he asked.
  
  "It"s... Dude, that thing you make with sugar and milk..."
  
  "Coffee?" I asked. he asked, stunned. "Agatha, you know what coffee is."
  
  "I know, damn it. The word just flew out of my head as all this code went through my brain processes. Like you don't have a breakdown from time to time," she snapped.
  
  "OK OK. I'll cook some of this for you. What are you doing with Nina and Sam's data, may I dare to 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 as she chewed on a licorice stick.
  
  Purdue almost had a seizure. He rushed over to his twin sister to see what she was doing on the screen.
  
  "Are you out of your mind, Agatha? Do you have any idea of the massive security and technical alarm systems these people have around the world?" he spat in panic, another reaction that Dave Purdue would never have exhibited until now.
  
  Agatha looked at him with concern. "How to react to your bitchiness... hmm," she said calmly through the black candy between her teeth. "First of all, their servers, if I'm not mistaken, were programmed and firewalled with... you... huh?"
  
  Perdue nodded thoughtfully, "Yes?"
  
  "And only one person in this world knows how to hack into 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.
  
  "It's right. Ten points to Gryffindor," she said snidely.
  
  "No need for melodrama," Perdue reprimanded her, but her lips curved into a smile as he went to finish her coffee.
  
  "You could do with your own advice, old chap," Agatha teased.
  
  "So they won't detect you on the main servers. You should start the worm," he suggested with a mischievous grin like old Perdue's.
  
  "I must!" She laughed. "But first, let's get your friends back to their old statuses. This is one of the restorations. Then we'll hack them again when we get back from Russia and hack their financial accounts. While their leadership is on a rocky path, the blow to their finances should get them a well-deserved prison fuck. Bend over, Black Sun! Aunt Agatha has a boner!" she sang playfully, licorice between her teeth as if she were playing Metal Gear Solid.
  
  Perdue rolled with laughter along with his naughty sister. She was definitely a nerd with a bite.
  
  She has completed her invasion. "I left the scrambler to disable their heat sensors."
  
  "Fine".
  
  Dave Perdue last saw his sister in the summer of 1996 in the southern lake region of the Congo. Then he was even a little more shy, and he did not have even a tenth of the wealth that he now possesses.
  
  Agatha and David Perdue accompanied a distant relative to learn a little about what the family called "culture." Unfortunately, none 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 him. guides.
  
  Dave enjoyed the adventures that foreshadowed his adventures in his thirties and forties. Like his uncle, his sister's incessant urging to stop the killings became tiresome, and they soon stopped talking. As much as she wanted to leave, she considered accusing her uncle and brother of wanton poaching for money-the most unwelcome excuse for any of Purdue's men. When she saw that Uncle Wiggins and her brother were unmoved by her persistence, she told them that she would do everything in her power to turn over her great-uncle's small business to the authorities when she got home.
  
  The old man just laughed and told David not to think about bullying the woman and that she was just upset.
  
  Somehow, Agatha's calls to leave ended in a spat, and Uncle Wiggins promised Agatha without ceremony that he would leave her right here in the jungle if he heard another complaint from her. At the time, this was not a threat he would have held to, but as time went on, the young woman became more aggressive towards his methods, and one early morning Uncle Wiggins led David and his hunting party away, leaving Agatha at the camp with the local women.
  
  After another day of hunting and an unexpected night spent camping in the jungle, Purdue's group boarded the ferry the next morning. Dave Perdue inquired ardently as they crossed Lake Tanganyika by boat. But his great-uncle only assured him that Agatha was "well taken care of" and that she would soon be flown by a charter plane he had hired to pick her up at the nearest airfield and she would join them at the port of Zanzibar.
  
  By the time they were driving from Dodoma to Dar es Salaam, Dave Purdue knew his sister was lost in Africa. In fact, he thought she was hardworking enough to get home on her own and did his best to put the matter out of his mind. Months passed, Perdue really tried to find Agatha, but his trail was cooling down on all sides. His sources would say that she was seen, 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 left it, deciding that his twin sister had followed her passion for reform and preservation, and therefore no longer needed saving, if she ever had one.
  
  It was more of a shock to him to see her again after decades of separation, but he enjoyed her company immensely. He was sure that with a little push, she would eventually reveal why she had surfaced 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 mostly hidden reasons for seeking his help, but Agatha barely gave him the full picture and how he knew her was all he could get until she decided otherwise.
  
  "You've always been concerned about money, David. I doubt you'll be interested in anything you can't profit from," she replied coldly as she sipped her coffee. "I need Dr. Gould to help me find what I was hired to do. As you know, my business is books. And her story is history. I don"t need much from you other than calling a lady so I can use her experience."
  
  "Is that all you need from me?" he asked, a smirk on his face.
  
  "Yes, David," she sighed.
  
  "In the past few months, Dr. Gould and other members like me have been hiding incognito to avoid persecution by the Black Sun organization and its affiliates. These people are not to be trifled with."
  
  "No doubt something you did pissed them off," she said bluntly.
  
  He couldn't refute 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 to this, you know?"
  
  "So this isn"t a social visit to talk about everything we"ve been up to?" he smiled sarcastically, playing on his sister's well-known intolerance of being late.
  
  "Oh, I am aware of your activities, David, and well informed. You weren't exactly modest about your accomplishments and fame. You don't have to be a bloodhound to unearth what you were involved in. Where do you think I heard about Nina Gould?" she asked, her tone very much like that of a boastful child in a crowded playground.
  
  "Well, I'm afraid we'll have to go to Russia to pick her up. While she's in hiding, I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a phone and can't just cross borders without taking on some fake identity," he explained.
  
  "Fine. Go and get her. I'll be waiting in Edinburgh, at your sweet home," she nodded mockingly.
  
  "No, they will find you there. I'm sure there are council spies all over my property all over Europe," he warned. "Why don't you come with me? That way I can watch over you and make sure you're safe."
  
  "Ha!" she mimicked with a sardonic laugh. "You? You can't even protect yourself! See yourself hiding like a shriveled worm in the recesses of Elche. My friends in Alicante tracked you down so easily that I was almost disappointed."
  
  Purdue didn't like that low blow, but he knew she was right. Nina had said something similar to him the last time she, too, had grabbed his throat. He had to admit to himself that all his resources and wealth were not enough to protect those he cared about, and that included his own precarious security, which was now apparent if he was so easily discovered in Spain.
  
  "And let's not forget, my dear brother," she continued, finally displaying the vengeful behavior he had originally expected from her when he first saw her there, "that the last time I trusted you with my safety on a safari, I was, to put it mildly, in a bad state."
  
  "Agatha. Please?" Perdue asked. "I'm thrilled to have you 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, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead to emphasize the drama of his statement: "Please, David, don't be such a drama queen."
  
  She chuckled mockingly at his sincerity and leaned forward to meet his gaze with hatred in her eyes. We wouldn't want your evil Nazi family to find you now, would we?"
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  Byrne watched the little storyteller glare at him from her seat. She seduced him in more than petty sexual ways. Although he preferred women with stereotypical Nordic features-tall, thin, blue-eyed, blond-haired-he was attracted to this one in a way he couldn't understand.
  
  "Dr. Gould, I cannot express in words how appalled I am at the way my colleague has treated you, and I promise you, I will make sure he gets his fair punishment for it," he said with gentle authority. "We are a bunch of rude men, but we don't beat women. And in no way do we condone the mistreatment of female captives! Is everything clear, Monsieur Baudot? he asked the tall Frenchman with the bruised cheek. Bodo nodded passively, to Nina's surprise.
  
  She was placed in a proper room with all necessary amenities. But she hadn't heard anything about Sam from what she understood, overhearing small talk between the cooks who brought her food the day before while she waited to meet the leader who had ordered the two of them to be brought here.
  
  "I understand that our methods must shock you..." he began shyly, but Nina was tired of hearing all those smug types graciously apologize. To her, they were all just well-mannered terrorists, thugs with big bank accounts, and, by all accounts, just political hooligans, like the rest of the rotten hierarchy.
  
  "Not really. I'm used to being treated like shit by people who have bigger guns," she retorted sharply. Her face was a mess, but Berne could see that she was very beautiful. He noticed her glare at the Frenchman, but he ignored it. After all, she had reason to hate Bodo.
  
  "Your boyfriend is in the infirmary. He suffered a mild concussion but will be fine," Byrne revealed, hoping the good news would please her. But he didn't know Dr. Nina Gould.
  
  "He's not my boyfriend. I'm just fucking with him, she said coldly. "God, I would kill for a cigarette."
  
  The captain was visibly shocked by her reaction, but tried to smile weakly and immediately offered her one of his cigarettes. With her mean response, Nina hoped to distance herself from Sam so they wouldn't try to use them against each other. If she could convince them that 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, good then," said Byrne, lighting Nina's cigarette. "Bodo, kill the journalist."
  
  "Yes," Bodo barked and quickly left the office.
  
  Nina's heart stopped. Did they check on her? Or did she just make up a dirge for Sam? She kept her composure, inhaling heavily on her cigarette.
  
  "Now, if you don"t mind doctor, I would like to know why you and your colleagues have come all this way to come and 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 let them be close at any cost.
  
  "Listen, Captain Bern, we are fugitives. Like you, we had a nasty run-in with the Order of the Black Sun, and it kind of left a shitty taste in our mouths. They frowned upon our choice not to join them or become pets. In fact, just recently we were very close to it, and we were forced to look for you, because you were the only alternative to a slow death," she hissed. Her face was still swollen, and the terrible scar on her right cheek was yellow around the edges. The whites of Nina's eyes were a map of red streaks, and the bags under her eyes indicated a lack of sleep.
  
  Byrne 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... did you... lose her?"
  
  "So to speak," Nina chuckled involuntarily, thinking of 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 in a calm tone that contained serious malice. She knew that she would have to give them something without revealing her closeness to Sam or Purdue - very difficult navigation, even for a bright girl like her.
  
  "Hmm, well, we were on our way-Mr. overthrow the Black Sun once and for all."
  
  "Now go back to the place where you lost Renata. Please," Byrne urged, but she caught a wistful impatience in his soft tone, the calmness of which could not last much longer.
  
  "In the frantic chase pursued by her peers, we certainly got into a car accident, Captain Bern," she recounted thoughtfully, hoping the simplicity of the incident would be reason enough for them to lose Renata.
  
  He raised one eyebrow, looking almost surprised.
  
  "And when we came to, she was gone. We assumed that her people-the ones who were after us-brought her back," she added, thinking of Sam and whether he was killed at that moment.
  
  "And they didn't just put a bullet in each of your heads to make sure? They did not bring back those of you who were still alive?" he asked with a certain streak of military cynicism. He leaned forward over the table and shook his head viciously, "That's exactly what I would do. And I was once part of the Black Sun. I know full well how they operate, Dr. Gould, and I know they wouldn't jump on Renata and leave you breathing."
  
  This time, Nina was speechless. Not even her cunning could save her by offering a plausible alternative to this story.
  
  Is Sam still alive? she thought, wishing she didn't pick up the wrong person's bluff.
  
  "Dr. Gould, please don't test my courtesy. I have a knack for spotting bullshit, and you feed me bullshit," he said with a cold politeness that sent goosebumps down Nina"s skin under her oversized sweater. "Now, for the last time, how is it that you and your friends are still alive?"
  
  "We had help from our man," she said quickly, referring to Perdue, but she stopped short of naming him. This Berne, as far as she could tell of people, wasn't a reckless man, but she could tell from his eyes that he belonged to the no-fuck-with species; kind of "bad death", and only a fool would move this thorn. She was surprisingly quick with a response and hoped that she could say other useful sentences right off the bat without screwing up and killing herself. As far as she knew, Alexander, and now and Sam might very well be dead already, so it would be to her advantage to be frank with the only allies they still had.
  
  "Inner Man?" Bern asked. "Someone I know?"
  
  "We didn't even know," she replied. Technically, I'm not lying, baby Jesus. Until then, we did not know that he was in cahoots with the council, she mentally prayed, hoping that a god who could hear her thoughts would show her favor. Nina hasn't returned to thoughts of Sunday school since she ran away from the church mob as a teenager, but until now she hasn't needed to pray for her life. She could almost hear Sam chuckling at her pathetic attempts to please some god and mocking her all the way home for it.
  
  "Hmm," the burly leader mused as he ran her story through his brain's fact-checking system. "And this...unknown...man dragged Renata away after making sure the pursuers didn"t come to your car to check if you were dead?"
  
  "Yes," she said, still mulling over all the reasons in her head as she answered.
  
  He smiled cheerfully and flattered her, "That's a stretch, Dr. Gould. They are distributed very thinly, these are. But I'll buy it... for now."
  
  Nina clearly breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, the large commandant leaned across the table and with force ran his hand through Nina's hair, squeezing and violently pulling her to him. She screamed in panic, and he pressed his face painfully against her inflamed cheek.
  
  "But if I find out that you fucking lied to me, I will feed your leftovers to my people after I personally fuck you raw. Are you 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 never expected this to happen. Now she was sure that Sam was dead. If the Renegade Brigade were such psychopathic beasts, they would definitely not be familiar with mercy or restraint. For a while she sat, stunned. That was all about the mistreatment of captives, she thought, and prayed to God that she didn't accidentally say it out loud.
  
  "Tell Bodo to bring the other two!" he called to the guard at the gate. He stood at the far end of the room, looking at the horizon again. Nina's head was lowered, but her eyes lifted to look at him. Byrne seemed remorseful as he turned around, "I... an apology would be redundant, I suppose. It's too late to try to be nice, but... I really feel embarrassed about this, so... I'm sorry."
  
  "It's all right," she managed, her words almost inaudible.
  
  "No, really. I have..." he found it difficult to speak, humiliated by his own behavior, "I have an anger problem. I get upset when people lie to me. Indeed, Dr. Gould, I don't usually harm women. It's a special sin that I'm saving for someone special."
  
  Nina wanted to hate him as much as she hated Bodo, but she just couldn't. In a strange way, she knew he was sincere, and instead she found herself understanding his frustration all too well. In fact, that was precisely her predicament with Purdue. As much as she wanted to love him, no matter how she understood that he was bright and loved danger, most of the time she just wanted to kick him in the balls. Her violent temper was also known to show up pointlessly when she was being lied to, and Perdue was the man who unmistakably detonated that bomb.
  
  "I understand. Actually, I want to," she said simply, numb with shock. Byrne noticed the change in her voice. This time it was rough and real. When she said she understood his rage, she was completely honest.
  
  "Now, that's what I believe, Dr. Gould. I will try to be as fair as possible in my judgments," he assured her. As the shadows receded from the rising sun, his demeanor returned to that of the detached commander she had been introduced to. Before Nina could figure out what he meant by "judgment", the gates opened and she saw Sam and Alexander.
  
  They were a little worn, but overall looked okay. Alexander looked tired and absent. Sam was still suffering from the blow he had received in the forehead, and his right hand was bandaged. Both men looked serious at the sight of Nina's injuries. There was anger behind the submissiveness, but she knew it was only for the greater good that they hadn't attacked the thug who had hurt her.
  
  Berne motioned for the two men to sit down. They were both shackled behind their backs with plastic handcuffs, unlike Nina, who was free.
  
  "Now that I've spoken to all three of you, I've decided not to kill you. But-"
  
  "There is one snag," Alexander sighed, not looking at Bern. His head drooped hopelessly, his yellow-gray hair disheveled.
  
  "Of course, there's a catch here, Mr. Arichenkov," Byrne replied, sounding almost surprised by Alexander's obvious remark. "You want shelter. I want Renata."
  
  All three looked at him in disbelief.
  
  "Captain, there is no way we can arrest her again," Alexander began.
  
  "Without your inner man, yes, I know," Byrne said.
  
  Sam and Alexander stared at Nina, but she shrugged and shook her head.
  
  "So I'm leaving someone here for a guarantee," Byrne added. "Others, in order to prove their loyalty, will have to deliver Renata to me alive. To show you what a welcoming host I am, I will let you choose who stays with the Strenkovs."
  
  Sam, Alexander and Nina gasped.
  
  "Oh, relax!" Berne threw his head back dramatically as he paced back and forth. "They don't know they are targets. Safe in their cottage! My men are in place, ready to strike at my command. You have exactly one month to come back here with what I want."
  
  Sam looked at Nina. With one lips she said: "We are covered."
  
  Alexander nodded in agreement.
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  Unlike the unfortunate prisoners who did not reassure the brigade commanders, Sam, Nina and Alexander had the privilege of having dinner with the members that night. Around a huge fire in the center of the fortress's stone-hewn roof, everyone was sitting and talking. Built into the walls were several booths for guards to watch the perimeter at all times, while the obvious watchtowers that stood at every corner on the cardinal points were empty.
  
  "Clever," said Alexander, watching the tactical deception.
  
  "Yes," Sam agreed, biting deep into the large rib he held in his hands like a caveman.
  
  "I realized that in order to deal with these people - just like with those other people - you must constantly think about what you see, otherwise they will catch you by surprise every time," Nina accurately noted. She sat next to Sam, holding a piece of freshly baked bread between her fingers and breaking it off to dip into the soup.
  
  "So you stay here - are you sure, Alexander?" Nina asked with great concern, though she wouldn't want anyone else besides Sam to go to Edinburgh with her. If they needed to find Renata, Purdue would be the best place to start. She knew he would resurface if she went to Reichtisussis and broke protocol.
  
  "I must. I have to be close to my childhood friends. If they're going to be shot, I'll be sure to take at least half of those bastards with me," he said, and raised his recently stolen flask in toast.
  
  "You crazy Russian!" Nina laughed. "Was it full when you got it?"
  
  "It was," the Russian alcoholic boasted, "but now it is almost empty!"
  
  "Is this the same as Katya fed us?" Sam asked, making a disgusting grimace at the memory of the vile moonshine he was treated to during a poker game.
  
  "Yes! Made in the same region. Only in Siberia everything turns out better than here, my friends. Why do you think nothing grows in Russia? All herbs die when you spill your moonshine!" He laughed like a proud maniac.
  
  Opposite the high flames, Nina could see Bern. He just stared into the fire, as if watching history play out in it. His icy blue eyes could almost extinguish the flames in front of him, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the attractive commandant. Now he was off duty, one of the other leaders took over for the night. No one spoke to him, and that suited him. His boots had his empty plate, and he picked it up just before one of the Ridgebacks got to his leftovers. It was then that his eyes met Nina's.
  
  She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. He wanted to erase her memory of the threats he made to her when he lost his cool, but he knew he could never do that. 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 find out.
  
  The incessant screaming and murmuring silenced the music. As Nina expected, the music was typically Russian in melody, with its upbeat tempo that made her imagine a group of Cossacks popping out of nowhere in a line to form a circle. She couldn't deny that the atmosphere here was wonderful, safe and fun, though she certainly couldn't have imagined it a few hours ago. After Bern spoke to them at the main office, the three were sent to take hot showers, were given clean clothes (more in line with the local flair), and were allowed to eat and rest for one night before leaving.
  
  Meanwhile, Alexander would be treated as a core level member of the Renegade Brigade until his friends provoked the leadership into believing their application was a charade. He and a couple of Strenkovs would then be summarily executed.
  
  Bern stared at Nina with a strange longing that made her uneasy. Next to her, Sam was talking to Alexander about the layout of the area all the way to Novosibirsk, to make sure they got their bearings in the country. She heard Sam's voice, but the commander's mesmerizing gaze made her body flush with a great desire that she could not explain. Finally he got up from his seat, plate in hand, and went to what the men affectionately called the galley.
  
  Feeling obligated to speak to him in private, Nina apologized and followed Bern. She went down the stairs to a short branching corridor where the kitchen was, and when she entered, he was leaving. Her plate hit his body and shattered on the ground.
  
  "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she said and picked up the pieces.
  
  "Not a problem, Dr. Gould." He knelt beside the little beauty, helping her, but his eyes never left her face. She felt his gaze and felt a familiar warmth sweep over her. When they collected all the big pieces, they went to the galley to get rid of the broken plate.
  
  "I have to ask," she said with uncharacteristic shyness.
  
  "Yes?" he waited, shaking the extra bits of baked bread off his shirt.
  
  Nina looked embarrassed at the mess, but he just smiled.
  
  "I must know something... personal," she hesitated.
  
  "Absolutely. As you wish," he replied politely.
  
  "Really?" she accidentally betrayed her thoughts again. "Hmm, okay. I may be wrong about that, captain, but you were looking too much at me. Does it just seem to me?"
  
  Nina couldn't believe her eyes. The man blushed. It made her feel even more of a bastard, embarrassing him like that.
  
  But then again, he told you in no uncertain terms that he would copulate 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, so it was almost impossible to talk about the things his historian asked for. "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 shit for asking."
  
  "Call me Ludwig, please, Nina. I don't want to get to know you better, but we've gone beyond formality, and I think those who have exchanged threats should at least be addressed by name, right?" he smiled modestly.
  
  "I totally agree, Ludwig," Nina chuckled. Ludwig. This is the last name I would associate with you."
  
  "What can I say? My mother had a soft spot for Beethoven. Thank God she didn't like Engelbert Humperdinck!" he shrugged as he poured them drinks.
  
  Nina squealed with laughter, imagining a stern commander of the meanest creatures this side of the Caspian Sea with a name like Engelbert.
  
  "I must give in! Ludwig is at least classic and legendary," she giggled.
  
  "Let's go, let's go back. I don't want Mr. Cleve to think I'm invading his territory," he told Nina and gently placed his hand on her back to lead her out of the kitchen.
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  There was frost over the Altai Mountains. Only the guards were still mumbling something under their breath, exchanging lighters and whispering about all sorts of local legends, new visitors and their plans, and some even betting on the validity of Alexander's claim about Renata.
  
  But none of them discussed Berne's attachment to the historian.
  
  Some of his old friends, the men who had deserted with him years ago, knew what his wife looked like, and it seemed almost creepy to them that this Scottish girl looked like Vera Burn. In their opinion, it was not good for their commandant to meet the resemblance to his dead wife, because he became even more melancholic. Even when strangers and new members couldn't tell, some could clearly tell the difference.
  
  Just seven hours earlier, Sam Cleve and the stunning Nina Gould had been escorted to the nearest town to begin their search, while the hourglass had been turned over to determine the fate of Alexander Arichenkov, Katya and Sergei Strenkov.
  
  With them gone, the Renegade Brigade waited in anticipation for the next month. Sure, Renata's kidnapping would be an extraordinary feat, but once it's completed, the brigade will have a lot to look forward to. The release of the leader of the Black Sun would certainly be a historic moment for them. In fact, it would be the biggest progress their organization has ever made since their founding. And with it at their disposal, they had all the power to finally sink the Nazi brat of pigs around the world.
  
  The wind got nasty just before one in the morning, and most of the men went to bed. Under cover of the oncoming rain, another attack awaited the brigade's stronghold, but the people were completely oblivious to the impending blow. A flotilla of vehicles approached from Ulangom, steadily weaving their way through the dense fog caused by the high slope, where the clouds gathered to settle before falling over the edge and shedding tears on the ground.
  
  The road was bad, and the weather even worse, but the fleet pushed steadily towards the mountain range, determined to overcome the difficult path and remain there until its mission was completed. The trek was to lead first to Mengu-Timur's monastery, from where the emissary would continue on to Mönkh Saridag to find the Brigade Renegade's nest, for reasons unknown to the rest of the company.
  
  When thunder began to shake the sky, Ludwig Bern lay down in his bed. He checked his list of duties, and the next two days he will be free from the role of the first head of the members. Turning off the light, he listened to the sound of the rain and felt an incredible loneliness seize him. He knew Nina Gould was bad news, but it wasn't her fault. The loss of his lover had nothing to do with her, and he had to orient himself to let it go. Instead, he thought of his son, lost to him years ago but never far from his daily thoughts. Berne thought that he would be better off thinking about his son than about his wife. It was a different kind of love, one easier to deal with than the other. He had to leave the women behind because the memory of both of them only made him more sad, not to mention how soft they made him. Losing his sharpness would have robbed him of his ability to make tough decisions and be abused from time to time, and these were the very things that helped him survive and command.
  
  In the dark, he let the sweet relief of sleep take over him for just a moment before being violently torn from him. From behind his door, he heard a loud cry-"Breach!"
  
  "What?" he shouted loudly, but in the chaos of the siren and the people at the post shouting orders, he remained unanswered. Byrne jumped up and pulled on his pants and boots, not bothering to put on his socks.
  
  He expected shots, even explosions, but there were only sounds of confusion and corrective action. He flew out of his apartment with a gun in his hand, ready to fight. He quickly moved from the south building to the lower east section where the shops were located. Did this sudden disruption have anything to do with the three visitors? Nothing ever penetrated the brigade's systems or the gate until Nina and her friends showed up in this part of the country. Could she have provoked this and used her captivity as bait? A thousand questions raced through his head as he headed to Alexander's room to find out.
  
  "Ferriman! What's happening?" he asked one of the club members passing by.
  
  "Someone breached the security system and entered the premises, captain! They are still in the complex."
  
  "Quarantine! I declare quarantine!" Bern roared like an angry god.
  
  The technicians on guard entered their codes in sequence, and within seconds the entire fortress was locked down.
  
  "Now Squads 3 and 8 can go out to hunt those rabbits," he ordered, fully awake from the momentum of confrontation that always got him so excited. Bern burst into Alexander's bedroom and found the Russian staring out his window. He grabbed Alexander and slammed him against the wall with such force that a trickle of blood ran from his nose, his pale blue eyes widened 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 yelped. "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 the way they are!" Bern insisted, still pinning the Russian against the wall. His eyes 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 group of trees.
  
  "God!" Bern was screaming, frustrated and seething. "Alexander, come with me."
  
  They headed to the control room, where the technicians checked the circuits one last time, switching to each security camera for review. The commander and his Russian companion thundered into the room, pushing two technicians aside to reach the intercom.
  
  "Achtung! Daniels and McKee, go to the horses! Uninvited guests are moving to the southeast on horseback! I repeat, Daniels and McKee, follow them on horseback! All snipers report to the south wall, NOW!" he barked orders over the system that had been installed throughout the fortress.
  
  "Alexander, do you ride?" he asked.
  
  "I believe! I'm a tracker and scout, Captain. Where are the stables? Alexander boasted zealously. This type of action was what it was created for. His knowledge of survival and tracking would serve them all well tonight, and oddly enough, this time he didn't care that there was no charge for his services.
  
  Downstairs, on a basement floor that reminded Alexander of a large garage, they rounded the corner toward the stables. Ten horses were constantly kept in case of impassable terrain during floods and snowfall, when vehicles could not pass on the roads. In the serenity of the mountain valleys, the animals were taken daily to the pastures south of the cliff where the brigade's lair was located. The rain was icy, its spray was thrown onto the open part of the square. Even Alexander chose to stay away from it and silently regretted that he was not still in his warm bunk bed, but then the heat of the chase would fuel him to keep warm.
  
  Berne gestured at the two men they met there. These were the two he had called on the intercom for riding, and their horses were already saddled.
  
  "Captain!" they both greeted.
  
  "This is Alexander. He will accompany us to find the trail of the intruders," Bern told them as he and Alexander prepared their horses.
  
  "In such weather? You must be doing great!" McKee winked at the Russian.
  
  "We'll find out soon enough," Byrne said, buckling his stirrups.
  
  In a furious and cold storm, four men rode out. Bern was ahead of the other three, leading them down a path where he saw the intruders fleeing. From the surrounding meadows, the mountain began to tilt to the southeast, and in pitch darkness it was very dangerous for their animals to cross the rocky territory. The slow pace of their pursuit was necessary to keep the horses balanced. Convinced that the fleeing riders had made an equally cautious journey, Bern still had to make up for the lost time that their advantage had afforded them.
  
  They crossed a small stream at the foot of the valley, crossing it on foot to lead their horses over solid boulders, but by now the cold stream had not bothered them at all. Soaked with heavenly water, the four men finally got back on their horses and continued south to pass through a gorge that allowed them to reach the other side of the base of the mountain. Here Bern slowed down.
  
  This was the only passable path that other riders could take out of the area, and Berne gestured for his men to take their horses out for a ride. Alexander dismounted and crept alongside his horse, slightly ahead of Bern to check the depth of the hoof prints. His gestures suggested that there was some movement on the other side of the jagged rocks where they were tracking their prey. They all dismounted, leaving Mackey to lead the horses away from the dig site, backing away so they wouldn't give away the group's presence there.
  
  Alexander, Bern and Daniels crept up 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 need be.
  
  On the way to Kobdo, the two figures stopped to rest, while right on the other side of the massive rock formation where they were gathering their saddlebags, the brigade's hunting party noticed a gathering of people returning from Mengu-Timur's monastery. The two figures slipped into the shadows and crossed the rocks.
  
  "Come!" Bern told his companions. "They join the weekly convoy. If we lose sight of them, they will be lost to us and mixed with others."
  
  Bern knew about the convoys. They were sent with provisions and medicines to the monastery weekly, sometimes once every two weeks.
  
  "Genius," he smirked, refusing to admit defeat, but forced to admit that he had been rendered powerless by their cunning deception. There would be no way to tell them apart from the group, unless Berne could somehow hold them all back and force them to turn out their pockets to see if there was anything familiar taken from the brigade. On that note, he wondered what they wanted with their quick in and out of his residence.
  
  "Should we become hostile, captain?" Daniels asked.
  
  "I believe it, Daniels. If we let them get away without a proper, thorough capture attempt, they deserve the victory we give them," Bern told his companions. "And we can't let that happen!"
  
  Three of them burst onto the ledge and, holding rifles at the ready, surrounded the travelers. There were only about eleven people in the five-car convoy, many of whom were missionaries and nurses. One by one, Bern, Daniels, and Alexander checked the citizens of Mongolia and Russia for any sign of treachery, demanding to see their identity cards.
  
  "You have no right to do this!" the man protested. "You are not the border patrol or the police!"
  
  "Do you have something to hide?" Byrne asked so viciously that the man stepped back into line.
  
  "There are two people among you who are not what they seem. And we want them to be passed on. As soon as we have them, we will let you go about your business, so the sooner you deliver them, the sooner we can all be warm and dry!" Berne announced, prancing past each of them like a Nazi commander laying down the rules of a concentration camp. "My people and I will have no problem staying here with you in the cold and rain until you submit! As long as you harbor these criminals, you will stay here!"
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  "I don't recommend you use this, dear," Sam joked, but at the same time, he was completely sincere.
  
  "Sam, I need new jeans. Look at it!" Nina argued, opening her oversized coat to show Sam the haggard state of her dirty, now torn jeans. The coat was acquired thanks to the courtesy of her last cold-blooded suitor, Ludwig Bern. It was one of his things, lined with natural fur on the inside of a rough dress that wrapped Nina's small body like a cocoon.
  
  "We shouldn't spend our money just yet. I am telling you. Is there something wrong. All of a sudden our accounts are unfrozen and we have full access again? I bet it's a trap so they can find us. The Black Sun has frozen our bank accounts; why on earth would it suddenly be so cute that it will give us back our lives?" he asked.
  
  "Maybe Perdue 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 due to fly out in less than an hour.
  
  "Oh my God, you believe in him so much, don't you?" he chuckled. "How many times has he dragged us into life-threatening situations? Don't you think he could pull off the 'wolf cry' trick, get us used to his mercy and goodwill to gain 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 with genuine surprise playing on her face. "He always pulled us out of whatever he got us into, didn"t he?"
  
  Sam was in no mood to argue over Purdue, the most insanely fickle creature he had ever encountered. He was cold, exhausted and fed up with not being home. He missed his cat, Bruichladditch. He missed having a pint of beer with his best friend Patrick, and now both of them were almost strangers to him. All he wanted was to go back to his flat in Edinburgh, lay on the couch with Bruich purring on his stomach, drinking a good single malt while listening to the streets of good old Scotland under his window.
  
  Another thing that needed work was his memoir of the whole gun ring incident he helped destroy when Trish was killed. The closure would do him good, as would the publication of the resulting book, offered by two different publishers in London and Berlin. It wasn't something he wanted to do for sales, which would obviously skyrocket in light of his subsequent Pulitzer fame and the compelling story behind the entire operation. He needed to tell the world about his late fiancee é and her invaluable part in the success of the end of the arms ring. She paid the ultimate price for her courage and her ambition, and she deserved to be known for what she accomplished in ridding the world of this treacherous organization and its minions. After all this was done, he could completely close this chapter of his life and rest a little in a pleasant, worldly life - unless, of course, Purdue had other plans for him. He must have admired the lofty genius for his insatiable sense of adventure, but as for Sam, he was basically fed up with it all.
  
  Now he was standing outside a store in the major terminals of Moscow's Domodedovo International Airport, trying to reason with the stubborn Nina Gould. She insisted that they take a chance and use some of their funds to buy new clothes.
  
  "Sam, I smell like a yak. I feel like an ice statue with hair! I look like a beggar junkie who got the shit beaten out of her by her pimp!" she moaned, moving closer to Sam and grabbing his collar. "I need new jeans and a nice matching earflap, Sam. I need to feel human again."
  
  "Yes, me too. But can we wait until we get back to Edinburgh to feel human again? Please? I don't trust this sudden change in our financial situation, Nina. At the very least, let's get back to our own land before we start risking our safety even more," Sam laid out his case as gently as he could without ranting. He knew full well that Nina had a natural reaction to object to anything that sounded like a reprimand or a sermon.
  
  With her hair in a low, sloppy ponytail, she looked at navy blue jeans and soldier hats in a small antiques shop that also sold Russian clothes for those tourists who wanted to blend in with Moscow's cultural fashions. There was promise in her eyes, but when she looked at Sam, she knew he was right. They would go on a big gamble using their debit cards or the local ATM. In desperation, common sense left her for a moment, but she quickly regained it against her will and succumbed to his argument.
  
  "Come on, Ninanovich," Sam consoled her, hugging her shoulders, "let's not reveal our position to our comrades in the Black Sun, huh?"
  
  "Yes, Klivenikov."
  
  He laughed as he tugged at her arm as the announcement came that they should report to their gates. Out of habit, Nina paid close attention to all the people who gathered around them, checking their every face, their hands and their luggage. Not that she knew what she was looking for, but she would quickly recognize any suspicious body language. By now, she was well trained to understand people.
  
  A coppery taste seeped down the back of her throat, accompanied by a faint headache right between her eyes, throbbing dully in her eyeballs. Deep folds formed on her forehead from the growing agony.
  
  "What's happened?" Sam asked.
  
  "Damn headache," she muttered, pressing her hand to her forehead. Suddenly, a hot trickle of blood leaked from her left nostril and Sam jumped to throw her head back before she even knew it.
  
  "I'm fine. Everything is fine with me. Let me just pinch him and go to the toilet." She swallowed, blinking rapidly at the pain in the front of her skull.
  
  "Yes, let's go," Sam said, leading her to the wide door of the women's room. "Just do it quickly. Plug it in because I don't want to miss this flight."
  
  "I know, Sam," she snapped, and stepped into a cold toilet with granite sinks and silver fixtures. It was a very cold environment, impersonal and superhygienic. Nina imagined it would be the perfect operating room in a posh medical facility, but hardly suitable for peeing or blushing.
  
  Two ladies were talking at the hand dryer, and the other was just leaving the booth. Nina rushed to the stall to grab a handful of toilet paper and, holding it up to her nose, tore off a piece to make a plug. Putting it up her nostril, she took another and carefully folded it to put in the pocket of her yak jacket. The two women were chatting in a harshly beautiful dialect as Nina stepped out to wash the drying blood stain from her face and chin, where the dripping droplets eluded Sam's quick response.
  
  To her left, she noticed a lone woman stepping out of a booth next to the one she was using. Nina didn't want to look in her direction. Russian women, she realized shortly after arriving with Sam and Alexander, were quite talkative. Since she couldn't speak the language, she wanted to avoid the awkward exchange of smiles, eye contact, and trying to strike up a conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, Nina saw a woman staring at her intently.
  
  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 had left. She knew she didn't want to be here alone with a stranger, so she hurried over to the trash can to throw away the tissues and headed for the door, which closed slowly behind the other two.
  
  "Are you all right?" the stranger suddenly spoke up.
  
  Crap.
  
  Nina couldn't be rude even if she was being stalked. She was still heading for the door, calling out to the woman, "Yes, thank you. I'll be ok ". 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 moved quickly through the terminal, flanked by intimidating silver pillars that ran the entire length of the tall building. Passing under the various flat screens with their flashing red, white and green digital announcements and flight numbers, she dared not look back. Sam hardly noticed that she was a little scared.
  
  "It's good that your boyfriend got us the best fake documents this side of the CIA," Sam remarked as he looked through the top-notch forgeries that the notary Bern had to produce to return safely to the United Kingdom.
  
  "He's not my boyfriend," she protested, but the thought wasn't exactly unpleasant. "Besides, he just wants to make sure we get home quickly so we can get him what he wants. I assure you, there is not an iota of politeness in his actions."
  
  She hoped she was wrong in her cynical assumption, used more to silence Sam about her friendship with Byrne.
  
  "Like this," Sam sighed as they passed through the security checkpoint and collected their light carry-on luggage.
  
  "We have to find Perdue. If he doesn't tell us where Renata is..."
  
  "What he won't do," Sam interjected.
  
  "Then he will no doubt help us offer the Brigade an alternative," she finished with an annoyed look.
  
  "How are we going to find Purdue? Going to his mansion would be stupid," Sam said, looking up at the big Boeing in front of them.
  
  "I know, but I don't know what else can be done. Everyone we knew is either dead or proven to be enemies," Nina lamented. "Hopefully we can think about our next step on our way back home."
  
  "I know it's a terrible thing to even think about, Nina," Sam suddenly said as soon as they both settled into their seats. "But maybe we can 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 adopted us without question, and in the end they were marked for it - for our sake, Sam. Please don"t tell me that you have lost your integrity along with your security, because then, honey, I will definitely be left all alone in this world." Her tone was stern and angry at his idea, and Sam thought it best to leave things as they were, at least until they took advantage of the flight time to look around and find a solution.
  
  The flight wasn't too bad, except for the Australian celebrity making jokes with a gay mammoth who stole his armrest and a rowdy couple who appeared to have taken their spat on board and couldn't wait to arrive at Heathrow before continuing. the martyrdom of marriage from which they both suffered. Sam was sound asleep in his window seat as Nina fought off the onset of nausea, an ailment she had suffered from since leaving the ladies' room at the airport. From time to time she rushed to the toilet to vomit, only to find that there was nothing to flush. It was getting quite tiring and she began to worry about the worsening feeling that was pressing down on her stomach.
  
  It couldn't be food poisoning. Firstly, she had an iron stomach, and secondly, Sam ate all the same dishes as her, and he was unharmed. After another unsuccessful attempt to relieve the condition, she looked in the mirror. She looked oddly healthy, not at all pale or weak. In the end, Nina attributed her poor health to altitude or cabin pressure and decided to get some sleep too. Who knew what awaited them at Heathrow? She needed to rest.
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  Bern was furious.
  
  While pursuing the intruders, he was unable to detect them among the travelers whom he and his men detained near the winding road leading from the Mengu-Timur monastery. One by one, they searched the people-the monks, the missionaries, the nurses, and three tourists from New Zealand-but found nothing on them that was of any significance to the brigade.
  
  He couldn't figure out what the two robbers were looking for in a complex that had never been broken into before. Fearing for his life, one of the missionaries mentioned to Daniels that the convoy had originally consisted of six vehicles, but they were one vehicle short at their second stop. None of them thought about it, because they were told that one of the cars would turn to serve Janste Khan Hostel nearby. But after Bern insisted on reviewing the lead driver's itinerary, there was no mention of the six cars.
  
  There was no point in torturing innocent civilians for their ignorance, nothing more could come of it. He had to admit that the robbers had effectively eluded them and that all they could do was go back 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 McKee exchanged glances, suggesting that Alexander's involvement was basically a general consensus.
  
  "Alexander, come with me," Berne said calmly and just left.
  
  "You better watch what you say, old man," Mackey advised in his British accent. "This man is fickle."
  
  "I had nothing to do with this," Alexander replied, but the other two men only looked at each other, and then looked plaintively at the Russian.
  
  "Just don"t pressure him when you start making excuses. By humiliating yourself, you will just convince him that you are guilty," Daniels advised him.
  
  "Thank you. I would kill for a drink right now," Alexander shrugged.
  
  "Don't worry, you can get one of these as your last wish," Daniels smiled, but after looking at the serious expressions on his colleagues' faces, he realized that his statement did not help in any way, and he went about his business for two blankets for your horse.
  
  Through narrow bunkers lit by wall lamps, Alexander followed his commander 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 Berne's reaction, although he was relieved by the commander's response.
  
  "Then why did you ask me to accompany you?" - he asked.
  
  "Soon, Arichenkov. Just let me have a coffee and a smoke first so I can sort out my assessment of the incident," the commander replied. His voice was uncomfortably calm as he lit a cigarette.
  
  "Why don't you go take a hot shower? We can meet here again in, say, twenty minutes. In the meantime, I need to know what was stolen, if anything at all. You know, I don't think they would go to any lengths to steal my wallet," he said, and blew a long puff of blue-white smoke in a straight line in front of him.
  
  "Yes sir," Alexander said and turned to head to his room.
  
  Something didn't feel right. 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 coming. From a distance, he could hear male voices and what looked like an AM radio signal, or perhaps some form of white noise device. The raspy sound reminded him of a trip to Ice Station Wolfenstein, deep in the bowels of the station, where soldiers killed each other from cabin fever and confusion.
  
  Turning a corner, he found the door to his room ajar. He stopped. Silence reigned inside, and no one seemed to be there, but his training had taught him not to take anything at face value. He slowly opened the door all the way to make sure no one was hiding behind it. Before him was a clear signal of how little the crew trusted him. His entire room was turned upside down and bedding torn off for the search. The whole place was in disarray.
  
  Of course, Alexander had few things, but everything he had in his room was carefully looted.
  
  "Fucking dogs," he whispered, his pale blue eyes scanning wall after wall for any suspicious clues that might help him ascertain what they thought they would find. Before heading towards the common showers, he glanced at the men in the back room, where the white noise was now somewhat muffled. They sat there, four in all, just staring at him. Tempted to curse them, he decided to ignore it and simply ignored them, heading in the opposite direction towards the toilets.
  
  As the warm, weak jet of water submerged him, he prayed that Katya and Sergei would not be harmed while he was gone. If that was the gang's level of trust in him, then it was safe to assume that their farm may have also been subjected to a bit of looting in pursuit of the truth. Like a captive animal kept in fear of retaliation, the pensive Russian planned his next move. It would be foolish to argue with Berne, Bodo, or any of the brutes here about their suspicions. Such a move would quickly make matters worse for him and both of his friends. And if he runs away and tries to take Sergei and his wife away from here, it will only confirm their doubts about his involvement.
  
  When he was dry 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 thought things over.
  
  "Captain?" Alexander said from his door.
  
  "Come in. Come in," Byrne said. "I hope you understand why we had to search your quarters, Alexander. It was extremely important for us to know your position on this matter as you came to us under very suspicious circumstances with a very strong statement."
  
  "I understand," the Russian agreed. He was dying to drink a few shots of vodka, and the bottle of home-brewed beer Bern kept on his desk did him no good.
  
  "Drink," Berne invited, pointing to the bottle, which, as he noticed, the Russian was staring at.
  
  "Thank you," Alexander smiled and poured himself a glass. Raising the fiery water to his lips, he wondered if poison had been mixed into it, but he was not one to be cautious. Alexander Arichenkov, a crazy Russian, would rather die a painful death after tasting good vodka than miss the chance instead of abstinence. Luckily for him, the drink was only poisonous in the way its makers intended, and he couldn't help moaning in delight at the burning sensation in his chest he felt when he swallowed it all.
  
  "May I ask, captain," he said after catching his breath, "what was damaged in the break-in?"
  
  "Nothing" - that's all Bern said. He waited for a moment of dramatic pause, and then revealed the truth. "Nothing was damaged, but something was stolen from us. Something priceless and extremely dangerous to the world. What worries me the most is that only the Order of the Black Sun knew we had them."
  
  "What is it, may I ask?" - Asked Alexander.
  
  Byrne turned to him with a penetrating look. It was a look, not one of rage or disappointment at his ignorance, but one of genuine concern and determined fear.
  
  "Weapon. They stole weapons that could devastate and destroy, governed by laws we hadn't even conquered yet," he announced as he reached for vodka and poured a glass for each of them. "Uninvited guests saved us from this. They stole Longinus."
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  Heathrow was bustling with activity even at three in the morning.
  
  It would be some time before Nina and Sam could board the next flight home, and they were thinking about booking a hotel room instead of wasting time waiting in the blindingly white lights of the terminal.
  
  "I'll go find out when we need to come back here again. We would need something to eat for one. I'm fucking hungry," Sam told Nina.
  
  "You ate on the plane," she reminded him.
  
  Sam gave her that old schoolboy teasing look, "You call that food? No wonder you weigh almost nothing."
  
  With that, he headed for the ticket booth, leaving her with her massive yak coat slung over her forearm and both of their travel bags slung over her shoulders. Nina's eyes were closed and her mouth was dry, but she felt better than she had in the past few weeks.
  
  Almost home, she thought to herself, and her lips stretched into a shy smile. She reluctantly allowed her smile to bloom, no matter what bystanders and passers-by might think, because she felt she deserved that grin, suffered for it. And she had just come out of twelve rounds with Death, and she was still standing. Her large brown eyes roamed over Sam's well-built body, those broad shoulders giving his gait even more poise than he already showed. Her smile lingered on him too.
  
  She had doubted the role of Sam in her life for so long, but after Perdue's latest trick, she was sure she was tired of hanging out between two battling men. Perdue's declaration of love helped her in more ways than she wanted to admit. Like her new suitor on the Russian-Mongolian border, Purdue's power and means worked to her advantage. How many times would she have been killed if not for Purdue's resources and money, or Berne's mercy because of her resemblance to his late wife?
  
  Her smile immediately disappeared.
  
  A woman emerged from the international arrivals area, looking hauntingly familiar. Nina perked up and stepped back into the corner formed by the cafe's projecting eaves, where she waited, hiding her face from the approaching lady. Almost holding her breath, Nina peeked over the edge to see where Sam was. He was out of her line of sight, and she couldn't warn him of a woman heading straight for him.
  
  But, to her relief, the woman entered the candy store located near the cash register, where Sam was demonstrating his charms to the delight of young ladies in their perfect uniform.
  
  "God! Typical," Nina frowned and bit her lip in annoyance. She quickly approached him, her face hard and her stride a little too wide as she tried to move as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself.
  
  She went through the double glass doors into the office and ran into Sam.
  
  "Are you done?" she asked with shameless malice.
  
  "Well, look here," he admiring playfully, "another pretty lady. And it's not even my birthday!"
  
  The administration staff giggled, but Nina was dead serious.
  
  "A woman is following us, Sam."
  
  "You are sure?" he asked sincerely, his eyes scanning the people in the immediate area.
  
  "Yes," she answered under her breath, squeezing his hand tightly. "I saw her in Russia when my nose was bleeding. Now she is here."
  
  "Okay, but a lot of people fly between Moscow and London, Nina. It could have been a coincidence," he explained.
  
  She had to admit that there was meaning in his words. But how could she convince him that something about this strange-looking woman with white hair and pale skin unsettled her? It would seem ridiculous to use someone's unusual appearance as a basis for accusation, especially to imply that they are from a secret organization and were going to kill you for the old "knowing too much" reason.
  
  Sam didn't see anyone and sat Nina on the couch in the waiting area.
  
  "Are you all right?" he asked, freeing her from her bags and putting his hands on her shoulders for comfort.
  
  "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I guess I'm just a little nervous, "she reasoned, but deep down she still did not trust this woman. However, although she had no reason to be afraid of her, Nina decided to act evenly.
  
  "Don't worry, girl," he winked. "We'll be home soon and can take a day or two just to recuperate before we start looking for Perdue."
  
  "Perdue!" Nina gasped.
  
  "Yes, we have to find him, remember?" Sam nodded.
  
  "No, Perdue is behind you," Nina remarked casually, her tone suddenly serene and stunned at the same time. Sam turned around. Dave Perdue stood behind him in a chic windbreaker jacket with a large duffel bag in his hand. He smiled, "It's strange to see you two here."
  
  Sam and Nina were dumbfounded.
  
  What were they to make of his presence here? Was he in cahoots with the Black Sun? Was he on their side, or on both of the above. As always, in the case of Dave Purdue, it was not certain what his position was.
  
  A woman came out from behind him, from whom Nina was hiding. A thin, tall, ash-blonde with the same shifty eyes as Purdue's and the same crane-like inclination, she stood calmly, assessing the situation. Nina was puzzled, having no idea if she should prepare to run or fight.
  
  "Perdue!" Sam exclaimed. "I see you are alive and well."
  
  "Yeah, you know me, I'm always good at getting out," Perdue winked, noticing Nina's wild gaze right past him. "ABOUT!" he said, pulling the woman forward. "This is Agatha, my twin sister."
  
  "Thank God we are paternal twins," she chuckled. Her dry humor struck Nina only a moment later, after her mind had realized that the woman was not dangerous. It was only then that the attitude of the woman towards Purdue dawned on me.
  
  "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm tired," Nina offered her lame excuse for staring too long.
  
  "Are you sure about this. That nosebleed was a bad thing, huh?" Agatha agreed.
  
  "Nice to meet you, Agatha. I'm Sam." Sam smiled and took her hand as she only lifted it slightly for a shake. Her strange mannerisms were obvious, but Sam could tell it was harmless.
  
  "Sam Cleave," Agatha said simply, tilting her head to the side. Either she was impressed, or she seemed to have a good memory of Sam's face for later reference. She looked down at the diminutive historian with vicious zeal and rapped out, "And you, Dr. Gould, are the one I'm looking for!"
  
  Nina looked at Sam, "See? I told you."
  
  Sam realized that this was the woman Nina was talking about.
  
  "So you were in Russia too?" Sam was playing dumb, but Perdue was well aware that the journalist was interested in their not-quite-random meeting.
  
  "Yes, actually, I was looking for you," said Agatha. "But we'll get back to that as soon as we put the right clothes on for you. Dear God, this coat stinks."
  
  Nina was stunned. The two women simply looked at each other with a blank expression.
  
  "Miss Perdue, I presume?" Sam asked, trying to defuse the tension.
  
  "Yes, Agatha Purdue. I have never been married," she replied.
  
  "No wonder," Nina grumbled, bowing her head, but Perdue heard her and chuckled to himself. He knew that his sister took some time to get used to, and Nina was probably the least prepared to adapt to her eccentricities.
  
  "I'm sorry, Dr. Gould. It wasn't an intentional insult. You have to admit this damn thing smells like the dead animal it is," Agatha remarked nonchalantly. "But my rejection of marriage was my choice, if you can believe it."
  
  Now Sam was chuckling with Perdue at Nina's constant troubles caused by her quarrelsome nature.
  
  "I didn't mean..." she tried to make amends, but Agatha ignored her and took her bag.
  
  "Let's go, 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 in 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 upcoming discovery?" Agatha once again faced her brother's evasiveness head-on. "Come on, Dr. Gould. We're leaving!"
  
  Before Nina could protest, a strange woman escorted her out of the office while the men packed 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 for hot drinks. "God, please tell me nothing happened to the crazy Russian!" Perdue pleaded with one hand on Sam's shoulder.
  
  "No, he's still alive," Sam began, but Perdue could tell from his tone that there was something else on the news. "He's with the Renegade Brigade."
  
  "So you managed to convince them that you are on their side?" Perdue asked. "I'm happy 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? You don't seem to be any worse for jumping from one loyalty to another in the blink of an eye," Sam Purdue scolded in no uncertain terms.
  
  "Listen, Sam. I must maintain my position to ensure that Nina is not harmed. You know that," Purdue explained.
  
  "What about me, Dave? Where is my seat? You always drag me along with you."
  
  "No, I dragged you twice, by my count. The rest was just your own reputation as one of my group that dunked you in a pit of shit," Purdue shrugged. He was right.
  
  Most of the time, it was simply the circumstances surrounding Sam's involvement in Trish's attempt to overthrow the arms ring and his subsequent involvement in Purdue's trip to Antarctica that got him into trouble. Only once since then did Perdue enlist Sam's services on Deep Sea One. Other than that, it was just the fact that Sam Cleve was now firmly on the radar of a sinister organization that hadn't stopped their pursuit of him.
  
  "I just want my life back," Sam lamented, staring into his cup of steaming Earl Grey.
  
  "Like the rest of us, but you have to understand that first you need to figure out what we got ourselves into," Perdue reminded him.
  
  "On that note, where do we rank on your friends list of endangered species?" Sam asked with genuine interest. He didn't trust Perdue one iota more than before, but if he and Nina were in trouble, Perdue would have already taken them to some remote place he owned, where he would have finished them off. Well, maybe not Nina, but definitely Sam. All he wanted to know was what Perdue had done to Renata, but he knew the hard-working tycoon would never tell him or deem Sam important enough to reveal his plans.
  
  "You're safe for now, but I guess it's far from over," Purdue said. This information provided by Dave Perdue was generous.
  
  At least Sam knew from a direct source that he didn't have to look over his shoulder too much, apparently until the next fox horn sounded and he came back from the wrong end of the hunt.
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  Several days have passed since Sam and Nina ran into Purdue and his sister at Heathrow Airport. Without going into detail as to their respective circumstances and the like, Purdue and Agatha decided not to return to Reichtisusis, Purdue's mansion in Edinburgh. This was too risky as the house was a well-known historical landmark and notoriously the residence of Purdue.
  
  Nina and Sam were advised to do the same, but decided otherwise. However, Agatha Perdue requested a meeting with Nina to enlist her services in finding something that Agatha's client in Germany was after. Dr. Nina Gould's reputation as an expert on German history would have been invaluable, as would Sam Cleve's skill as a photographer and journalist in recording all the discoveries that Miss Purdue might discover.
  
  "Of course, David also paved his way under constant reminder that he was instrumental in our locating you and this subsequent meeting. I'll let him indulge my ego, if only to avoid his incessant metaphors and allusions to his significance. After all, we are traveling on his money, so why refuse a fool?" Agatha explained to Nina as they sat at a large round table in a mutual friend's vacant holiday home in Thurso, at the northernmost point in Scotland.
  
  The place was empty, except during the summer when Agatha and Dave's friend, Professor What's-It-Here, lived there. On the outskirts of town, not far from Dunnet Head, stood a modest two-story house adjoining a two-car garage below. On a foggy morning, cars passing down the street seemed like ghosts crawling through the raised living room window, but the fire inside made the room very cozy. Nina was fascinated by the design of the giant hearth, which she could easily enter like a doomed soul entering hell. In fact, it was exactly what she imagined when she saw the intricate carvings on the black grille and the disturbing reliefs that framed the high niche in the house's old stone wall.
  
  From the naked bodies intertwined with devils and animals on the relief, it was obvious that the owner of the house was very impressed with the medieval images of fire and brimstone, depicting heresy, purgatory, divine punishment for bestiality, and so on. It gave Nina goosebumps, but Sam amused himself by running his hands over the curves of the female sinners, deliberately to annoy Nina.
  
  "I suppose we could investigate this together," Nina smiled graciously, 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. Evidently the owner of the residence had a tendency to buy vodka from every country he frequented on his travels, and keep extra shots he did not readily consume.
  
  Sam took his place next to Nina as Purdue entered the room triumphantly 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 got matching glasses from a large cupboard next to the doorway. "There's a coffee maker by chance, but I'm afraid I was in too much of a hurry to try it."
  
  "Don't worry. I'll plunder it later," Agatha replied indifferently. "Thank the gods we have shortbread and savory biscuits.
  
  Agatha dumped two boxes of biscuits onto two dinner plates, not caring if they broke. She seemed to Nina as ancient as a fireplace. Agatha Purdue was surrounded by much the same atmosphere as the ostentatious setting, where certain secret and sinister ideologies lurked, shamelessly exposed. Just as these sinister creatures lived freely on the walls and furniture carvings, so was the personality of Agatha - devoid of excuses or subconscious meanings. What she said was what she thought, and there was a certain liberties in it, Nina thought.
  
  She wishes she had a way of expressing her thoughts without thinking about the consequences that would arise only from the realization of her intellectual superiority and moral distance from the ways in which society dictates people to be honest, telling half-truths for the sake of appearances. It was quite refreshing, if very patronizing, but a few days before, Purdue had told her that his sister was like that with everyone and that he doubted she was even aware of her inadvertent rudeness.
  
  Agatha declined the unknown alcohol that the other three sipped while she unpacked some documents from what looked like the school bag Sam had in early high school, a brown leather bag so worn it was supposed to be antique. On the side, closer to the top of the case, some of the seams were loosened, and the lid opened sluggishly due to wear and age. The smell of this drink delighted Nina, and she gently reached out to feel the texture between her thumb and forefinger.
  
  "About 1874," Agatha boasted proudly. "Given to me by the rector of the University of Gothenburg, who later headed the Museum of World Culture. Belonged to his great-grandfather before the old bastard was killed by his wife in 1923 for having sex with a boy at the school where he taught biology, I believe."
  
  "Agatha," Perdue grimaced, but Sam held back a burst of laughter that made even Nina smile.
  
  "Wow," Nina enthused, 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," Agathe said, pointing to a photo of one of the pages. books.
  
  "It was the era of Otto von Bismarck," Nina mentioned, carefully studying the document. She narrowed her eyes, but still couldn't understand what was written in dirty ink on the page.
  
  "It is very difficult to read, but my client insists that it is from a diary originally obtained during the Second Franco-Dahomean War by a legionnaire who was in Abomi shortly before the enslavement of King Bé Khanzin in 1894," Agatha quoted her presentation as a professional storyteller.
  
  Her storytelling ability was astounding, and with her perfectly choreographed pronunciation and change of tone, she immediately attracted an audience of three to listen closely to the interesting exposition of the book she was looking for. "According to legend, the old man who wrote this died of respiratory failure in a field infirmary in Algiers sometime in the early 1900s. According to the report, "she handed them another old certificate from a field medicine officer - he was in his late 8s and was basically living out his days."
  
  "So he was an old soldier who never returned to Europe?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Right. In his last days, he became friends with 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 aged soldier. During his service in Africa, in 1845, his company was placed on a small plot by an Egyptian landowner who had inherited two agricultural lands from his grandfather and moved from Egypt to Algeria as a young man. Now, this Egyptian apparently had what the old soldier called "a treasure forgotten by the world," and the location of said treasure was recorded in a poem he wrote later."
  
  "That's the one 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 smart, Sam. As if this story isn't confusing enough, you need to cloud your brain even more," Nina said, shaking her head in turn. Perdue didn't say anything. But he followed suit and swallowed a mouthful. Both men groaned as they tried not to slam their dainty glasses on the finely woven tablecloth.
  
  Nina thought aloud: "So, the German legionnaire brought him home to Germany, but from there the diary was lost in obscurity."
  
  "Yes," agreed Agatha.
  
  "Then how does your client know about this book? Where did he get the page photo?" Sam asked, sounding like the old journalistic cynic he used to be. Nina smiled back. It was nice to hear his insight again.
  
  Agatha rolled her eyes.
  
  "Look, it"s obvious that a person who has a diary that gives the location of a world treasure will document it somewhere else for posterity if it gets lost or stolen, or, God forbid, he dies before he can find it. she explained, gesticulating wildly in her frustration. Agatha couldn't understand how that could have confused Sam at all. "My client found documents and letters telling this story among his grandmother's belongings when she died. His whereabouts were simply unknown. You know they haven't completely ceased to exist."
  
  Sam was too drunk to make a face at her, which he wanted to do.
  
  "Look, this sounds more confusing than it is," Perdue explained.
  
  "Yes!" Sam agreed, unsuccessfully hiding the fact that he had no idea.
  
  Perdue poured another glass and summed up for Agatha's approval: "So we have to find a diary that came from Algiers in the early 1900s."
  
  "I guess, yes. Step by step," his sister confirmed. "Once we have the diary, we can decipher the poem and find out what the treasure he was talking about is."
  
  "Shouldn"t your client do this?" Nina asked. "After all, you need to get a diary for your client. cut and dried."
  
  The other three stared at Nina.
  
  "What?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders.
  
  "Don't you want to know what it is, Nina?" - Surprised asked Perdue.
  
  "You know, I've been a little off on adventure lately, in case you haven't noticed. It would be nice for me to just consult on this and stay away from everything else. You can all go ahead and hunt for what may well be nonsense, but I'm tired of complicated chases," she said incoherently.
  
  "How can this be bullshit?" Sam asked. "That's a poem right there."
  
  "Yes, Sam. As far as we know, the only copy in existence, and it's fucking indecipherable!" she barked, raising her voice in annoyance.
  
  "God, I can't believe you," Sam fought back. "You're a fucking historian, Nina. Story. Remember this? Isn't that what you live for?"
  
  Nina fixed Sam with her blazing gaze. After a pause, she calmed down and simply replied: "I don"t know anything else."
  
  Perdue held his breath. Sam's jaw dropped. Agatha ate the cookies.
  
  "Agatha, I'll help you find this book because that's what I'm good at... And you thawed out my finances before you paid me for it, and for that I'm eternally grateful. Indeed," Nina said.
  
  "You did it? You have returned our accounts to us. Agatha, you are a real champion!" Sam exclaimed, unaware in his rapidly growing inebriation that he had interrupted Nina.
  
  She gave him a reproachful look and continued, turning to Agatha: "But that's all I'm going to do this time." She looked at Purdue with a clearly unkind expression on her face. "I'm tired of saving my life because people are throwing money at me."
  
  None of them had any objection, nor an acceptable argument as to why she should reconsider. Nina couldn't believe Sam was so eager to go after 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 posh house in front of a warm fireplace just because Alexander offered to be our insurance?" Nina's voice was full of quiet fury.
  
  Perdue and Agatha looked at each other quickly, wondering what Nina was trying to tell Sam. The journalist just held his tongue as he sipped his drink while his eyes lacked the dignity to look at her.
  
  "You're going on a treasure hunt God knows where, but I'll keep my word. We've got three weeks left, old chap," she said roughly. "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 start looking. Sam and Perdue were still drinking in the pool room, their alcohol-fueled discussions getting louder with each match and each drink. Topics discussed by the two educated men ranged from football scores to German recipes; from the best casting angle for fly fishing to the Loch Ness monster and its relationship to dowsing. But when stories of naked Glasgow hooligans came up, Agatha couldn't take it anymore and quietly went up to where Nina had fled the rest of the party after her little 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, eyes reddened with tears, sulking at what jerks men were. As she would have done too, Agatha saw Nina scouring the internet to research the story's backstory and trying to draw parallels between the rumors and the actual chronological course of similar stories during that supposed era.
  
  Very pleased with Nina's diligence in this matter, Agatha slipped past the curtains on the doorway and closed the door behind her. When Nina looked up, she noticed that Agatha had surreptitiously brought in some red wine and cigarettes. Under her arm, of course, was a pack of Walkers gingerbread cookies. Nina had to smile. The eccentric librarian certainly had moments when she didn't offend, correct or annoy anyone.
  
  Now more than ever, Nina could see the resemblance between her and her twin brother. He never discussed her in all the time he and Nina were together, but after reading between the lines of their remarks to each other, she was able to understand that their last breakup was not friendly - or perhaps just one of those times when the quarrel became more serious than it should have been because of the circumstances.
  
  "Anything happy about the starting point, dear?" - asked the astute blonde, sitting down on the bed next to Nina.
  
  "Not yet. Your client doesn't have a name for our German soldier? It would make things a lot easier, because then we could track down his military background and see where he settled, check census records and such," Nina said with a determined nod as the laptop screen reflected in her dark eyes.
  
  "No, as far as I know, no. I was hoping we could take the document to a graphologist and have his handwriting analyzed. Perhaps if we could clear up the words it might give us a clue as to who wrote the diary," Agatha suggested.
  
  "Yes, but that won't tell us who he gave them to. We need to identify the German who brought them here after he returned from Africa. Knowing who wrote this won't help one bit," Nina sighed, tapping her pen against the sensuous curve of her lower lip as her mind searched for alternatives.
  
  "It could. The identity of the author could tell us how to find out the names of the people in the field unit where he died, my dear Nina," Agatha explained, whimsically crunching a cookie. "My God, that's a pretty obvious conclusion that I thought someone of your intelligence would consider."
  
  Nina's eyes pierced her with a sharp warning. "It's a hell of a way, Agatha. Actually keeping track of existing documents in the real world is a bit different than conjuring up fancy procedures from library security."
  
  Agatha stopped chewing. She gave the bitchy little story a look that made Nina quickly regret her answer. For almost half a minute, Agatha Perdue remained motionless in her place, inanimate. It was terribly embarrassing for Nina to see this woman, already resembling a porcelain doll in human form, just sitting there and acting like her too. Suddenly, Agatha began to chew and move, scaring Nina by a hair's breadth from a heart attack.
  
  "Well said, Dr. Gould. Touch é," Agatha muttered enthusiastically as she finished her biscuits. "What do you suggest?"
  
  "The only idea I have is... sort of... illegal," Nina grimaced as she sipped from a bottle of wine.
  
  "Oh, tell me," Agatha chuckled, her reaction taking Nina by surprise. After all, she seemed to have the same penchant for trouble as her brother.
  
  "We would need to get access to the documents of the Ministry of the Interior in order to investigate the immigration of foreign citizens at that time, as well as the records of men enrolled in the Foreign Legion, but I have no idea how to do this," Nina said seriously, taking pack of cookies.
  
  "I'll just crack it, silly," smiled Agatha.
  
  "Just hack? In the archives of the German consulate? To the Federal Ministry of the Interior and all its archival records?" Nina asked, deliberately repeating herself to make sure she was fully aware of Miss Perdue's level of insanity. Oh God, I can already taste prison food in my stomach after my lesbian cellmate decided to cuddle too much, Nina thought. As much as she tried to stay away from the illegal activities, it seemed like she just chose a different path to catch up with her.
  
  "Yeah, give me your car," Agatha said suddenly, her long thin arms darting out to grab Nina's laptop. Nina reacted quickly, yanking the computer out of her enthusiastic client's hands.
  
  "No!" she screamed. "Not on my laptop. Are you crazy?
  
  Once again, the punishment elicited a strange instantaneous reaction from the obviously slightly mad Agatha, but this time she came to her senses almost immediately. Irritated by Nina's hypersensitive approach to things that can be interfered with on a whim, Agatha relaxed her hands, sighing.
  
  "Do it on your own computer," added the historian.
  
  Oh, so you're just worried about being hunted down, not about not doing it, Agatha said to herself aloud. "Well, that's better. I thought you took it as a bad idea."
  
  Nina's eyes widened in amazement at the woman's unconcern as she waited for the next bad idea.
  
  "I'll be right back, Dr. Gould. Wait," she said and jumped up. Opening the door, she glanced back briefly to inform Nina, "And I'm going to show this to the graphologist anyway, just to make it more convincing," she turned and flew out the door like an excited child on Christmas morning.
  
  "No fucking way," Nina said softly, clutching her laptop to her chest as if to protect it. "I can"t believe I"m already covered in shit and just waiting for the feathers to fall."
  
  Moments later, Agatha returned with a sign that looked like something from an old Buck Rogers episode. This thing was mostly transparent, made of some kind of fiberglass, about the size of a piece of writing paper, with no touchscreen to navigate. Agatha took 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 the tip of her finger like a flat thimble until she stuck it to the upper left corner of the strange tablet.
  
  "Look at it. David did it less than two weeks ago," Agatha boasted.
  
  "Of course," Nina chuckled and shook her head at the effectiveness of the far-fetched technology she was privy to. "What is he doing?"
  
  Agatha gave her one of those patronizing looks, and Nina braced herself for the inevitable "you-know-nothing"? tone.
  
  Finally, the blonde answered bluntly: "It's a computer, Nina."
  
  Yes, that's it! her irritated inner voice announced. 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 and pointed to a flat, round, silver object.
  
  "Oh, it's a modem. Can't be traced. Let's just say, virtually invisible. It literally picks up satellite bandwidth frequencies and plugs in the first six it can find. Then, at three-second intervals, it cycles through the selected channels so that it bounces around, collecting data from various service providers. So it looks like a drop in connection speed instead of an active log. I have to give this to an idiot. He's pretty good at fucking the system," Agatha smiled dreamily, showing off to Purdue.
  
  Nina laughed out loud. It wasn't the wine that prompted her to do it, but rather the sound of Agatha's proper language saying "fuck" so gratuitously. Her small body was leaning against the head of the bed with a bottle of wine as she watched the sci-fi show in front of her.
  
  "What?" Agatha asked innocently, running her finger along the top edge of the tablet.
  
  "Nothing, madam. Keep going," Nina chuckled.
  
  "Okay, let's go," said Agatha.
  
  The entire fiber optic system tinted the equipment a pastel purple that reminded Nina of a lightsaber, just not as harsh. Her eyes saw the binary file that appeared after Agatha's trained fingers typed in the code in the center of the rectangular screen.
  
  "Pen and paper," Agatha ordered Nina, without taking her eyes off the screen. Nina took a pen and a few torn pages from a notebook and waited.
  
  Agatha read out a link to the illegible ciphers Nina had written down as she spoke. They could hear the men coming up the stairs, still bantering about the absolute nonsense, when they were almost done.
  
  "What the hell are you doing with my gadgets?" Perdue asked. Nina thought that he should have been more defensive in his tone because of his sister's impertinence, but his voice sounded more interested in what she was doing than in what she was doing.
  
  "Nina needs to know the names of foreign legionnaires who arrived in Germany in the early 1900s. I'm just gathering this information for her," Agatha explained, her eyes still skimming over a few lines of code from which she selectively dictated the correct ones to Nina.
  
  "Damn it," was all Sam could manage, since he was using most of his physical ability to stay on his feet. No one knew if it was the awe caused by the high-tech tablet, the number of names they would extract, or the fact that they were basically committing a federal crime in front of him.
  
  "What do you have at the moment?" Perdue asked, also not very coherently.
  
  "We will upload all the names and identification numbers, maybe some addresses. And we'll present it at breakfast," Nina told the men, trying to keep her voice sober and confident. But they bought into it and agreed to continue sleeping.
  
  The next thirty minutes were spent in a tedious loading of the seemingly innumerable names, ranks, and positions of all the men inducted into the Foreign Legion, but the two ladies remained as focused as the alcohol allowed. The only disappointment in their study was the lack of walkers.
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  Hangover-ridden, Sam, Nina, and Perdue spoke in hushed voices to spare themselves an even bigger throbbing headache. Even the breakfast prepared by the housekeeper, Maisie McFadden, could not alleviate their discomfort, although they could not argue with the superiority of her dish of grilled tramezzini with mushrooms and egg.
  
  After the meal, they gathered again in the eerie parlour, where carvings peeped out from all the perches and stonework. Nina opened her notebook, where her illegible scribbles challenged her morning mind. On the list, she checked the names of all the enlisted men, living and dead. One by one, Perdue entered their names into a database that his sister had temporarily reserved for them to look up without finding any inconsistencies on the server.
  
  "No," he said after a few seconds of looking at entries with every name, "not Algeria."
  
  Sam sat at the coffee table and drank real coffee from the coffee maker, which Agatha had dreamed about the day before. He opened his laptop and emailed several sources that helped him trace the origins of the legends of an old soldier who wrote a poem about the lost treasure of the world, which he claims he drew attention to 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 this 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 two world wars by legionnaires here in North Africa to support the hope that there was some kind of magic in this wild part of the world. In fact, it was never considered to have any flesh on these bones. But send me what you have and I will see how I can help on that side."
  
  "Can he be trusted?" Nina asked. "How well do you know him?"
  
  "I met him twice when I covered the clashes in Abidjan in 2007 and again at the convention of the World Charity for Disease Control in Paris three years later. He is solid. Although very skeptical," recalled Sam.
  
  "That's a good thing, Sam," Purdue said and patted Sam on the back. "Then he won't see this assignment as anything more than a fool's errand. That will be better for us. He doesn't want to get a part of something he doesn't believe exists, does he?" Perdue chuckled. "Send him a copy of the page. Let's see what he can get out of it."
  
  "I wouldn't just send copies of this page to just anyone, Perdue," Nina warned. "You don"t want the information that this legendary story could have historical significance to be on the air."
  
  "Your concerns are noted, dear Nina," Purdue assured her, his smile certainly a little sad at the loss of her love. "But we ourselves also need to know this. Agatha knows next to nothing about her client, who may just be some rich kid who has inherited family heirlooms and wants to see if he can buy something with this diary on the black market."
  
  "Or he could tease us, you know?" she underlined her words to make sure both Sam and Purdue understood that the Black Sun council could have been behind this all along.
  
  "I doubt it," Purdue replied instantly. She figured he knew something she didn't, and so she was sure she'd roll the dice. On the other hand, when he ever didn't know something that others didn't know. Always one step ahead and extremely secretive in his dealings, Perdue showed no concern for Nina's idea. But Sam wasn't as dismissive as Nina. He gave Purdue a long, expectant look. He then hesitated to send an email before saying, "You seem pretty damn sure we didn"t... persuade."
  
  "I love the way you three are trying to start a conversation, but I don't see that there's more to what you're saying. But I know all about the organization and how it has been the bane of your existence ever since you inadvertently fucked a few of its members. My God, kids, that's why I hired you!" She laughed. This time, Agatha spoke like a confirmed customer, not some crazy vagrant spending too much time in the sun.
  
  "After all, she was the one who hacked the Black Sun servers to activate your financial status...kids," 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 areas of expertise, but we do have some things in common. Information about Sam Cleave and Nina Gould's difficult assignment for the infamous Renegade Brigade isn't exactly secret, not when you speak Russian," she hinted.
  
  Sam and Nina were shocked. Would Perdue then know that they were to find Renata, his main secret? How can they even get her now? They looked at each other with a little more concern than they liked.
  
  "Don't worry," Perdue broke the silence. "Let's help Agatha get her client's artifact, and the sooner we do that...who knows...Perhaps we could come up with some kind of agreement to ensure your loyalty to the crew," he said, looking at Nina.
  
  She couldn't help but remember the last time they'd spoken before Perdue disappeared without a proper explanation. His "arrangement" obviously meant renewed, undeniable loyalty to him. After all, in their last conversation, he had assured her that he hadn't given up on trying to get her back from Sam's arms, from Sam's bed. Now she knew why he also had to get the upper hand in the Renata/Renegade Brigade case.
  
  "You better keep your word, Perdue. We... I'm... running out of shit-eating spoons, if you know what I'm getting at," Sam warned. "If things go wrong, I'm leaving for good. Disappeared. They will never be seen again in Scotland. The only reason I came this far was for Nina."
  
  The tense moment silenced them all for a second.
  
  "Okay, now that we all know where we are and how far we all have to go until we get to our stations, we can email the Moroccan gentleman and start tracking down the rest of those names, right David?" Agatha led a group of clumsy colleagues.
  
  "Nina, would you like to come with me to a meeting in the city? Or do you want another threesome with these two?" Sister Perdue asked a rhetorical question and, without waiting for an answer, took her antique bag and placed an important document in it. Nina looked at Sam and Perdue.
  
  "Are you two going to be good while mommy is away?" she joked, but her tone was full of sarcasm. Nina was furious when two men hinted that she belonged to them in some form. They just stood there, Agatha's usual brutal honesty rousing them to the task at hand.
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  
  "Where are we going?" Nina asked when Agatha got 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 with a graphologist that my client referred me to. A beautiful place, Halkirk," she added, "right on the Thurso River and no more than fifteen minutes from here. Our meeting is scheduled for eleven, but we will get there earlier."
  
  Nina couldn't argue. The scenery was breathtaking, and she wished she could get 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 successive ordeals of recent years, she was thinking about settling in a small village on the highlands. Here. It would be nice here. From the A9 they turned onto the B874 and headed west towards a small town.
  
  "George Street. Nina, look for George Street," Agatha said to her passenger. Nina took out her new phone and activated the GPS with a childlike smile that amused Agatha, turning her into a hearty laugh. When the two women found the address, they took a moment to catch their breath. Agatha hoped that handwriting analysis could somehow shed some light on who the author was, or better yet, what was written on the obscure page. Who knows, thought Agatha, a professional who studied handwriting all day would surely be able to make out what was written there. She knew it was a stretch, but it was worth exploring.
  
  When they got out of the car, the gray sky was dousing Halkirk with a pleasant light drizzle. It was cold, but not that unpleasant, and Agatha hugged her old suitcase to her chest, covering his coat as they climbed the long cement stairs to the front door of the small house at the end of George Street. It was a quirky little dollhouse, Nina thought, like something out of a Scottish edition of House & Home. The perfectly mowed lawn looked like a piece of velvet that had just been thrown in front of the house.
  
  "Oh, hurry up. Get out of the rain, ladies!" A woman's voice came from a crack in the front door. A burly middle-aged woman with a sweet smile peeked out of the darkness behind him. She opened the door for them and motioned 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 the landlady of how important the document was, which she needed to review. Agatha intended to pretend that it was just some old page from a distant relative that had come into her possession. If it deserved the amount she was paid to find it, it wasn't something to advertise.
  
  "Hi, 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 that filtered in through sliding doors leading to a small pool. Nina looked at the beautiful circles that throbbed as raindrops fell on the surface of the pool, and admired the ferns and foliage planted around the pool so that she could submerge herself in the water. It was aesthetically stunning, a bright green in the gray damp weather.
  
  "Do you like it, Nina?" Rachel asked as Agatha handed her the papers.
  
  "Yes, it's amazing how wild and natural it looks," Nina replied politely.
  
  "My hubby is a landscape designer. A beetle had bitten him while he was making a living digging through all sorts of jungles and woodlands, and he had taken up gardening to alleviate that hard old case of nerves. You know, stress is a terrible thing that no one seems to notice these days, like we're supposed to get shivers from over-stress, huh?" Rachel mumbled incoherently as she opened the document under the magnifying lamp.
  
  "Indeed," Nina agreed. "Stress kills more people than anyone realizes."
  
  "Yeah, that"s why hubby got into other people"s gardens instead. More like a hobby type job. Very similar to my work. Okay, Miss Perdue, let's take a look at those scribbles of yours," Rachel said, putting on a working expression.
  
  Nina was skeptical about the whole idea, but she really enjoyed getting out of the house, away from Purdue and Sam. She sat down on the small couch by the sliding door, looking at the bright ornaments among the leaves and twigs. Rachel was silent this time. Agatha watched her intently, and it became so quiet that Nina and Agatha exchanged a few phrases, both very curious as to why Rachel had been studying one page for so long.
  
  Finally Rachel looked up, "Where did you get that, dear?" Her tone was serious and a little unsure.
  
  "Oh, my mother had some old things from her great-grandmother, and she dumped it all on me," Agatha skillfully lied. "Found this among some junk invoices and thought it was interesting."
  
  Nina perked up: "Why? Do you see what is written there?
  
  "Ladies, I"m not an ex... well, I"m an expert," she chuckled dryly as she took off her glasses, "but if I"m not mistaken, from this photo..."
  
  "Yes?" Nina and Agatha exclaimed at the same time.
  
  "It looks like it was written on..." she looked up, completely bewildered, "papyrus?"
  
  Agatha put on her most ignorant expression, while Nina simply gasped.
  
  "This is good?" Nina asked, playing dumb for information.
  
  "Why yes, my dear. This means that this paper is very valuable. Miss Perdue, do you happen to have the original?" Rachel asked. She placed her hand on Agatha's with raised curiosity.
  
  "I'm afraid I don't know, no. But I was just curious to look at the photo. Now we know that it must have been an interesting book from which it is taken. I guess I knew it from the start." Agatha was acting naive, because that's why I was so obsessed with finding out what it said. Perhaps you could help us figure out what it says?"
  
  "I can try. I mean, I see a lot of handwriting patterns and I have to boast that I have a trained eye for it," Rachel smiled.
  
  Agatha darted her eyes towards 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 pool, where it was now starting to rain.
  
  "Give me a few minutes, let me see if...I...can..." Rachel's words fizzled out as she adjusted the magnifying lamp to see better. "I see whoever took the picture made his own little note. The ink on this section is more recent, and the author's handwriting is significantly different. Hold on."
  
  It seemed like an eternity waiting for Rachel to write word for word as she deciphered the bits and pieces, leaving dotted lines here and there where she couldn't make out. Agatha looked around the room. Everywhere she could see samples of photographs, posters with various slopes and pressure, indicating psychological predispositions and character traits. In her opinion, it was an exciting calling. Perhaps Agatha, as a librarian, liked the love of words and meaning behind structure and the like.
  
  "It's like a kind of poem," Rachel muttered, "that's been torn apart by two hands. I bet that two different people wrote this poem - one the first part, and the other the last. The first lines are in French, the rest in German, if my memory serves me right. Oh, and down here, it's signed with what looks like... the first part of the signature is complicated, but the last part clearly looks like 'Venus' or 'Venus'. Do you know anyone in your family with that name, Miss Perdue?"
  
  "No, unfortunately not," Agatha replied with a touch of regret, playing her role so well that Nina smiled and shook her head furtively.
  
  "Agatha, you must continue this, my dear. I would even venture to say that the material on the papyrus on which this is written is quite... ancient," Rachel frowned.
  
  "Like the ancient 1800s?" Nina asked.
  
  "No, my dear. Roughly a thousand plus years to the 1800s-ancient," Rachel said, her eyes wide with surprise and sincerity. "You will find such a papyrus in museums of world history, such as the Cairo Museum!"
  
  Embarrassed by Rachel's interest in the document, Agatha diverted her attention.
  
  "And the poem on it is just as ancient?" she asked.
  
  "No, not at all. The ink is not half as faded as it would have been if it had been written so long ago. Someone took and wrote on paper, the value of which had no idea, my dear. Where they got them from is a mystery, because these types of papyrus must have been kept in museums or..." she laughed at the absurdity of what she was about to say, "they must have been kept somewhere since the Library of Alexandria. Restraining the urge to laugh out loud at the ridiculous statement, Rachel simply shrugged.
  
  "What words did you get out of it?" Nina asked.
  
  "It's in French, I think. Well, I don't speak French..."
  
  "It's all right, I believe," Agatha said quickly. She looked 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 took it as bullshit, which she had to play along to relieve the growing tension of the discussion. She guessed right.
  
  "Oh shit, you're right! And we still need to get the cake! Rachel, do you know of any good bakery that is around here?" Nina asked.
  
  "We were close to dying," Agatha said as they drove down the main road back to Thurso.
  
  "Damn yourself! I must admit that I was wrong. Hiring a graphologist was a very good idea," said Nina. "Can you translate what she wrote from the text?"
  
  "Yeah," said Agatha. "You don't speak French?"
  
  "Very little. I have always been a great lover of the Germanic language," the historian chuckled. "Men liked more."
  
  "Oh really? Do you prefer German men? And the Scottish scrolls bother you?" Agatha noticed. Nina couldn't tell if Agatha's statement contained even the slightest bit of threat, 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? There must be money," Agatha asked.
  
  "No, not so much money as confidence. And his passion for life, I guess," said Nina. She didn't like being made to investigate her attraction to Purdue so carefully. In fact, she would rather forget what she 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 if he wanted to be with her or not. Finding his notes on Trish and his life with her confirmed this, and at the risk of heartbreak if she confronted him about it, she kept it to herself. But deep inside, Nina couldn't deny that she was in love with Sam, the elusive lover she could never be with for more than a few minutes at a time.
  
  Her heart ached every time she thought of those memories of his life with Trish, of how much he loved her and her little oddities and how close they were-how much he missed her. Why would he write so much about their life together if he moved on? Why had he lied to her about how dear she was to him when he secretly wrote odes to her predecessor? The realization that she would never match Trish was a shock she couldn't take.
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  
  Perdue lit the fire while Sam cooked dinner under Miss Maisie's strict supervision. In fact, he was only helping, but she made him believe that he was a chef. Perdue entered the kitchen with a boyish smirk, watching the havoc Sam had caused in 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 where Sam had spilled flour while trying to make dumplings.
  
  "Sam," Perdue said, nodding his head inviting Sam to join him by the fire.
  
  "Miss Maisie, I'm afraid I must relieve myself of my duties in the kitchen," Sam announced.
  
  "Don't worry, Mr. Cleave," she smiled. "Thank God," they heard her say as he left the kitchen.
  
  "Have you already received news of this document?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Nothing. I guess they all think I'm crazy for doing a myth story, but on the one hand, that's good. The less people know about it, the better. Just in case the diary is still intact somewhere," Sam said.
  
  "Yeah, I'm very curious as to what the treasure is supposed to be," Perdue said, pouring them some scotch.
  
  "Of course it is," Sam replied, somewhat amused.
  
  "It's not about the money, Sam. God knows I've had enough. I don't have to chase inside relics for money," Perdue told him. "I'm really immersed in the past, in what the world keeps in hidden places that people are too ignorant to care about. I mean, we live in a land that has seen the most amazing things, experienced the most fantastic eras. It's really something special to find the remains of the Old World and touch things that know things we will never know."
  
  "It's too deep for this time of day, man," Sam admitted. He drank half a glass of his scotch in one gulp.
  
  "Easy with it," Purdue urged. "You want to be awake and aware when the two ladies return."
  
  "Actually, I'm not entirely sure about that," Sam admitted. Perdue just chuckled because he felt almost the same way. However, the two men decided not to discuss Nina or what she had with either of them. Oddly enough, there was never a feud between Perdue and Sam, two rivals for Nina's heart, as both had her body.
  
  The front door opened and two half-soaked women rushed in. It wasn't the rain that pushed them forward, it was the news. After a summary of what had happened in the graphologist's office, they resisted their unbridled urge to analyze the poem and flattered Miss Maisie by tasting for the first time her delicious dish of excellent cuisine. It would be unwise to discuss new details in front of her or anyone else, for that matter, just for safety's sake.
  
  After dinner, the four of them sat around the table to help find out if there was anything important in these entries.
  
  "David, is that a word? I suspect my high French is lacking," Agatha said impatiently.
  
  He glanced at Rachel's hideous handwriting into which she had copied the French part of the poem. "Oh, uh, that means pagan, and that one..."
  
  "Don't be a fool, I know it," she chuckled and ripped 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 help, Agatha. I'll go get some tea," Nina said casually, hoping the eccentric librarian didn't take it as a snide remark. But Agatha paid no attention to anyone while she finished translating the French section. The others waited patiently, making small talk while they were all bursting with curiosity. Suddenly, Agatha cleared her throat, "All right," she declared, "so here it says, 'From the pagan ports to the changing of the crosses, the old scribes came to keep the secret from the Serpents of God. drowned under Ahmed's foot.'
  
  She stopped. They were waiting. Agatha looked at them incredulously, "So what?"
  
  "This is all?" Sam asked, risking the displeasure of the terrible genius.
  
  "Yes, Sam, that's it," she snapped, as expected. "Why? Were you hoping for an opera?"
  
  "No, it was just... you know... I was expecting something longer since you took so long..." he began, but Perdue turned his back on his sister to secretly dissuade Sam from continuing the proposal.
  
  "Do you speak French, Mr. Cleave?" she quipped. Perdue closed his eyes, and Sam knew she was offended.
  
  "No. No I dont know. It would take me an eternity to figure something out there, "Sam tried to recover.
  
  "What the hell is 'Serapis'?" Nina came to his rescue. Her frown meant serious investigation, not just an empty question meant to save Sam's proverbial balls from the clutches.
  
  They all shook their heads.
  
  "Look it up on the Internet," Sam suggested, and before his words had dried up, Nina opened her laptop.
  
  "Understood," she said as she skimmed through the information to give a brief lecture. "Serapis was a pagan god worshiped primarily in Egypt."
  
  "Certainly. We have papyrus, so we naturally have to have Egypt somewhere," Perdue joked.
  
  "In any case," Nina continued, "in short... Somewhere in the fourth century in Alexandria, Bishop Theophilos banned all worship of pagan deities, and under the abandoned temple of Dionysus, the contents of the catacomb vaults were apparently desecrated... probably pagan relics," she suggested, "and this terribly angered the pagans in Alexandria."
  
  "So they killed the bastard?" Sam knocked, amused by 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 riots to get revenge on the streets. However, the Christians resisted and forced the pagan believers 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 the sake of persuasiveness."
  
  "Okay, that explains the pagan ports. Alexandria was a very important port in the ancient world. Pagan ports became Christian, right?" Purdue confirmed.
  
  "According to this, it is true," Nina replied. "But the ancient scribes keeping the secret..."
  
  "The old scribes," Agatha remarked, "must have been the priests who kept records in Alexandria. Library of Alexandria!"
  
  "But the Library of Alexandria was already burned to the ground in Boomfuck, British Columbia, wasn"t it?" Sam asked. Perdue had to laugh at the journalist's choice of words.
  
  "He was rumored to have been 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 appears to have been written on papyrus, which the graphologist told us was ancient. Perhaps not everything was destroyed. Maybe this means that they hid it from God's snakes - the Christian authorities! Nina exclaimed.
  
  "All of this is fair, Nina, but what does this have to do with a legionnaire from the 1800s? How does he fit in here? Agatha considered. "He wrote it, for what purpose?"
  
  "Legend says that the old soldier told about the day he saw the priceless treasures of the Old World with his own eyes, 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 are supposed to be the insides of a temple, right?"
  
  "Sam, you're a fucking genius!" Nina yelped. "That's all! Naturally, to watch how his insides were dragged through the desert and drowned ... buried ... under Ahmed's foot. The old soldier told about a farm owned by an Egyptian, where he saw the treasure. This shit was buried under the feet of an Egyptian in Algiers!"
  
  "Perfect! So the old French soldier told us what it was and where he saw it. It doesn't tell us where his diary is," Perdue reminded everyone. They got so caught up in the mystery that they lost track of the actual document they were after.
  
  "Don't worry. This is the role of Nina. German, written by a young soldier to whom he gave the diary," said Agatha, renewing their hope. "We needed to know what kind of treasure it was - 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 is very difficult. Lots of code words. I suspect this will be more of a problem than the first," she remarked, emphasizing some of the words. "A lot of words are missing here."
  
  "Yes, I saw it. It appears that over the years this photograph has become wet or damaged because much of the surface has been erased. I hope the original page is not affected to the same extent. But just give us the words that are still there, dear," Agatha prompted.
  
  "Now just remember that this was written much later than the last one," Nina told herself to remind her of the context in which she was supposed to translate it. "About the early years of the century, so... about nineteen-something. We need to call out these names of recruited men, Agatha."
  
  When she finally translated the German words, she leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowed.
  
  "Let's hear it," Purdue said.
  
  Nina read slowly: "This is very confusing. He obviously didn't want anyone to find it in his lifetime. In my opinion, by the beginning of the 1900s, the junior legionnaire must have passed the middle age. I just dotted the places where words are missing."
  
  
  New for people
  
  Not in the ground at 680 twelve
  
  God's still growing index contains two trinities
  
  And clapping angels shelter... Erno
  
  ...to yourself......keep it
  
  ...... invisible... Heinrich I
  
  
  "Otherwise, a whole line is missing," Nina sighed, throwing the pen to the side in shock. "The last part is the signature of a guy named "Venus," according to Rachel Clark."
  
  Sam chewed on a sweet bun. He leaned over Nina's shoulder and said with his mouth full, "Not 'Venus'. It's Werner, clear as day."
  
  Nina lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at his patronizing tone, but Sam just 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 photo. "1935. Did you ladies think it was a page number? Because otherwise, this man"s diary is thicker than the Bible, and he must have had a very long and eventful life."
  
  Perdue couldn't hold back any longer. From his place by the fireplace, where he leaned against the frame with a glass of wine, he rolled with laughter. Sam laughed heartily with him, but just in case, he quickly moved away from Nina. Even Agatha smiled, "I'd be outraged by his arrogance, too, if he didn't save us a lot of extra work, don't you agree, Dr. Gould?"
  
  "Yeah, he didn't screw up this time," Nina teased and gave Sam a smile.
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  
  "New for the people, not for the soil. So, it was a new place when Klaus Werner returned to Germany in 1935, or whenever he returned. Sam checks the names of legionnaires for the years 1900-1935," said Nina Agathe.
  
  "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 Werner, who entered the country in 1914!" Sam exclaimed. "He is the closest Werner we have to these dates. The rest 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 on Sam's chair to study the information on the laptop.
  
  "Then many places were new. Lord, the Eiffel Tower was young then. It was the industrial revolution. Everything was built recently. What is 680 twelve?" Nina chuckled. "I have a headache".
  
  "Twelve must have been years," 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's talking about, of course," Agatha slurred through clenched teeth, refusing to drop her jaw from the comfort of her hands.
  
  "Okay, so this place is 680 years old. Still growing? I'm at a loss. It can't possibly be alive," Nina sighed heavily.
  
  "Maybe the population is growing?" Sam suggested. "Look, it says here "God's pointer" holding "two trinities" and it's obviously a church. It is not difficult."
  
  "Do you know how many churches there are in Germany, Sam?" Nina chuckled. It was clear that she was very tired and very impatient because of all this. The fact that something else weighed on her in time, the impending death of her Russian friends, gradually took possession of her.
  
  "You're right, Sam. It is not difficult to guess that we are looking for a church, but the answer to which one lies, I am sure of this, in "two trinities." Every church has a trinity, but rarely is there another set of three," Agatha replied. She had to admit that she, too, had considered the enigmatic moments of the poem to the limit.
  
  Pardew suddenly leaned over Sam and pointed to the screen, something called 1914 Werner. "Caught 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 a thumbnail, "where it says: 'Klaus Werner, urban planner under the administration of Konrad Adenauer, mayor of Cologne (1917-1933)".
  
  "It means that he wrote this poem after Adenauer's dismissal," Nina perked up. It was nice to hear something familiar that she knew from German history. "In 1933 the Nazi Party won the local elections in Cologne. Certainly! Shortly thereafter, the Gothic church there was turned into a monument to the new German Empire. But I think Herr Werner got a little wrong in his calculations of the age of the church, give or take a few years."
  
  "Who cares? If this is the right church, then we have our location, folks!" Sam insisted.
  
  "Wait, let me double check before we go there unprepared," Nina said. She typed "Cologne Attractions" into a search engine. Her face lit up as she read the reviews of the Kölner Dom, Cologne Cathedral, the city's most important 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 that Werner mentioned!"
  
  Perdue stood up to sighs of relief: "Now we know where to start, thank God. Agatha, make arrangements. I will 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 their solution to the ancient riddle would lead to the relic Agatha's client had been dreaming of. Nina and Sam took care of the rented car, while Purdue stocked up on his best illegal gadgets in case they were thwarted by the pesky security measures cities had put in place to protect their monuments.
  
  The flight to Cologne was uneventful and fast, thanks to Purdue's flight crew. The private jet they took wasn't his best, but it wasn't a luxury trip. This time, Perdue used his aircraft for practical reasons, not out of instinct. On a small runway in the southeast direction of Cologne-Bonn Airport, the light Challenger 350 braked gracefully. The weather was terrible, not only for flying but also for normal travel. The roads were wet due to the onslaught of an unexpected storm. As Perdue, Nina, Sam, and Agatha made their way through the crowd, they noticed the pathetic behavior of the passengers, lamenting the fury of what they thought was just an ordinary rainy day. Apparently, the local forecast did not say anything about the intensity of the outbreak.
  
  "Thank God I brought my rubber boots," Nina remarked as they crossed the airport and made their way out of the arrivals hall. "That would destroy my shoes."
  
  "But that disgusting yak jacket would do a good job right now, don"t you think?" Agatha smiled as they walked down the stairs to the ground floor to the ticket office for the S-13 train to the city center.
  
  "Who gave it 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.
  
  "Commander of the renegade brigade, Ludwig Bern. It was one of his," Nina said with obvious bliss. She reminded Sam of a schoolgirl swooning over her new boyfriend. He just walked a few yards, wishing he could smoke right now. He joined Purdue at the ticket machine.
  
  "He sounds amazing. You know these people are known to be very cruel, very disciplined and very, very hardworking," Agatha said matter-of-factly. "I did extensive research on them recently. Tell me, are there torture chambers in that mountain fortress?"
  
  "Yes, but I was lucky not to be a prisoner there. Turns out I look like Bern's late wife. I suppose such small courtesies saved my ass when they captured us because I experienced first hand their reputation as beasts during my detention," said Nina Agathe. Her gaze was firmly fixed on the floor as she recounted the episode of violence.
  
  Agatha saw Sam's reaction, no matter how depressed it was, and she whispered, "Is that when they hurt Sam so badly?"
  
  "Yes".
  
  "And you got that awful bruise?"
  
  "Yes, Agatha."
  
  "Cunts".
  
  "Yes, Agatha. You got it right. So, it was a pretty big surprise that the supervisor of that shift treated me more humanely when I was being interrogated... of course... after he threatened me with rape... and death," Nina said, almost amused by it all.
  
  "Let's go. We need to sort out our hostel so we can get some rest," Perdue said.
  
  The hostel Perdue mentioned didn't look like the one that usually came to mind. They got off the tram at Trimbornstraße and walked the next block and a half to a modest old building. Nina looked up at the tall, four-story brick building that looked like a cross between a World War II factory and a well-restored old tower house. The place had old world charm and a welcoming atmosphere, although it had clearly seen better days.
  
  The windows were decorated with decorative frames and sills, while on the other side of the glass, Nina could see someone peeking through the spotlessly clean curtains. As guests entered, the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee overwhelmed them in the small, dark, musty lobby.
  
  "Your rooms are upstairs, Herr Perdue," a painfully neat man in his early thirties told Purdue.
  
  "Vielen dunk, Peter," Perdue smiled and stepped aside so the ladies could go up the stairs to their rooms. "Sam and I are in the same room; Nina and Agatha in another.
  
  "Thank God I don't have to stay with David. Even now, he hasn't stopped his annoying sleep chatter," Agatha nudged Nina with her elbow.
  
  "Ha! Has he always done this? Nina chuckled as they placed their bags on the ground.
  
  "Since birth, I think. He was always verbose while I shut up and taught different things," Agatha joked.
  
  "Okay, let's get some rest. Tomorrow afternoon we can go see what the cathedral has to offer," Purdue announced, stretching and yawning widely.
  
  "I hear it!" Sam agreed.
  
  With one last look at Nina, Sam entered the room with Perdue and closed the door behind him.
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  
  Agatha stayed when the other three went to Cologne Cathedral. She had to follow their backs with tracking devices connected to her brother's tablet, their personalities with three wristwatches. On her own laptop, which was on the bed, she connected to the local police communications system to monitor any alarm regarding her brother's marauding group. Putting cookies and a flask of strong black coffee beside her, Agatha watched the screens behind her locked bedroom door.
  
  Awestruck, Nina and Sam couldn't take their eyes off the sheer might of the Gothic structure in front of them. It was majestic and ancient, its spiers reaching an average of 500 feet from the base. The architecture not only resembled medieval-style towers and pointed ledges, but from afar the outlines of the wonderful building seemed uneven and solid. The complexity was beyond imagination, something to be seen in person, Nina thought, because she had seen the famous cathedral in books before. But nothing could have prepared her for the breathtaking vision that made her tremble with awe.
  
  "It's huge, isn't it?" Perdue smiled confidently. "Looks even more gorgeous than the last time I was here!"
  
  The history was impressive even by the ancient standards that Greek temples and Italian monuments adhered to. The two towers stood massive and silent, pointing upward as if they were speaking to God; and in the middle, an intimidating entrance tempted thousands of people to go inside and admire the interior.
  
  "It's over 400 feet long, can you believe it? Look at it! I know we're here for other purposes, but it never hurts to appreciate the true splendor of German architecture," Perdue said, admiring the buttresses and spiers.
  
  "I'm dying to see what's inside," exclaimed Nina.
  
  "Don't be too impatient, Nina. You will spend many hours there," Sam reminded her, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling too mockingly. She turned her nose up at him, and with a chuckle, the three of them entered the gigantic monument.
  
  Since they had no idea where the diary might be, Purdue suggested that he, Sam, and Nina split up so they could explore separate parts of the cathedral at the same time. He carried a pen-sized laser spyglass with him to pick up any heat signals outside the church walls, where he might have to sneak in.
  
  "Holy crap, this will take us days," Sam said a little too loudly as his astonished eyes scanned the majestic, colossal building. People muttered in disgust at his exclamation, inside the church no less!
  
  "Then it"s better to get started. Anything that can give us an idea of where they might be stored should be considered. We each have a picture of the others on our watches, so don't disappear. I don't have the energy to look for the diary and two lost souls," Perdue smiled.
  
  "Oh, you just had to spin it like that," Nina chuckled. "Later, boys."
  
  They divided into three directions, pretending they were just there to see the sights, while scrutinizing any possible clue that might point to the location of a French soldier's diary. The watches they wore served as a means of communication so they could exchange information without having to regroup each time.
  
  Sam wandered into the sacrament chapel, repeating to himself that what he was really looking for was something that looked like an old little 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 was never religious and, of course, lately did not feel anything sacred, but he had to yield to the skill of sculptors and stonemasons, who created amazing things around him. The pride and respect with which they were made stirred his emotions, and almost every statue and structure deserved to be photographed. It's been a long time since Sam found himself in a place where he could really use his photography skills.
  
  Nina's voice came through the earpiece connected to their wrist devices.
  
  "Should I say 'destroyer, destroyer' or something like that?" she asked over the squeaky signal.
  
  Sam couldn't help but chuckle, and soon he heard Perdue say, "No, Nina. I'm afraid 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 pamphlet on all the different bells. There is a bell in the ridge tower called the Angelus Bell," she replied. "I wanted to ask if this has anything to do with the poem."
  
  "Where? Clapping angels? Perdue asked.
  
  "Well, the word 'Angels' is capitalized 'A', and I think it might be a name and 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' here. The tongue that hangs down the middle of the bell is called a mallet, isn't it? Could this mean that the diary is under the protection of the Angelus Bell?"
  
  "Oh my God, you figured it out," Perdue whispered excitedly. His voice could not sound excited among the tourists who crowded inside the Marien Chapel, where Purdue was admiring Stefan Lochner's Gothic rendering of the patron saints of Cologne. "I'm at St. Mary's Chapel right now, but meet me at Ridge Turret Base, say in 10 minutes?"
  
  "Okay, see you there," Nina replied. "Sam?"
  
  "Yes, I will be there as soon as I can get another shot of that ceiling. Damn it!" he said, while Nina and Perdue could hear the people around Sam gasp again at his remark.
  
  When they met at the observation deck, everything fell into place. From the platform above the ridge tower, it was clear that the smaller bell might well have concealed the 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 city buildings and infrastructure. I bet that's why he chose the Angelus Bell. It is smaller, more modest than the main bells, and it would never occur to anyone to look here," Perdue noted. "Okay, so tonight my sister and I will go up here and you two can keep an eye on the activity around us."
  
  "Agatha? Climb up here?" Nina gasped.
  
  "Yes, she was a national-level 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 remarked.
  
  "It'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 climber, if you can get her out of archives, vaults and bookshelves." Dave Perdue laughed at the reaction of his two colleagues. Both clearly remembered Agatha in boots and harness.
  
  "If anyone can climb this monstrous building, it would be a climber," agreed Sam. "I'm so glad I wasn't chosen for this madness."
  
  "Me too, Sam, me too!" Nina shuddered as she looked down again at the small tower perched atop the steep roof of the great cathedral. "God, just the thought of standing here made me apprehensive. I hate enclosed spaces, but as we talk, I develop a dislike for heights."
  
  Sam took several photographs of the surroundings, more or less including the surrounding scenery, so they could plan their reconnaissance and rescue of the item. Perdue took out his spyglass and surveyed the tower.
  
  "Cute," said Nina, examining the device with her own eyes. "What, pray tell, does that do?"
  
  "Look," Purdue said and handed 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 opened wide, 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 journalist.
  
  "She's looking through the wall, Sam. Nina, do you see anything unusual there? Anything like a book? he asked her.
  
  "Not on the button, but I see a rectangular object right at the top, on the inside of the bell dome," she described as she moved the object up and down the turret and bell to make sure she didn"t miss anything. "Here".
  
  She handed them to Sam, who was amazed.
  
  "Perdue, do you think you can fit this contraption into my cell? 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 at their banter.
  
  Someone walked past her, inadvertently ruffling her hair. She turned around and saw a man standing too close to her and smiling. His teeth were stained and his expression was creepy. She turned to grab Sam's arm to let the man know she was being escorted. When she turned again, he somehow vanished into thin air.
  
  "Agatha, I'm marking the item's location," Purdue said over his comm device. A moment later, he aimed his spyglass in the direction of the Angelus Bell, and a quick beep sounded as the laser marked the tower's global position on Agatha's recording screen.
  
  Nina had a disgusting feeling for the disgusting man who confronted her a few 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 a bad meeting and nothing more, Nina decided to write it off as nothing important.
  
  
  Chapter 20
  
  
  By late after midnight, Perdue and Agatha were dressed appropriately for the occasion. It was a terrible night with gusty winds and gloomy skies, but fortunately for them, it hadn't rained-yet. Rain would have severely undermined their ability to climb the massive structure, especially where the tower was located, gently and dangerously hitting the top of the four roofs that joined to form a cross. After careful planning and taking into account security risks and time-limited efficiency, they decided to scale the building from the outside, directly up to the tower. They climbed through the niche where the south and east walls converged, and used projecting buttresses and arches to make it easier for the legs to climb.
  
  Nina was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
  
  "What if the wind picks up even more?" she asked Agatha, pacing around the blond librarian as she slipped her seatbelt under her coat.
  
  "Honey, we have safety ropes for this," she muttered, tying the seam of the overalls to her boots so that it would not catch on anything. Sam was across the living room with Purdue, checking their communications devices.
  
  "Are you sure you know how to track messages?" Agatha asked Nina, who was saddled with the task of running the base while Sam had to take up a lookout position from the street across from the cathedral's main facade.
  
  "Yes, Agatha. I'm not exactly tech savvy," Nina sighed. She already knew not to even try to defend herself against Agatha's unintentional insults.
  
  "That's right," Agatha laughed in her superior manner.
  
  True, the Purdue twins were world-class hackers and developers who could manipulate electronics and science the way other people tie their shoelaces, but Nina herself was not lacking in intelligence. First, she learned to restrain her rabid temper a little; quite a bit to accommodate Agatha's oddities. At 2:30 am, the team hoped that the guards were either inactive or not patrolling at all, as it was a Tuesday night with terrible gusts of wind.
  
  Shortly before three in the morning, Sam, Perdue, and Agatha headed for the door, Nina following them to lock the door behind her.
  
  "Please be careful guys," Nina urged again.
  
  "Hey, don't worry," Perdue winked, "we're professional troublemakers. We'll be all right."
  
  "Sam," she said softly and stealthily took his gloved hand in hers, "come back soon."
  
  "Keep your eyes on us, huh?" he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers and smiling.
  
  Dead silence reigned in the streets surrounding the cathedral. Only the groan of the wind whistled around the corners of the buildings and shook the road signs, while some newspapers and leaves danced under his direction. Three figures in black approached from behind the trees in the eastern part of the great church. In silent synchronization, they set up their communication devices and trackers before the two climbers broke away from their vigil and began to climb the southeast side of the monument.
  
  Everything went according to plan as Perdue and Agatha made their way carefully to the ridge tower. Sam watched as they gradually moved up the lancet arches as the wind whipped their ropes. He stood in the shade of the trees, where the street lamp could not see him. To his left, he heard a noise. A little girl of about twelve years old was running down the street toward the railway station, sobbing in terror. She was followed relentlessly by four underage thugs in neo-Nazi clothing, shouting all kinds of curses at her. Sam didn't speak German very well, but he knew enough to know that they didn't have 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 where he was to watch for safety.
  
  What's more important? The well-being of a child in real danger, or of your two colleagues, who are doing well so far? he wrestled with his conscience. Fuck it, I'll check it out and be back before Perdue even looks down.
  
  Sam kept a close eye on the hooligans, trying to stay out of the light. He could barely hear them over the maddening noise of the weather, but he could see their shadows driving into the train station behind the cathedral. He moved east, thus losing sight of the shadowy movements of Purdue and Agatha between buttresses and gothic stone needles.
  
  He couldn't hear them at all now, but being sheltered by the precinct building, it was dead silent inside nonetheless. Sam walked as quietly as he could, but he could no longer hear the young girl. A sickening feeling settled in his stomach as he imagined that they had caught up with her and were forcing her to be silent. Or perhaps they could have killed her already. Sam pushed the absurd hypersensitivity out of his head and continued on his way along the platform.
  
  He heard shuffling footsteps behind him, too fast for him to defend himself, and he felt several hands knock him to the floor, groping and searching for his wallet.
  
  Like skinhead demons, they clung to him with terrible grins and new German cries of violence. Among them stood a girl, against the background of the white light of the police station building, which shone behind her. Sam frowned. After all, she was not a little girl. The young woman was one of them, used to lure unsuspecting Samaritans into secluded places where her pack plundered them. Now that he could see her face, Sam noticed that she was at least eighteen years old. Her small, youthful body betrayed him. A few blows to the ribs left him defenseless, and Sam felt the familiar memory of Bodo float from his memory.
  
  "Sam! Sam? Are you all right? Talk to me!" Nina was screaming into his earpiece, but he was spitting out a mouthful of blood.
  
  He felt them pull on his watch.
  
  "No no! This is not a watch! You can't get it! he shouted, not caring if his protests convinced them that his watch was worth a lot to him.
  
  "Shut up, sheiskopf!" the girl grinned and kicked Sam in the scrotum with her boot, causing him to lose his breath.
  
  He could hear the pack laugh as they left, complaining about the backpacker without a wallet. Sam was so furious that he just screamed in desperation. In any case, no one could hear anything because of the howling storm outside.
  
  "God! How stupid are you, Cleve? he chuckled, clenching his jaw. His fist pounded on the concrete below him, but he couldn't get up yet. The burning spear of pain lodged in his lower abdomen had immobilized him, and he only hoped the gang wouldn't return before he could get to his feet. They will surely return as soon as they find out that the watch they stole cannot tell the time.
  
  Meanwhile, Perdue and Agatha are half way up the structure. They couldn't afford to talk over the noise of the wind for fear of detection, but Purdue could see that his sister's pants were caught on a rock ledge facing down. She could not continue, and she did not have the opportunity to give a rope to correct her position and free her leg from an unassuming trap. She looked at Perdue and motioned for him to cut the cord while she held on tightly to the ledges while standing on a small ledge. He shook his head fervently in disagreement and gestured with his fist for her to wait.
  
  Slowly, very much afraid of the gusty wind that threatened to blow them off the stone walls, he carefully placed his feet in the cracks of the building. One by one he descended, heading for the larger ledge below so that his new location could give Agatha the freedom of rope she needed to unfasten her pants from the brick corner where they were secured.
  
  When she freed herself, her weight exceeded the allowable norm, and she was thrown from her place. A scream escaped her terrified body, but the storm quickly swallowed it up.
  
  "What's happening?" Nina panicked through the headphones. "Agatha?"
  
  Perdue held on tight to the comb where his fingers were ready to bring down his weight, but he gathered his strength to keep his sister from falling to her death. He looked down at her. Her face was ashen and her eyes wide as she looked up and nodded her thanks. But Perdue looked past her. Frozen in place, his eyes moved cautiously along something below her. Mocking, her frown begged for information, but he slowly shook his head and with his lips asked her to be silent. Over the comm device, Nina could hear Perdue whispering, "Don't move, Agatha. Don't make a sound."
  
  "Oh my God!" Nina exclaimed from her home base. "What is happening there?"
  
  "Nina, calm down. Please," was all she heard Perdue say over the static of the speaker.
  
  Agatha's nerves were on edge, not because of the distance at which she hung from the south side of the Cologne Cathedral, but because she did not know what her brother was staring at behind her.
  
  Where did Sam go? Did they capture him, too? Pardew thought as he scanned the area below for Sam's shadow, but he found no sign of the journalist.
  
  Outside Agatha, on the street, Purdue watched three patrolling policemen. Because of the strong wind, he could not hear what they were talking about. They might as well have been discussing pizza toppings, for all he knew, but he assumed their presence had been provoked by Sam or they would have already looked up. He had to leave his sister swaying precariously in the wind while he waited for them to turn the corner, but they remained in sight.
  
  Purdue watched their discussion carefully.
  
  Suddenly, Sam stumbled out of the side of the station, looking clearly drunk. The officers headed straight for him, but before they could grab him, two black shadows quickly moved out of the dark cover of the trees. Perdue caught his breath when he saw two Rottweilers pounce on the police, shoving aside the men in their group.
  
  "What the...?" he whispered to himself. Both Nina and Agatha, one shouting and the other moving their lips, answered: "WHAT?"
  
  Sam disappeared into the shadows at a bend in the street and waited there. He'd been chased by dogs before, and that wasn't one of his fondest memories at all. Both Purdue and Sam watched from their watch as the police drew their firearms and fired into the air to scare off the vicious black animals.
  
  Both Perdue and Agatha flinched, eyes squeezed shut by the blast from those stray bullets aimed right at them. Luckily, not a single shot hit the stone or their tender flesh. Both dogs barked but did not move forward. It was as if they were being controlled, Purdue thought. The policemen slowly walked back to their car to pass the wire to the Animal Control Service.
  
  Perdue quickly pulled his sister against the wall so she could find a stable ledge, and he gestured for her to keep quiet, putting his index finger to his lips. Once she had her footing, she dared to look down. Her heart raced at the height and the sight of the policemen crossing the street.
  
  "Let's move!" Purdue whispered.
  
  Nina was furious.
  
  "I heard shots! Can anyone just tell me what the hell is going on there?" she squealed.
  
  "Nina, we're fine. Just a small hurdle. Now please let us do this," Purdue explained.
  
  Sam immediately realized that the animals had disappeared without a trace.
  
  He couldn't tell them not to comm if the juvenile gang heard them, nor could he talk to Nina. None of the three had mobile phones with them to prevent signal interference, so he could not tell Nina that he was all right.
  
  "Oh, now I'm up to my ears in shit," he sighed and watched as two climbers reached the ridge of neighboring rooftops.
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  
  "Anything else before I leave, Dr. Gould?" asked the night hostess from the other side of the door. Her calm tone contrasted sharply with the exciting radio show Nina was listening to, and it brought Nina into a different state of mind.
  
  "No thanks, that's all," she shouted back, trying to sound as less hysterical as possible.
  
  "When Mr. Perdue returns, please inform him that Miss Maisie has left a telephone message. She asked me to tell him that she fed the dog, "the plump servant asked.
  
  "Um... Yes, I will do it. Good night!" Nina pretended to be cheerful and bit her nails.
  
  Like he didn't give a shit about someone feeding the dog after what just happened in the city. Idiot, Nina growled in her mind.
  
  She hadn't heard from Sam since he called out for the clock, but she didn't dare interrupt the other two when they were already using all their senses to keep themselves from falling. Nina was furious that she couldn't warn them about the police, but it wasn't her fault. There were no radio messages sending them to the church, and it wasn't her fault that they happened to be there. But, of course, Agatha was going to read her the sermon of her life on this.
  
  "To hell with that," Nina decided as she walked over to her chair to grab her windbreaker. From the cookie jar in the lobby, she retrieved the keys to the E-type Jag in the garage, which belonged to Peter, the landlord who hosted Purdue's party. Leaving her post, she locked the house and drove to the cathedral to provide further assistance.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  At the top of the ridge, Agatha held on to the sloping sides of the roof, which she crossed on all fours. Perdue was a little ahead of her, heading for the tower, where the Angelus Bell and its friends hung in silence. Weighing almost a ton, the bell could hardly move because of the stormy winds that quickly and randomly changed direction, cornered by the complex architecture of the monumental church. Both of them were completely exhausted, despite being in good shape, from failing to climb and an adrenaline rush from almost being discovered... or shot.
  
  Like gliding shadows, they both slipped into the tower, thankful for the stable floor underneath and the momentary safety of the small tower's dome and columns.
  
  Perdue unzipped his leg and pulled out a spyglass. It had a button on it that linked the coordinates he had written down earlier to the GPS on Nina's screen. But she had to activate the GPS on her side to make sure the bell marked the exact spot where the book was hidden.
  
  "Nina, I'm sending GPS coordinates to connect with yours," Purdue informed his communicator. No answer. He again tried to establish contact with Nina, but there was no answer.
  
  "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 doesn't. She's not an idiot, Agatha. Something is wrong or she would have answered and you know it," Perdue insisted, while inside he feared that something had happened to his beautiful Nina. He tried using the astute view through a spyglass to manually determine where an object was.
  
  "We don"t have time to mourn the problems we are facing, so let"s just get on with it, okay?" he said to Agatha.
  
  "Old school?" - Asked Agatha.
  
  "Old school," he smiled, and turned on his laser to crop where the texture differentiation anomaly was displayed in his scope. "Let's deliver this baby and get the hell out of here."
  
  Before Perdue and his sister were on their way, Animal Control showed up downstairs to help the police look for stray dogs. Unaware of this new development, Purdue successfully removed the rectangular iron safe from the side of the lid where it had been placed prior to casting the metal.
  
  "Pretty witty, huh?" Agatha noticed as she cocked her head to the side as she processed the engineering data that must have been used in the original casting. "Whoever directed the creation of this firecracker was connected to Klaus Werner."
  
  "Or it was Klaus Werner," Purdue added as he tucked the welded box into his backpack.
  
  "The bell is several centuries old, but has been replaced several times over the past few decades," he said, running his hand over the new casting. "It could very well have been done right after World War I, when Adenauer was mayor."
  
  "David, when will you finish cooing over the bell..." his sister said casually and pointed down the street. Downstairs, several officials were loitering nearby, looking for the dogs.
  
  "Oh no," Purdue sighed. "I lost contact with Nina and Sam's device went off shortly after we started climbing. I hope he has nothing to do with that case down there."
  
  Perdue and Agatha had to sit out until the circus outside died down. They hoped it would be before dawn, but for now they sat down to wait and see.
  
  Nina was heading towards the cathedral. She drove as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself, but she was steadily losing her composure due to sheer concern for others. As she turned left out of Tunisstraße, she kept her eyes fixed on the tall spiers that marked the location of the Gothic church and hoped she could still find Sam, Perdue, and Agatha there. At Domkloster, where the cathedral was located, she drove much slower to bring the engine to a mere hum. The traffic at the base of the cathedral startled her, and she quickly slammed on the brakes and turned off the headlights. Agatha's rented car was nowhere to be seen, naturally, because they couldn't imagine they were there. The librarian parked the car a few blocks from where they had started walking towards the cathedral.
  
  Nina watched uniformed strangers scour the area looking for something or someone.
  
  "Come on, Sam. Where are you?" she asked softly in the silence of the car. The scent of natural leather filled the car, and she wondered if the owner was going to check the mileage when he got back. After a patient fifteen minutes, a group of officers and dogcatchers announced that the night was over, and she watched the four cars and the van drive off one after the other in different directions, to where their shift had sent them that night.
  
  It was almost 5 am and Nina was exhausted. She could only imagine how her friends felt right now. The very thought of what might have happened to them horrified her. What were the police doing here? What were they looking for? She dreaded the sinister imaginings her mind generated-how Agatha or Perdue had fallen to their deaths while she was in the closet, right after they told her to shut up; how the police were there to clean up the mess 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 exclaimed, holding 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 the assholes down here. God, I hope they're not frozen in there yet. It was a long time ago," he said.
  
  "Where is your communication device?" she asked. "I heard you scream about it."
  
  "I was attacked," he said bluntly.
  
  "Again? Are you a hit magnet or what? she asked.
  
  "It's a long story. You would do that too, so shut up," he breathed, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.
  
  "How will they know we're here?" Nina thought aloud as she turned the car slowly to the left and carefully idled it towards the swaying black cathedral.
  
  "They will not. We just have to wait until we see them," Sam suggested. He leaned forward to look through the windshield. "Go to the southeast side, Nina. That's where they ascended. They probably..."
  
  "They're coming down," Nina interrupted, looking up and pointing to where the two figures were suspended by invisible threads and gradually slipped down.
  
  "Oh, thank God, they're all right," she sighed and tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Sam came out and motioned for them to sit down.
  
  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, frowning at her in the rearview mirror.
  
  "Perdue, where is the rental car parked?" Nina asked as Sam and Agatha got down to business.
  
  Purdue gave her directions, and she drove slowly through the blocks as the altercation continued inside the car.
  
  "Agreed, Sam, you did leave us there without letting us know that you were checking into the situation with the girl. You just left," Perdue countered.
  
  "I've been suspended by five or six fucking perverted Germans, if you don't mind!" Sam roared.
  
  "Sam," Nina insisted, "leave it. You will never hear the end of this."
  
  "Of course not, Dr. Gould!" Agatha barked, now directing her anger to the wrong target. "You just left the base and cut off contact with us."
  
  "Oh, I thought I wasn't allowed one damn look at that lump, Agatha. What, you wanted me to send smoke signals? Besides, there was nothing about the area on the police channels at all, so save your accusations for someone else! "- retorted the hot-tempered historian. "The only response from the two of you was that I should remain silent. And you're supposed to be a genius, but that's base logic, honey!"
  
  Nina was so angry that she almost drove past the rented car that Perdue and Agatha were supposed to drive back.
  
  "I'll take the Jaguar back, Nina," Sam suggested, and they got out of the car to switch places.
  
  "Remind me never to trust you with my life again," Agatha told Sam.
  
  "I was supposed to just watch a bunch of thugs kill a young girl? You can be a cold, indifferent bitch, but I intervene when someone is in danger, Agatha!" Sam hissed.
  
  "No, you are reckless, Mr. Cleve! Your selfish ruthlessness has no doubt killed your fiancé! she squealed.
  
  Silence fell over the four of them instantly. Agatha's hurtful words hit Sam like a spear through the heart, and Purdue felt his heart skip a beat. Sam was dumbfounded. At the moment there was nothing but numbness in him, except for his chest, where it hurt a lot. Agatha knew what she had done, but she knew it was too late to correct. Before she could try, Nina landed a devastating punch to her jaw, knocking her tall body sideways with such force that she landed on her knees.
  
  "Nina!" Sam started crying and went to hold her.
  
  Perdue helped his sister to her feet, but did not side with her.
  
  "Come on, let's go back to the house. There is still a lot to be done tomorrow. Let's all cool down and get some rest," he said calmly.
  
  Nina was shaking madly, saliva moistening the corners of her mouth as Sam held her injured hand in his. Passing Sam, Perdue patted his arm reassuringly. He felt genuinely sorry for the journalist who, a few years ago, saw the love of his life take a bullet in the face right before his eyes.
  
  "Sam..."
  
  "No, please, Nina. No need," he said. His glazed eyes stared sluggishly ahead, but he did not look at the road. Finally someone said it. What he had been thinking about all these years, the guilt that everyone took from him out of pity, was a lie. In the end, he caused Trish's death. All he needed was someone to say it.
  
  
  Chapter 22
  
  
  After a few very uncomfortable minutes between their return to the house and going to bed at 6:30 in the morning, the sleeping order was slightly changed. Nina slept on the couch to avoid Agatha. Perdue and Sam barely said a word to each other when 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 in finding the supposed treasure.
  
  In fact, on the way home in the rented car, Agatha suggested that she take the safe with the diary and deliver it to her client. After all, that's why she hired Nina and Sam to help her, and since she now had what she was looking for, she wanted to drop everything and run away. But in the end, her brother convinced her otherwise and, in turn, suggested that she stay until the morning and see how things turn out. Purdue was not one to give up on the pursuit of mystery, and the unfinished poem simply ignited his inexorable curiosity.
  
  Perdue kept the box to himself, just in case, locking it in his steel bag-essentially a portable safe-until morning. That way he could keep Agatha here and stop Nina or Sam from escaping with it. He doubted Sam would bother. Ever since Agatha had uttered that withering insult at Trish, Sam had returned to a kind of dark, melancholy mood where he refused to talk to anyone. When they got home, he went to take a shower and then immediately went to bed without saying good night, not even looking at Purdue when he entered the room.
  
  Even light-hearted bullying, which Sam usually couldn't resist joining in, couldn't spur him into action.
  
  Nina wanted to talk to Sam. She knew sex wasn't going to fix Trish's latest breakdown this time. In fact, the very idea that he was still hanging around for Trish like that only made her more convinced that she meant nothing to him compared to his late fiancée &# 233;. However, this was strange, because in recent years he was calm about this whole terrible business. His therapist was pleased with his progress, Sam himself admitted that he no longer hurt when he thought of Trish and it was clear that he had finally found some kind of closure. Nina was sure that they had a future together if they wanted to, even through all the hell they had been through together.
  
  But now, out of the blue, Sam was writing detailed articles about Trish and his life with her. Page after page described the culmination of the circumstances and events that led to both of them being caught up in that fateful gun-trafficking incident that changed his life forever. Nina couldn't imagine where it all came from, and she wondered what had picked up that scab on Sam.
  
  With her emotional confusion, some remorse for having deceived Agatha, and much 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 the dream take her.
  
  Agatha was the last to stay up, rubbing her throbbing jaw and aching cheek. She would never have thought that someone as small as Dr. Gould could strike such a blow, but she had to admit that the little historian was not one to be pushed into physical action. Agatha liked to indulge in some melee martial arts from time to time for fun, but she never foresaw this blow would come. It only proved that Sam Cleave meant a lot 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.
  
  When she entered the dark kitchen, a taller male figure stood in the faint light of a refrigerator lamp that fell vertically on his chiseled belly and chest from the half-open door.
  
  Sam looked up at the shadow that entered the doorway.
  
  Both immediately froze in awkward silence, just staring at each other in surprise, but neither could look away from the other. They both knew that there was a reason why they came to the same place at the same time while the others were away. Corrections needed to be made.
  
  "Listen, Mr. Cleave," Agatha began in a voice slightly above a whisper, "I am deeply sorry for delivering a low blow. And it is 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 categorically do not believe that this is even true!" she pleaded.
  
  "Look, I know we were both furious. You almost died, a group of German assholes beat the crap out of me, we all almost got arrested... I get it. We were all just flustered," he explained. "We won"t solve this mystery if we are separated, you understand?"
  
  "You're right. However, I feel like shit for telling you this, just because I know this is a sore spot for you. I wanted to hurt you, Sam. I wanted. This is unforgivable," she lamented. It was uncharacteristic for Agatha Purdue to show remorse or even explain her erratic actions. It was a sign to Sam that she was sincere, and yet again he couldn't forgive himself for Trish's death. Oddly enough, for the last three years he had been happy-really happy. In his heart of hearts he thought he had closed that door forever, but perhaps it was because he was busy writing his memoirs for a London publisher that the old wounds still had the power to weigh on him.
  
  Agatha walked over to Sam. He noticed how attractive she really was if she didn't have such an uncanny resemblance to Purdue - it was just the right cock-blocking device for him. She brushed against him, and he braced himself for unwanted intimacy as she reached past him for a can of rum raisin ice cream.
  
  I'm glad I didn't do something stupid, he thought embarrassed.
  
  Agatha looked him straight in the eyes, as if she knew what he was thinking, and stepped back to press the frozen container against her bruised wounds. Sam chuckled and reached for a bottle of light beer in the refrigerator door. As he closed the door, dimming the streak of 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 at the moment trying to see who was in the kitchen.
  
  "Sam?" she asked into the darkness ahead of her.
  
  "Yeah girl," Sam replied and opened the fridge again so she could see him at the table with Agatha. He was ready to intervene in the impending chick fight, but nothing like that happened. Nina just walked up to Agatha, pointing at the ice cream can without saying a word. Agatha handed Nina a container of cold water, and Nina sat up, pressing her skinned knuckles against the pleasantly soothing ice container.
  
  "Aah," she moaned, her eyes rolling back into their sockets. Nina Gould wasn't about to apologize, Agatha knew that, and that was fine. She had earned this influence from Nina, and in some strange way it was much more rewarding 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 Perdue said as they placed the safe on a steel table in the garage. "Is this a code for something? Because I don't see the point of calling an international phone to report something so trivial."
  
  Perdue just smiled and nodded.
  
  "He has codes for everything. My God, you should hear his selective comparisons to retrieving relics from the archaeological museum in Dublin or changing the composition of active toxins..." Agatha was gossiping loudly until her brother interrupted.
  
  "Agatha, could you please keep this to yourself? At least until I break open this impenetrable case without damaging what's inside."
  
  "Why don't you use a blowtorch?" - Asked Sam from the door, going into the garage.
  
  "Peter has nothing but the most basic tools," Purdue said, carefully inspecting the steel box from all sides to determine if there was any trick, perhaps a hidden compartment or a pinpoint method to open the safe. About the size of a fat ledger, it had no seams, no visible lid or lock; in fact, it was a mystery how the magazine even ended up inside such a contraption. Even Purdue, who was familiar with advanced storage and transportation systems, was baffled by the design of this thing. However, it was only steel and not any other impregnable metal invented by scientists.
  
  "Sam, my duffel bag is over there... Bring me a spyglass, please," Perdue asked.
  
  When he activated the IR function, he was able to view the inside of the compartment. The smaller rectangle inside confirmed the size of the magazine, and Purdue used the device to mark each measurement point on the scope so that the laser's function would not go beyond those parameters when he used it to cut through 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 measurements with impeccable precision.
  
  "Don't damage the book, David," Agatha warned from behind him. Perdue clicked his tongue in annoyance at her over-advice.
  
  In a thin wisp of smoke, a thin orange line in the molten steel moved from one side to the other, then down, repeating its path until a perfect four-sided rectangle was carved into the flat side of the box.
  
  "Now just wait for it to cool down a bit so we can lift the opposite side," Perdue remarked as the others gathered, leaning over the table to get a better view of what was about to open up.
  
  "I must admit, the book is bigger than I thought. I imagined it was just a regular notepad type thing," Agatha said. "But I guess it's a real ledger."
  
  "I just want to see the papyrus it appears to be on," Nina commented. As a historian, she considered such antiquities almost holy.
  
  Sam kept his camera ready to record the size and condition of the book, as well as the script inside. Purdue opened the slit lid and found a tanned leather-bound bag instead of a book.
  
  "What the hell is this?" Sam asked.
  
  "It's a code," Nina exclaimed.
  
  "Code?" Agatha repeated, spellbound. "In the archives of the library, where I worked for eleven years, I constantly worked with them to refer to old scribes. Who would have thought that a German soldier would use a code to record his daily activities?"
  
  "This is quite remarkable," Nina said reverently, while Agatha delicately removed it from the tomb with her gloved hands. She was well versed in the handling of ancient documents and books and knew the fragility of each type. Sam took pictures of the diary. It was as unusual as the legend had predicted.
  
  The front and back covers were made from cork oak, the flat panels smoothed and waxed. Using a red-hot iron rod or similar tool, the wood was burned to write the name of Claude Ernault. This particular copyist, possibly Erno himself, was not at all skilled in pyrography, because charring spots could be discerned in several places where too much pressure or heat had been applied.
  
  Between them, a stack of papyrus sheets made up the content of the codex, and on the left it lacked a spine, like modern books, instead of it there was a row of strings. Each string was threaded through drilled holes in the side of the wood panel and passed through the papyrus, much of which had been torn away from wear and age. However, the pages of the book are preserved in most places, and very few leaves have been completely torn out.
  
  "This is such an important moment," Nina enthused as Agatha allowed her to touch the material with her bare fingers to fully appreciate the texture and age. "Just think, these pages were made by hands from the same era as Alexander the Great. I bet they also survived Caesar's siege in Alexandria, not to mention turning the scrolls into books."
  
  "History nerd," Sam teased dryly.
  
  "Okay, now that we've taken a liking to this and enjoyed its ancient charm, we could probably move on to the poem and the rest of the jackpot clues," Purdue stated. "This book could stand the test of time, but I doubt we will, so...there is no better time than now."
  
  In Sam and Perdue's rooms, the four of them gathered to find the page Agatha had a photograph of, so that Nina could hopefully translate the words missing from the lines of the poem. Each page was scribbled in French by someone with terrible handwriting, but Sam captured each page nonetheless and stored 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. In an effort to fill in the gaps, Agatha and Nina began to write it all down before attempting to interpret the meanings.
  
  "So," Nina smiled contentedly as she folded her hands on the table, "I translated the missing words and now we have the complete part."
  
  
  "New to the people
  
  Not in the ground at 680 twelve
  
  God's still growing index contains two trinities
  
  And clapping Angels harbor Erno's Secret
  
  And to the very hands that hold it
  
  It remains invisible even to one who dedicates his resurrection to Henry I
  
  Where the gods send fire, where prayers were offered
  
  
  "The mystery of 'Erno'... hmm, Erno is a 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 about so long ago," Nina smiled.
  
  "So wherever there is a treasure, 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.
  
  "Right. And that applies to Henry I. What was Henry I known for?" Agatha thought aloud, tapping her chin with her pen.
  
  "Henry the First was the first king of Germany," Nina said, "during the Middle Ages. So maybe we're looking for his birthplace? Or perhaps his place of power?"
  
  "No, wait. That's not all," Perdue interjected.
  
  "Like what?" Nina asked.
  
  "Semantics," he replied instantly, touching the skin under the bottom frame of his glasses. "This line is talking about 'one who dedicates his rebirth to Henry', so it has nothing to do with the real king, but someone who was his descendant or in some way compared himself to Henry I."
  
  "Oh my God, Perdue! You are right!" Nina exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder approvingly. "Certainly! His descendants are long gone, except perhaps for a distant line that didn't matter at all in the era in which Werner lived, in the First and Second World Wars. Remember, he was the city planner of Cologne during the World War II era. It is important".
  
  "Fine. Fascinating. Why?" Agatha leaned in with her usual sobering reality check.
  
  "Because the only thing that Henry I had in common with World War II was a man who considered himself the reincarnation of the first king - Heinrich Himmler!" Nina was almost screaming in her unbridled excitement.
  
  "Another Nazi asshole has surfaced. Why am I not surprised? Sam sighed. "Himmler was a big dog. This should be easy to deal with. He did not know that he had this treasure, although it was in his hands, or something along those lines."
  
  "Yeah, that's basically what I get from that interpretation too," Perdue agreed.
  
  "So where could he store 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, the city planner of Cologne?"
  
  Sam and Agatha shrugged.
  
  "Sir herte herren and the lady," Nina proclaimed dramatically, hoping her German was accurate on this occasion, "Wewelsburg Castle!"
  
  Sam smiled at her flamboyant statement. Agatha simply nodded and took another cookie while Perdue clapped his hands impatiently and rubbed them together.
  
  "I take it you're not refusing, Dr. Gould?" Agatha asked out of the blue. Perdue and Sam also looked at her curiously and waited.
  
  Nina couldn't deny that she was fascinated by the codex and its associated information, which motivated her to keep looking for what could be absolutely profound. She used to think she'd be smart this time; would no longer be chasing wild geese, but now that she had seen another historical miracle unfold, how could she not follow it? Wasn't it worth the risk to be a part of something great?
  
  Nina smiled, dismissing all her doubts in favor of what the code might hide. "I'm in. God help me. I'm in."
  
  
  Chapter 24
  
  
  Two days later, Agatha arranged with her client to deliver the codex, for which she was hired. It was hard for Nina to part with such a valuable piece of ancient history. Although she specialized in the history of Germany, mainly in relation to the Second World War, she had a great passion for all history, especially for eras so dark and far from the Old World that there are almost no authentic relics or records of them left.
  
  Much of what has been written about truly ancient history has been destroyed over time, defiled and destroyed by humanity's quest for dominance over all continents and civilizations. War and displacement have turned precious stories and relics from forgotten times into myth and controversy. Here was an item that actually existed at a time when gods and monsters were rumored to have walked the earth, when kings belched fire and heroines ruled entire nations with one word of God.
  
  Her graceful hand gently caressed the valuable artifact. The marks on her knuckles were starting to heal, and there was a strange nostalgia in her demeanor, as if the past week had been just a hazy dream in which she had the privilege of acquainting herself with something deeply mysterious and magical. The tattoo with the rune Tivaz on her arm protruded a little from under the sleeve, and she remembered another exactly such case when she plunged headlong into the world of Scandinavian mythology and its alluring reality today. Since then, she had not experienced such an overwhelming sense of surprise at the buried truths of the world, now reduced to a ridiculous theory.
  
  And yet here it was in plain sight, tangible and very real. Who could say that other words lost in myths are not trustworthy? Although Sam removed every page and captured the beauty of the old book with professional efficiency, she mourned its inevitable disappearance. Even though Perdue had offered to translate the entire diary from consecutive pages for her to read, it was not the same. Words were not enough. She could not lay her hands on the imprints of ancient civilizations with words.
  
  "God, Nina, are you obsessed with this thing?" - Sam joked, entering the room with Agatha in the tail. "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 transferred your fee, "Agatha Purdue informed her. In her hand she had a special leather case for carrying the book; it was latched at the top with a lock similar to Nina's old schoolbag when she was fourteen.
  
  "Thank you, Agatha," Nina said amiably. "I hope your client appreciates it in the same way."
  
  "Oh, I'm sure he appreciates all the hardships we went through to get the book back. However, please refrain from posting photos or information," Agatha asked Sam and Nina, "or tell anyone that I have given you permission to access their content. They nodded in agreement. After all, if they had to reveal what their book was leading to, there would be no need to reveal its existence.
  
  "Where is David?" she asked as she gathered her bags.
  
  "With Peter in his office in another building," Sam replied, helping Agatha with a bag of climbing gear.
  
  "Okay, tell him I said goodbye, okay?" she said to no one in particular.
  
  What an odd family, Nina thought to herself as she watched Agatha and Sam disappear down the stairs to the front door. The twins haven't seen each other for ages and this is how they part ways. Damn, I thought I was a cold relative, but these two just... must be for the money. Money makes people stupid and mean.
  
  "I thought Agatha was coming with us," Nina called from the balustrade over Purdue as she and Peter made their way to the lobby.
  
  Perdue looked up. Peter patted his hand and waved goodbye to Nina.
  
  "Wiedersechen, Peter," she smiled.
  
  "I assume my sister is gone?" Perdue asked, skipping the first few steps to join her.
  
  "Actually, just now. I guess you two are not close," she remarked. "She couldn't wait for you to come say goodbye?"
  
  "You know her," he said, his voice a little hoarse with a hint of old bitterness. "Not very affectionate even on a good day." He looked at Nina intently, and his eyes softened. "On the other hand, I am very attached considering the clan I come from."
  
  "Of course, if you weren't such a manipulative bastard," she cut him off. Her words were not overly harsh, but they conveyed her honest opinion of her former lover. "Looks like you fit right in with your clan, old chap."
  
  "Are we ready to go?" Sam's voice from the front door deflated the tension.
  
  "Yes. Yes, we are ready to start. I asked Peter to arrange transportation to Buren and from there we'll take a tour of the castle to see if we find any value in the log's wording," Perdue said. "We must hurry, children. There is much evil to be done!"
  
  Sam and Nina watched as he disappeared down the side corridor leading 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 fear that this elusive reward will still be his death."
  
  Nina turned to look at Sam. His expression was filled with sweet sadness as he took his hand away from her, 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 would like you to get rid of your obsession as well. There is no future. Sometimes, as much as it hurts to admit you lost, you have to move on," Nina advised him gently, hoping he would take her advice about his self-imposed shackles on Trish.
  
  She looked really distressed, and his heart sank when he heard her talk about what he was afraid of, what she had been feeling all along. From the moment of her apparent attraction to Bern, she acted aloof, and with Purdue's return to the stage, estrangement 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 lost Nina once and for all.
  
  She stroked Sam's cheek with a delicate hand, the touch he loved so much. But her words hurt 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 mute. Sam felt lost in the completeness of it, immersed in the terrible feeling it evoked. He had to say something.
  
  "Right! All is ready!" Perdue broke the moment of suspension of emotion. "We don't have much time to get to the castle before it closes for the day."
  
  Nina and Sam followed him with their luggage without another word. The road to Wewelsburg seemed like an eternity. Sam excused himself and settled into the back seat, plugging his headphones into his phone, listening to music and pretending to take a nap. But in his head all the events were mixed up. He wondered how it was that Nina had chosen 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 gave up worrying about things beyond his control.
  
  Most of the way they drove along the E331 at a comfortable speed to visit the castle in the afternoon. Nina took the time to study the rest of the poem. They got to 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 to look in the castle."
  
  "Maybe. I must admit I have no idea where to start. It's a great place...and huge," Purdue replied. "And with Nazi-era documents, you and I both know what level of deception they could achieve, and I think that's a little scary. On the other hand, we may be intimidated, or we may see this as another challenge. After all, we've already defeated some of their most secret networks before, who's to say we can't do it this time?"
  
  "I wish I had as much faith in us as you do, Perdue," Nina sighed, running her hands through her hair.
  
  Lately, she'd felt the urge to just walk up and ask him where Renata was and what he did with her after they escaped from a car accident in Belgium. It was imperative that she find out-and as soon as possible. Nina needed to save Alexander and his friends at all costs, even if it meant jumping back into Purdue's bed-by all means-to get information.
  
  As they talked, Perdue's eyes kept darting into the rearview mirror, but he didn't slow down. A few minutes later they decided to stop at Soest for a bite to eat. The picturesque town beckoned them from the main road with its church spiers towering over the roofs of the houses and the clumps of trees that lowered their heavy branches into the pond and rivers below. Tranquility has always been a welcome guest for them, and Sam would be delighted to know that there is food available.
  
  Throughout dinner outside the quaint café &# 233; in the town square, Purdue seemed aloof, even a little erratic in his demeanor, but Nina chalked it up to his sister leaving so abruptly.
  
  Sam insisted on trying something local, opting for Pumpernickel and Zwiebelbier, as suggested by a very cheerful group of tourists from Greece who were having a hard time walking in a straight line at this early time of the day.
  
  And that's what convinced Sam that it was his drink. On the whole, the conversation was light, mostly about the beauty of the city with a bit of healthy criticism of passers-by who wore too tight jeans or those who did not consider personal hygiene necessary.
  
  "I think it's time for us to go, folks," Perdue groaned as he rose from the table, which by now was littered with used napkins and empty plates, with the remains of what had been an amazing feast scattered about. "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-coloured building with a gothic flair that"s not half as impressive as Cologne Cathedral, but still worthy of a high-res shot.
  
  "Of course, sir," Sam smiled. He enlarged the image to cover the entire height of the church, making sure the lighting and filtering were just right to make out all the fine details of the architecture.
  
  "Thank you," Purdue said and rubbed his hands. "Now, let's go."
  
  Nina watched him carefully. He was the old pompous man, but there was something wary about him. He seemed to be a little nervous, or something bothered him that he didn't want to share.
  
  Purdue and his secrets. You always have a map 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 go sightseeing. They've been following Purdue, Sam, and Nina since they left Cologne almost two and a half hours ago.
  
  
  Chapter 25
  
  
  Erasmusbrug stretched his swan-like neck to the clear sky above as Agatha's driver drove over the bridge. She had barely made it to Rotterdam in time due to a delayed flight to Bonn, but she was now crossing the Erasmus Bridge, affectionately known as De Zwaan because of the shape of the curved white pylon, reinforced with cables.
  
  She couldn't be late, otherwise it would have been the end of her consulting career. What she omitted from her conversations with her brother was that her client was one Jost Bloom, a world-famous collector of obscure artifacts. The descendant did not accidentally discover them in the attic of his grandmother. The photograph was among the entries of a recently deceased antiques dealer, who unfortunately was on the wrong side of Agatha's client, the Dutch representative of the council.
  
  She was well aware that she indirectly worked for the same council of high-ranking members of the Black Sun organization that intervened when the order ran into problems with governance. They also knew who she was involved with, but for some reason there was a neutral approach on both sides. Agatha Purdue separated herself and her career from her brother and assured the council that they were in no way connected except in name, the most unfortunate trait in her ré sumé.
  
  What they didn't know, however, was that Agatha had hired the very people they were chasing in Bruges to acquire the item they were looking for. 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 passage and followed in their footsteps to find what was stored in the bowels of the Wewelsburg. Otherwise, she only took care of herself, and she did it really well.
  
  Her driver directed an Audi RS5 to the parking lot of the Piet Zwart Institute, where she was to meet Mr. Bloom and his assistants.
  
  "Thank you," she said sullenly and handed the driver a few euros for the trouble. His passenger looked sullen, although she was impeccably dressed as a professional archivist and expert consultant on rare books containing arcane information and history books in general. He left when Agatha entered the Willem de Kooning Academy, the city's premier art school, to meet her client in the administration building where her client had an office. The tall librarian pulled her hair into a stylish bun and strode down the wide hallway in a pencil skirt suit and heels, the exact opposite of the insipid recluse she really was.
  
  From the last office on the left, where the curtains on the windows were drawn so that the light barely penetrated inside, she heard Bloom's voice.
  
  "Miss Purdue. Just in time, as always," he said cordially, holding out both hands to shake her. Mr. Bloom was extremely attractive in his early fifties, with blond hair with a slight reddish tinge that fell in long strands down 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 pinnacle of style. If she weren't a lesbian, he might well seduce her. Obviously, he was of the same opinion, because his lustful blue eyes openly studied her curves as he greeted her.
  
  One thing she knew about the Dutch was that they were never closed off.
  
  "I assume you have received our magazine?" he asked as they sat down on opposite sides of his table.
  
  "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 pleasant sight after so many years in underdeveloped countries where a man in socks was considered posh, Agatha thought.
  
  "Wesley, give the lady her money, please," Bloom exclaimed. Agatha thought he was an odd choice for the council, as they were handsome, elderly people with hardly any of Bloom's personality or dramatic flair. However, this man had a seat on the board of directors of a well-known art school, so he should have been a little more flamboyant. She took the briefcase from young Wesley's hands and waited while Mr. Bloom examined his purchase.
  
  "Amazing," he breathed in awe, pulling his gloves out of his pocket to touch the object. "Miss Perdue, are you going to check your money?"
  
  "I trust you," she smiled, but her body language betrayed her concern. She knew that any member of the Black Sun, no matter how accessible by nature, would be a dangerous individual. Someone with Bloom's reputation, someone who came with advice, who surpassed the other members of the order, must have been eerily evil and apathetic in nature. Not once did Agatha let this fact slip out of her mind in exchange for all the courtesies.
  
  "You trust me!" he exclaimed in his thick Dutch accent, looking obviously surprised. "My sweet girl, I am the last person you should trust, especially when it comes to money."
  
  Wesley laughed along with Bloom as they exchanged mischievous looks. They made Agatha feel like a complete idiot, and naive at that, but she didn't dare act in her own condescending way. She was very blunt, and now she was in the presence of a new level bastard, which made her insults to others look weak and childish.
  
  "So that's it, Mr. Bloom?" she asked in a submissive tone.
  
  "Check your money, Agatha," he suddenly said in a deep, serious voice as his eyes bored into hers. She obeyed.
  
  Bloom carefully flipped through the codex, looking for the page that contained the photograph he had given to Agatha. Wesley stood behind him, peering over his shoulder, looking as engrossed in his writing as his teacher. Agatha checked to see if the fee they agreed on was in place. Bloom silently looked at her, making her feel terribly uncomfortable.
  
  "Is it all there?" he asked.
  
  "Yes, Mr. Bloom," she nodded, staring at him like a submissive idiot. It was this look that always aroused disinterest in men, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her mind spiraled and calculated time, body language, and breathing. Agatha was horrified.
  
  "Always check the case, honey. You never know who wants to screw you, right?" he warned, and turned his attention back to the codex. "Now tell me, before you run off into the jungle..." he said without looking at her, "how did you get this relic?" I mean, how did you manage to find it?"
  
  His words made her blood run cold.
  
  Don't screw it up, Agatha. Play dumb. Play dumb and you'll be fine, she told her petrified, throbbing brain. She leaned forward, hands folded neatly in her lap.
  
  "I followed the prompts in the poem, of course," she smiled, trying to speak only as much as was necessary. He waited; then shrugged, "Just like that?"
  
  "Yes, sir," she said with an air of self-confidence that was quite persuasive. "I just found out that he 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 reliable information that your intellect is superior to most great minds and that you have an uncanny ability to solve puzzles such as codes and the like."
  
  "I'm messing around," she said bluntly. Having no idea what he was implying, she acted directly and neutrally.
  
  "You are having fun. Are you into what your brother is into?" he asked, lowering his eyes to the very poem that Nina had translated for her into turso.
  
  "I'm not sure I understand," she replied, her heart pounding erratically.
  
  "Your brother, David. He would love something like that. In fact, he's known for chasing things that don't belong to him," Bloom chuckled sarcastically, stroking the poem with his gloved fingertip.
  
  "I heard he's more of an explorer. On the other hand, I enjoy living indoors much more. I do not share his innate tendency to put himself in danger," she replied. The mention of her brother had already led her to assume that Bloom suspected her of using his resources, but he could be bluffing.
  
  "Then you are a wiser brother or sister," he declared. "But tell me, Ms. Perdue, what kept you from further study of the poem, which clearly says more than that old Werner flicked his old Leica III before hiding Erno's diary?"
  
  He knew Werner and he knew Erno. He even knew which camera the German was probably using, not long before he hid the codex in the era of Adenauer and Himmler. Her intelligence far surpassed his, but that didn't help her here because his knowledge was greater. For the first time in her life, Agatha found herself cornered in a contest of wits because she was unprepared for her belief that she was smarter than most. Perhaps playing dumb would be a sure sign that she was hiding something.
  
  "I mean, what would stop you from doing the same thing?" he asked.
  
  "Time," she said in a determined tone, reminiscent of her usual confidence. If he suspected her of deceit, she believed that she should confess to connivance. This would give him reason to believe that she was honest and proud of her abilities, not even afraid in the presence of his kind.
  
  Bloom and Wesley stared at the self-confident con man before bursting into boisterous laughter. Agatha is not used to people and their quirks. She had no idea if they were taking her seriously or if they were laughing at her for trying to appear fearless. Bloom bent over the code, its diabolical attraction making her helpless before its charms.
  
  "Miss Perdue, I like you. Seriously, if you weren't a Purdue, I would consider hiring you full time," he chuckled. "You're a damn dangerous cookie, aren't you? Such a brain with such immorality... I can"t help but admire you for that."
  
  Agatha chose not to say anything other than a nod of thanks as Wesley carefully put the codex back into Bloom's case.
  
  Bloom got up and adjusted his suit. "Miss Perdue, I thank you for your services. You were worth every penny."
  
  They shook hands, and Agatha walked to the door that Wesley held open for her, briefcase in hand.
  
  "I must say that the work was done well ... and in record time," Bloom raved in a good mood.
  
  Although she ended her affairs with Bloom, she hoped she 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
  
  
  Perdue said nothing about the car following them. First he needed to find out if he was being paranoid or if the two were just two civilians who went to see Wewelsburg Castle. Now was not the time to draw attention to the three of them, especially given the fact that they were specifically conducting intelligence in order to engage in some kind of illegal activity and find what Werner was talking about in the castle. The building that the three had previously visited on their own occasions was too big for them to play a game of luck or guessing.
  
  Nina sat staring at the poem and suddenly turned to the internet of her mobile phone in search of something she thought might be relevant. But a few moments later, she shook her head with a disappointed grunt.
  
  "Nothing?" Perdue asked.
  
  "No. 'Where the gods send fire, where prayers are offered' makes me think of the church. Is there a chapel in Wewelsburg?" she frowned.
  
  "No, as far as I know, but then I was only in the hall of the SS generals. Under the circumstances, I didn't really perceive anything else," Sam spoke about one of his more dangerous covers in the years leading up to his last visit.
  
  "No chapel, no. No, unless they made changes lately, so where would the gods send the fire?" Perdue asked, still keeping his eyes on the approaching car behind them. The last time he was in the car with Nina and Sam, they almost died during the chase, something he didn't want to repeat.
  
  "What is the fire of the gods?" Sam thought for a second. Then he looked up and said, "Lightning! Could it be lightning? What does Wewelsburg have to do with lightning?"
  
  "Hell yes, it could very well be the fire that the gods will send, Sam. You're just a godsend...sometimes," she smiled at him. Sam was taken aback by her tenderness, but he welcomed it. Nina investigated all the past lightning incidents near the village of Wewelsburg. A beige 1978 BMW pulled up uncomfortably close to them, close enough that Purdue could see the passengers' faces. He believed that they were strange characters who could be used as spies or assassins by anyone who hired professionals, but perhaps their implausible image served just that purpose.
  
  The driver had a short Mohican haircut and heavy eyeliner, while his partner had a Hitler hairstyle with black suspenders over his shoulders. Perdue didn't recognize any of them, but they were clearly in their early twenties.
  
  "Nina. Sam. Fasten your seat belts," Purdue ordered.
  
  "Why?" Sam asked and instinctively looked out the back window. He looked straight into the barrel of the Mauser, behind which the Fuhrer's psychopathic double was laughing.
  
  "Jesus Christ, they are shooting at us from Rammstein! Nina, kneel on the floor. Now!" Sam screamed as the dull pop of bullets hit the back of their car. Nina curled up under the glove box at her feet and bowed her head as bullets rained down on them.
  
  "Sam! Your friends?" Perdue screamed as he sank deeper into his seat and upshifted the gearbox.
  
  "No! They look more like your friends, Nazi relic hunter! For heaven's sake, will we never just be left alone?" Sam growled.
  
  Nina just closed her eyes and hoped she didn't die while clutching her phone.
  
  "Sam, grab the spyglass! Press the red button twice and point it at the Iroquois at the wheel," Purdue bellowed, holding out a long pen object between the seats.
  
  "Hey, be careful where you point that damn thing!" Sam was crying. He quickly placed his thumb on the red button and waited for the pause between the clicks of the bullets. Lying on the bottom, he moved right to the edge of the seat, opposite the door, so that they could not anticipate his position. Instantly Sam and the spyglass appeared in the corner of the rear window. He pressed the red button twice and watched as the red beam fell right where he pointed, on the driver's forehead.
  
  Hitler fired again, and a well-placed bullet shattered the glass in Sam's face, showering him with shrapnel. But his laser had already been aimed at the Mohican long enough to pierce his skull. The intense heat of the beam seared the driver's brain into his skull, and in the rearview mirror, Purdue briefly saw his face explode into a meaty mess of snotty blood and broken bones on the windshield.
  
  "Well done, Sam!" Perdue exclaimed as the BMW swerved off the road and disappeared over the crest of a hill that dropped into a steep drop. Nina whirled as she heard Sam's gasps of shock turn into moans and screams.
  
  "Oh my God, Sam!" she squealed.
  
  "What's happened?" Perdue asked. He perked up when he saw Sam in the mirror holding his face with bloodied hands. "Oh my God!"
  
  "I can not see anything! My face is on fire!" Sam screamed as Nina slipped between the seats to look at him.
  
  "Let me see. Let me see!" she insisted, pulling his hands away. Nina tried not to scream in panic for Sam. His face was cut with small shards of glass, some of which were still sticking out of his skin. All she could see in his eyes was blood.
  
  "Can you open your eyes?"
  
  "Are you crazy? Lord, I have shards of glass in my eyeballs!" he lamented. Sam was far from being a squeamish person, and his pain threshold was quite high. Hearing him squealing and whimpering like a child made Nina and Perdue very alarmed.
  
  "Take him to the hospital, Perdue!" - she said.
  
  "Nina, they will 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 that.
  
  "David Perdue, take us to the clinic as soon as we get to Wewelsburg, or I swear to God...!" she hissed.
  
  "It would greatly interfere with our goal of wasting time. You see that we are already being pursued. God knows how many more subscribers, no doubt thanks to Sam's email to his Moroccan friend," Purdue protested.
  
  "Hey, fuck you!" Sam roared into the void in front of him. "I never sent him a photo. I never answered that email! This didn't come from my contacts, buddy!"
  
  Perdue was puzzled. He was convinced that was how it must have leaked out.
  
  "Then who, Sam? Who else could know about this?" Perdue asked as the village of Wewelsburg appeared a mile or two ahead.
  
  "Agatha's client," Nina said. "It must be. The only person who knows..."
  
  "No, her client has no idea that anyone other than my sister was doing this task alone," Nina Perdue quickly debunked Nina Perdue's theory.
  
  Nina carefully brushed the small shards of glass from Sam's face while wrapping her other hand around his face. The warmth of her palm was the only consolation Sam could feel as he suffered from the massive burn from multiple lacerations, his bloodied hands resting in his lap.
  
  "Oh, nonsense!" Nina gasped suddenly. "Graphologist! The woman who deciphered Agatha's handwriting! Don't fuck yourself! She told us that her husband was a landscape designer because he used to make a living excavating."
  
  "And what?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Who makes a living excavating, Purdue? Archaeologists. The news that the legend had actually been discovered would certainly arouse the interest of such a person, wouldn't it? " she hypothesized.
  
  "Great. The player we don't know. Just what we need," Purdue sighed as he assessed the extent of Sam's injuries. He knew there was no way to give the wounded journalist medical attention, but he had to insist or miss the chance to find out what Wewelsberg was hiding, not to mention that the others would catch up to the three of them. At a moment when common sense overcame the thrill of the hunt, Purdue checked for the nearest medical facility.
  
  He drove the car deeper into the driveway to a house in the immediate vicinity of the castle, where a certain Dr. Johann Kurtz practiced. They randomly chose the name, but it was a fluke that led them to the only doctor who didn't have appointments until 3pm 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 to go sightseeing. He bought it. How could he not? Nina's beauty visibly stunned the clumsy middle-aged father of three who ran his practice from home.
  
  While they waited for Sam, Perdue and Nina sat in the makeshift waiting room, which was a converted porch covered with large, open screened windows and wind chimes. A pleasant breeze blew through the place, a piece of peace they needed so much. Nina kept checking what she suspected about the lightning comparison.
  
  Perdue held up the small tablet he often used to observe distances and areas, unfolding it with a flick of his fingers until it showed the outline of Wewelsburg Castle. He stood looking at the castle from his window, apparently studying the three-sided structure with his device, tracing the lines of the towers and mathematically comparing their heights, just in case they needed to know.
  
  "Perdue," whispered Nina.
  
  He looked at her, still distant. She motioned 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 here until 1934 there was a vicarage in the south wing. I think since it's talking about the North Tower and the prayers going up in the south wing, obviously, one tells us where to go, the other tells us where to go. North tower, up."
  
  "What is at the top of the North Tower?" Perdue asked.
  
  "I know that the SS planned to build another hall similar to 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.
  
  Purdue considered this in his mind for a minute. When Sam left the doctor's office, Perdue nodded. "Okay, I'll take a bite. This is the closest we have to a clue. The north tower is definitely the place."
  
  Sam looked like a wounded soldier who had just returned 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 won't be able to see properly for the next day or so.
  
  "So it"s my turn to lead," he joked. "Vielen dank, Herr Doktor," he said wearily in the worst German accent the German native had ever had. Nina chuckled to herself, finding Sam extremely sweet; so pathetic and shifted in his bandages. She wanted to kiss him, but not when he was obsessed with Trish, she promised herself. She left the startled GP with a goodbye and a handshake, and the three of them headed for the car. Nearby, an ancient building awaited them, well preserved and filled to the brim with terrible secrets.
  
  
  Chapter 27
  
  
  Purdue arranged hotel rooms for each of them.
  
  It was strange that he didn't share a room with Sam, as usual, since Nina had stripped him of all the privileges he had with her. Sam knew he wanted to be alone, but the question was why. Since they left the house in Cologne, Perdue 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 could be nothing.
  
  Immediately after their late lunch, Sam removed the bandages. He refused to walk around the castle wrapped up like a mummy and be the laughingstock of all the foreigners who passed through the museum and surrounding buildings. Grateful that he had his sunglasses with him, he could at least hide the hideous state of his eyes. The whites around his iris were deep pink, and the inflammation had turned his eyelids maroon. All over his face, the tiny cuts stood out bright red, but Nina convinced him to let her put some make-up on top of the scratches to make them less noticeable.
  
  There was just enough time to visit the castle and see if they could find what Werner was talking about. Perdue didn't like guessing, but this time he didn't have a choice. They gathered in the hall of the SS generals and from there they had to determine what stood out, if anything unusual struck them at all. It was the least they could do before being overtaken by their pursuers, who we hoped had narrowed down to two Rammstein clones, which they got rid of. However, they were sent by someone, and that someone will send more lackeys to take their place.
  
  As they entered the beautiful triangular fortress, Nina remembered the masonry that had been built in so many times as buildings were demolished, rebuilt, built on and turretted throughout the past, from the ninth century onwards. It remained one of the most famous castles in Germany, and she was especially fond of its history. The three of them headed straight for the North Tower, hoping to find that Nina's theory was credible.
  
  Sam could barely see properly. His vision had been altered so that he could see mostly outlines of objects, but everything else was still hazy. Nina took his arm and led him, making sure he didn't trip on the countless steps in the building.
  
  "Can I have your camera, Sam?" Perdue asked. He was amused that the journalist, who had almost no vision, chose to pretend that he could still photograph the interior.
  
  "If you wish. I don't see a thing. It's pointless to even try," Sam lamented.
  
  As they entered the SS-Obergruppenfuehrers' Hall, the SS Generals' Hall, Nina cringed at the sight of the design that had been painted on the gray marble floor.
  
  "I wish I could spit on it without drawing attention," Nina chuckled.
  
  "On what?" Sam asked.
  
  "That fucking sign that I hate so much," she replied as they crossed the dark green sun wheel that depicted the symbol of the Order of the Black Sun.
  
  "Don't spit, Nina," Sam advised dryly. Perdue led the way, once again in a state of daydreaming. He lifted Sam's camera, tucking the spyglass between his arm and camera. With a spyglass set to IR, he scanned the walls for any items hidden inside. In thermal imaging mode, he found nothing but temperature fluctuations in solid masonry as he checked the thermal signatures.
  
  While most visitors showed interest in the Wewelsburg memorial from 1933-1945, located in the former SS guardhouse in the castle courtyard, three colleagues diligently searched for something special. What it was, they didn't know, but thanks to Nina's knowledge, especially about the Nazi era of German history, she could tell when something was out of place in what was to be the spiritual center of the SS.
  
  Beneath them was the infamous vault, or gruft, a tomb-like structure sunk into the foundations of a tower, reminiscent of domed Mycenaean tombs. At first, Nina thought that curious drainage holes in a sunken circle under the zenith with a swastika on the dome could solve the riddle, but she had to go up, according to Werner's notes.
  
  "I can't help thinking there's something out there in the dark," she told Sam.
  
  "Listen, let's just go up to the highest point of the North Tower and look from there. What we are looking for is not inside the castle, but outside," Sam suggested.
  
  "Why do you say that?" she asked.
  
  "Like Perdue said... Semantics..." he shrugged.
  
  Perdue looked intrigued: "Tell me, my good."
  
  Sam's eyes burned like hell between the ages, but he couldn't look at Purdue when he spoke to him. Lowering his chin to his chest, overcoming the pain, he continued: "Everything in the last part refers to external things, such as lightning and prayers ascending. Most theological images or old engravings depict prayers as smoke rising from the walls. I really think we're looking for an annex or an agricultural section, anything outside of where the gods threw the fire," he explained.
  
  "Well, my devices couldn't detect any alien objects or anomalies inside the tower. I suggest sticking with Sam's theory. And we'd better do it quickly because darkness is coming," Perdue confirmed as he handed Nina the camera.
  
  "Okay, let's go," Nina agreed, slowly pulling on Sam's arm 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.
  
  Here it is again! Sam thought for a moment. Smiles, flirting, gentle help. What are her plans? Then he began to wonder why she told him to let go, and why she told him there was no future. But now was hardly the right time for an interview concerning matters of no importance in life, where every second could be his last.
  
  From the platform at the top of the North Tower, Nina looked out over the expanse of primeval beauty that surrounded Wewelsburg. Apart from the quaint and neat rows of houses along the streets and the various shades of green that surrounded the village, there was nothing else that could have any meaning. Sam sat with his back against the top of the outer wall so that his eyes would be protected from the cold wind that blew from the top of the bastion.
  
  Like Nina, Perdue saw nothing out of the ordinary.
  
  "I think we've reached the end of the road here guys," he finally admitted. "We did try, but it could very well be some kind of charade to confuse those who don't know what Werner knew."
  
  "Yes, I must agree," Nina said, looking down at the valley below with no small amount of disappointment. "And I didn't even want to do it. But now I feel like I failed."
  
  "Oh come on," Sam played along, "we all know you can't feel sorry for yourself, huh?"
  
  "Shut up, Sam," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest so he couldn't rely on her guidance. With a self-assured chuckle, Sam stood up and forced himself to enjoy the view, at least before they left. He had hardly made his way here, not to leave without a panoramic view just because his eyes hurt.
  
  "We still have to figure out who the assholes were that shot at us, Perdue. I bet they have something to do with that Rachel woman in Halkirk," Nina insisted.
  
  "Nina?" Sam called from behind them.
  
  "Come on, Nina. Help the poor fellow before he falls to his death," Pardew chuckled at her apparent indifference.
  
  "Nina!" Sam screamed.
  
  "Oh Jesus, watch your blood pressure, Sam. I'm coming," she growled and rolled her eyes at Perdue.
  
  "Nina! Look!" Sam continued. He took off his dark glasses, ignoring the agony of the gusty wind and the harsh afternoon light shining into his sore eyes. She and Perdue flanked him as he looked out over the interior lands, repeatedly asking, "Can't you see this? Is not it?"
  
  "No," they both answered.
  
  Sam laughed maniacally and pointed with a firm hand that moved 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, while she still couldn't figure out what he was pointing to. Perdue frowned and shrugged, looking at her.
  
  "There are a series of lines all over the place," Sam said breathlessly in amazement. "These may be overgrown gradient lines, or perhaps old concrete cascades designed to be elevated on which to build, but they clearly delineate a vast network of wide circular borders. Some end shortly outside the castle perimeter, while others disappear as if they had dug deeper into the grass."
  
  "Wait," Purdue said. He set up a spyglass to be able to view the surface terrain.
  
  "Your x-ray vision?" Sam asked, glancing at Purdue's figure with damaged vision that made everything look distorted and yellow. "Hey, quickly point that at Nina"s chest!"
  
  Perdue laughed out loud, and they both looked at the rather pouty face of the disgruntled historian.
  
  "Nothing you both haven't seen before, so stop fooling around," she teased confidently, eliciting a slightly boyish smirk from both men. It wasn't that they were surprised that Nina just walked out and made such usually embarrassing remarks. She slept with both of them several times, so she couldn't understand why it would be inappropriate.
  
  Perdue raised his spyglass and began where Sam had begun his imaginary boundary. At first it seemed that nothing had changed, except for a few underground sewer pipes adjoining the first street abroad. Then he saw it.
  
  "Oh my God!" he breathed. Then he started laughing like a prospector who has just found gold.
  
  "What! What!" Nina squealed in excitement. She ran up to Purdue and stood opposite him to block the device, but he knew better and kept her at arm's length as he surveyed the rest of the points where the cluster of subterranean structures was gathering and curving.
  
  "Listen, Nina," he finally said, "I could be wrong, but this looks like an underground facility right below us."
  
  She grabbed the spyglass, delicately nonetheless, and held it to her eye. Like a faint hologram, everything underground flickered slightly as the ultrasound from the laser dot created a sonogram of invisible material. Nina's eyes widened in awe.
  
  "Great job, Mr. Cleve," Pardew congratulated Sam on opening an amazing network. "And to the naked eye, no less!"
  
  "Yeah, it"s good that I was shot at and I 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 seemed to be a leviathan necropolis dormant near Wewelsburg.
  
  "My disadvantage. Funny if I think so," retorted Sam, now pleased with himself for saving the day.
  
  "Nina, you can see where they start, the farthest from the castle, of course. We would have to sneak in from a point that is not guarded by security cameras," Perdue asked.
  
  "Wait," she muttered, following the only line that ran through the entire network. "He stops under a cistern just on the inside of the first courtyard. There should be a hatch through which we can descend."
  
  "Fine!" Perdue exclaimed. "This is where we will start speleological research. Let's take a little nap so we can get here before dawn. I must know what Wewelsburg keeps secret from the modern world."
  
  Nina nodded in agreement, "And what makes it worth killing for."
  
  
  Chapter 28
  
  
  Miss Maisie finished the gourmet dinner she had been preparing for the past two hours. Part of her job at the estate was to use her certification as a certified chef at every meal. Now that the mistress was away, there was a small staff of servants in the house, but she was still expected to perform her duties to the fullest, as from the head housekeeper. The behavior of the current occupant of the lower house adjoining the main residence annoyed Maisie to no end, but she had to always remain as professional as she could. She hated having to cater to an ungrateful witch temporarily residing there, even though her employer had made it clear that his guest would remain indefinitely for the time being.
  
  The guest was a rude woman with more than enough confidence to fill a boat of kings, 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 come across such a mundane and downright stupid ingredient, and she made no secret of her disapproval. To her dismay, the guest she was serving reported her so-called insubordination to her employer, and Maisie quickly received a reprimand, albeit a friendly one, from the landlord.
  
  When she finally got her head around vegan cooking, the rough-hewn cow she cooked for had the audacity to tell her that veganism was no longer her desire, and that she wanted a steak with rare basmati rice. Maisie was furious at the unnecessary inconvenience of having to spend her household budget on expensive vegan products now being wasted in storage due to the fastidious consumer becoming a predator. Even the desserts were judged strictly, 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 when she was in her forties, so seeing her guest turn down her best work made her mentally reach for spice bottles containing more toxic substances. .
  
  Her guest was an imposing woman, a friend of the landlord, according to what she was told, but she was given specific instructions not to allow Miss Mirela to leave her lodging at all costs. Maisie knew that the indulgent damsel hadn't been there by choice and that she was involved in a global political mystery whose ambiguity was necessary to keep the world from falling into some kind of catastrophe that World War II had most recently caused. The housekeeper endured the verbal abuse and youthful cruelty of her guest only to serve her employer, but otherwise she would have quickly dealt with the headstrong woman in her care.
  
  It has been almost three months since she was brought to Thurso.
  
  Maisie was used to not questioning her employer because she adored him and he always had a good reason for any strange requests he made to her. She worked for Dave Purdue for most of the last two decades, holding various positions on three of his estates until she was given this responsibility. Every evening, after Miss Mirela had packed dinner and set up security perimeters, Maisie was instructed to call her employer and leave a message that the dog had been fed.
  
  She never once asked why, and her interest was not piqued enough to do so. Almost robotic in her devotion, Miss Maisie only did what she was told, for the right price, and Mr. Perdue paid very well.
  
  Her eyes flickered to the kitchen clock set just above the back door that led to the guest house. This place was called a guest house only in a friendly manner, for the sake of decorum. In truth, it was nothing more than a five-star holding cell with almost all the amenities that its inmate would have enjoyed had she been free. Of course, no communications devices were allowed, and the building was cleverly equipped with satellite and signal scramblers that would take weeks to break into with even the most sophisticated equipment and consummate hacker exploits.
  
  Another hurdle the guest faced was the physical limitations of the guest house.
  
  The invisible soundproof walls were studded with thermal imaging sensors that constantly monitored the temperature of the human body inside to provide immediate alert of any breach.
  
  Outside the entire guest house, the main contraption based on mirrors used the age-old sleight of hand used by illusionists of past eras - a surprisingly simple and convenient deception. It made the place invisible without close examination or a trained eye, not to mention the havoc it caused during thunderstorms. Much of the property was designed to divert unwanted attention and contain what was supposed to be trapped.
  
  Shortly before 8 p.m., Maisie packed dinner for the guests for delivery.
  
  The night was cool and the wind capricious as it passed under the tall pines and extensive rock garden ferns that stretched out over the path like the fingers of a giant. All about the property, the evening lights illuminated the paths and plants like earthly starlight, and Maisie could clearly see where she was going. Digging the first code for the outer door, she entered and closed it behind her. The guest house, much like a submarine hatch, contained two passages: an outer door and an auxiliary one to get inside the building.
  
  Entering the second, Maisie found it deadly quiet.
  
  Usually the TV was on, plugged in from the main house, and all the lamps that were switched on and off from the main power console in the house were turned off. A terrible twilight fell on the furniture, and silence reigned in the rooms, not even the movement of air from the fans was heard.
  
  "Your supper, madam," Maisie said clearly, as if there were no aberrations. She was wary of the strange circumstances, but hardly surprised.
  
  The visitor had threatened her many times before and promised her an imminent, painful death, but part of the housekeeper's manner was to let things take their course 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 could do everything she promised her enemies. Unbeknownst to Maisie, Mirela was Renata of the Order of the Black Sun, currently Dave Purdue's hostage, who was going to be used as a bargaining chip against the council when the time was right. Purdue knew that hiding Renata from the council would give him valuable time to forge a powerful alliance with the Renegade Brigade, enemies of the Black Sun. The Council tried to overthrow her, but while she was away, the Black Sun could not replace her and thus expressed their intentions.
  
  "Madam, then I'll leave your dinner on the dinner table," Maisie announced, not wanting to be unnerved by the alien environment.
  
  As she turned to leave, the intimidating inhabitant greeted her from the door.
  
  "I think we should have dinner together tonight, don"t you agree?" Mirela's steely voice insisted.
  
  Maisie thought for a moment about the danger Mirela posed, and not being one to underestimate innately heartless people, she simply agreed, "Of course, madam. But I only earned enough for one."
  
  "Oh, there's nothing to worry about," Mirela smiled, gesturing nonchalantly while her eyes twinkled like those of a cobra. "You can eat. I'll keep you company. Have you brought wine?
  
  "Of course, madam. A modest sweet wine to complement the Cornish pastries I baked especially for you," Maisie replied dutifully.
  
  But Mirela could tell that the housekeeper's apparent lack of anxiety bordered on patronizing; the most annoying trigger that caused unreasonable hostility from Mirela. After so many years at the head of the most terrible cult of Nazi maniacs, she would never have tolerated insubordination.
  
  "What are the codes for the doors?" she asked frankly, pulling out a long curtain rail, made in the form of some kind of spear, from behind her back.
  
  "Oh, this should be known only to employees and servants, madam. I'm sure you understand," Maisie explained. However, there was absolutely no apprehension in her voice and her eyes met Mirela's directly. Mirela put the point to Maisie's throat, secretly hoping that the housekeeper would give her an excuse to stick it forward. The sharp edge had dented the housekeeper's skin and pierced it just enough to leave a pretty drop of blood on the surface.
  
  "You will be wise to put away this weapon, madam," Maisie suddenly advised in a voice almost not her own. Her words came with a sharp accent in a tone that was much deeper than her usual cheerful chime. Mirela could not believe her impudence and threw her head back with a laugh. Apparently, the average maid had no idea who she was dealing with, and to make it more convincing, Mirela hit Maisie in the face with a flexible aluminum bar. It left a burning mark on the housekeeper's face as she recovered from the blow.
  
  "You will be wise to tell me what I require before I get rid of you," Mirela chuckled as she landed another lash on Maisie's knees, causing the maid to scream in agony. "Now!"
  
  The housekeeper sobbed, burying her face in her knees.
  
  "And you can whine as much as you like!" Mirela snarled, holding her weapon ready to pierce the woman's skull. "As you know, this cozy nest is soundproofed."
  
  Maisie looked up, her big blue eyes showing neither tolerance nor obedience. Her lips curved back from her teeth, and with an unholy rumble that erupted from the depths of her belly, she lashed out.
  
  Mirela didn't have time to swing her weapon before Maisie broke her ankle with one powerful shin kick to Mirela's shin. She dropped her weapon as she fell, while her leg throbbed in excruciating pain. Mirela unleashed a torrent of hateful threats through her hoarse cries, pain and rage battling through her.
  
  What Mirela, for her part, didn't know was that Maisie was hired at Thurso not for her culinary skills, but for her skillful combat effectiveness. In the event of a breakthrough, she was tasked to strike with the utmost bias and to make full use of her training as an operative of the Irish Army Rangers Wing, or Fian Oglah. Since her entry into civil society, Maisie McFadden has become available for hire as a bodyguard, basically, and that's where Dave Perdue has come to her service.
  
  "Shout as much as you like, Miss Mirela," came Maisie's low voice over her writhing enemy, "I find it very soothing. And tonight you will make quite a bit of it, I assure you."
  
  
  Chapter 29
  
  
  Two hours before dawn, Nina, Sam, and Perdue walked the last three blocks up the residential street so as not to betray anyone by their presence. They parked their car a good distance away, among a number of cars parked outside for the night, so it was pretty discreet. With the help of overalls and a rope, three colleagues climbed over the fence of the last house on the street. Nina looked up from where she landed and stared at the terrifying silhouette of the massive ancient fortress on the hill.
  
  Wewelsburg.
  
  He silently guided the village, watching with the wisdom of centuries for the souls of its inhabitants. 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 their underground secrets.
  
  "Come on, Nina," she heard Purdue whisper. With Sam's help, he opened the large square iron lid that was located at the far end of the yard. They were very close to a quiet, dark house and tried to move silently. Luckily, the lid was mostly overgrown with weeds and tall grass, allowing it to glide silently through the surrounding thickness as they opened it.
  
  The three stood around a gaping black mouth in the grass, further obscured by the darkness. Not even a streetlight illuminated their support, and it was risky to make your way through the hole without falling and hurting yourself below. Once under the edge, Purdue turned on his flashlight to inspect the drain hole and the condition of the pipe below.
  
  "Oh. God, I can't believe I'm doing this again," Nina moaned under her breath, her body tense with claustrophobia. After grueling encounters with submarine hatches and many other hard-to-reach places, she vowed never to expose herself to anything like that again - but here she is.
  
  "Don't worry," Sam reassured her, stroking her arm, "I'm right behind you. Also, as far as I can see, it's a very wide tunnel."
  
  "Thanks, Sam," she said hopelessly. "I don't care how wide it is. It's still a tunnel."
  
  Perdue's face peeked out of the black hole, "Nina."
  
  "Good, good," she sighed, and with one last glance at the colossal castle, she descended into the yawning hell that awaited her. The darkness was the material wall of soft doom around Nina, and it took every ounce of courage from her not to break out again. Her only consolation was that she was accompanied by two very capable and deeply caring men who would do anything to protect her.
  
  On the other side of the street, hidden behind the dense scrub of the unkempt ridge and its wild foliage, a pair of watery eyes stared at the trio as they lowered themselves under the edge of the manhole behind the house's outer reservoir.
  
  Ankle-deep in the mud of the drainpipe, they crept cautiously towards the rusty iron grate that separated the pipe from the larger sewer network. Nina grunted in displeasure as she passed through the slippery portal first, and both Sam and Perdue feared their turn. Once all three had passed through them, they replaced the grid. Perdue opened his tiny fold-out tablet, and with a flick of his elongated fingers, the gadget expanded to the size of a reference book. He lifted it up to three separate tunnel entrances in order to sync up with the underground facility's previously entered data to find the correct opening, a pipe that would give them access to the boundary of the hidden structure.
  
  Outside, the wind howled like an ominous warning, mimicking the groans of lost souls wafting through the narrow crevices in the manhole cover, and the air passing through the various ducts around them filled them with fetid breath. It was much colder inside the tunnel than on the surface, and walking through the muddy, icy water only made it worse.
  
  "Far right tunnel," Purdue announced as the bright lines on his tablet matched the measurements he had recorded.
  
  "Then we're off to the unknown," Sam added, receiving an ungrateful nod from Nina. However, he did not want his words to sound so gloomy and simply shrugged at her reaction.
  
  After walking a few yards, Sam took a piece of chalk from his pocket and marked the wall where they had entered. The scratching startled Perdue and Nina and they turned around.
  
  "Just in case..." Sam began to explain.
  
  "About what?" Nina whispered.
  
  "In case Purdue loses his technology. You never know for sure. I'm always partial to old school traditions. It usually withstands 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 it," Nina said and stopped dead in her tracks, fearful of the smaller tunnel ahead.
  
  "Of course you can," Sam whispered. "Come, take my hand."
  
  "I'm reluctant to light a flare here until we're sure we're out of range of this house," Perdue told them.
  
  "It's all right," Sam answered, "I have Nina."
  
  Beneath his arms, pressed against his body where he held Nina to him, he could feel her body tremble. 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 calm her down as they passed through the lower section. Perdue was preoccupied with mapping and watching his every move, while Sam had to maneuver an unwilling Nina's body along with his own in the throat of the unknown web that now engulfed them. On her neck, Nina felt the icy touch of underground air movement, and from afar she could see water dripping from drains over cascading trickles of sewer water.
  
  "Let's go," said Perdue suddenly. He discovered what appeared to be a trapdoor above them, a wrought iron gate set in cement that was wrought in ornate curves and whorls. It certainly wasn't a service entrance like a manhole and gutters. It was apparently a decorative structure for some reason, possibly indicating that it was the entrance to another underground structure and not another grid. It was a round flat disc in the shape of a complex swastika, forged from black iron and bronze. The twisted arms of the symbol and the edges of the gate were carefully hidden under the wear and tear of centuries. Congealed green algae and erosive rust had firmly fixed the disk to the surrounding ceiling, making it nearly impossible to open. In fact, it was fixed firmly, immobile by hand.
  
  "I knew it was a bad idea," Nina sang out from behind Perdue. "I knew I had to run away after we found the diary."
  
  She was talking to herself, but Sam knew it was because of the intensity of her fear of the environment she was in that she was in a semi-panic state. He whispered, "Imagine what we're going to find, Nina. Just imagine what Werner went through to keep this from Himmler and his animals. It must be something really special, remember?" Sam felt like he was coaxing the baby to eat her vegetables, but there was a certain motivation for the miniature story in his words, which petrified to tears in his arms. Finally she decided to go with him further.
  
  After several attempts by Purdue to move the deadbolt away from the shattered strike, he looked back at Sam and asked him to check the bag for a hand held blowtorch, which he placed in the zippered bag. Nina clung to Sam, afraid the darkness would consume him if she let him go. The only source of light they could use 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 also burn the noose. I doubt it will still spin after all these years," advised Sam Perdue, who nodded in agreement as he lit a small iron-cutting tool. Nina continued to look around as sparks illuminated the dirty old concrete walls of the huge canals and an orange glow that grew brighter from time to time. The thought of what she might see in one of the highlights scared the hell out of Nina. Who knew what might be lurking in the damp, dark place that stretched for many acres underground?
  
  Shortly thereafter, the gate was torn off the red-hot hinges and shattered on the sides, and it took both men to put their weight on the ground. With a great deal of chugging and grunting, they carefully lowered the gate to keep the surrounding silence, in case the noise might attract the attention of anyone it reached within earshot.
  
  One by one they climbed up into the dark space above, into a place that immediately took on a different feel and smell. Sam marked the wall again as they waited for Purdue to find a route on his little tablet device. A complex set of lines appeared on the screen, making it difficult to tell the taller tunnels from those slightly lower. Perdue sighed. He wasn't the type to get lost or make mistakes, usually not, but he had to admit he wasn't sure what to do next.
  
  "Light the flare, Purdue. Please. Please," Nina whispered in the dead darkness. There was no sound at all here - no drops, no water, no movement of the wind to give the place some semblance of life. Nina felt her heart tighten in her chest. Where they stood now, there was a terrible smell of burning wires and dust, with every word she uttered merged into a laconic mutter. It reminded Nina of a coffin; a very small, confined coffin with nowhere to move or breathe. Gradually a panic attack overwhelmed her.
  
  "Perdue!" Sam insisted. "Flash. Nina does not cope well with this environment. Besides, we need to see where we are going."
  
  "Oh my God, Nina. Certainly. I'm so sorry," Purdue apologized, reaching for a flare.
  
  "This place seems 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 sighs turned into rapid breathing in the pitch darkness.
  
  To her great relief, the crackle of the flash caused a blinding light, and she felt her lungs expand as she took a deep breath. The three of them narrowed their eyes against the sudden bright light, waiting for their vision to adjust. Before Nina could enjoy the irony of the size of the place, she heard Purdue say, "Holy Mother of God!"
  
  "It looks like a spaceship!" Sam intervened, his jaw dropped in amazement.
  
  If Nina thought the idea of an enclosed space around her was unsettling, now she had reason to reconsider. The leviathan structure they found themselves in had a terrifying quality, somewhere between an underworld of mute intimidation and grotesque simplicity. Wide arches overhead emerged from smoothed gray walls that flowed into the floor instead of joining perpendicular to it.
  
  "Listen," Purdue said excitedly and raised his index finger as his eyes scanned the roof.
  
  "Nothing," Nina remarked.
  
  "No. Maybe nothing in the sense of a specific noise, but listen ... there is an incessant hum in this place, "Perdue noted.
  
  Sam nodded. He heard it too. It was as if the tunnel were alive with some kind of almost imperceptible vibration. On either side, the great hall vanished into a darkness they had not yet illuminated.
  
  "It gives me goosebumps," Nina said, clutching her arms tightly to her chest.
  
  "There are two of us, no doubt," Perdue smiled, "and yet it's something to be admired."
  
  "Yeah," Sam agreed, pulling out his camera. There were no noticeable features in the photograph to capture, but the sheer size and smoothness of the tube was a marvel in itself.
  
  "How did they build this place?" Nina thought aloud.
  
  Obviously this must have been built during Himmler's occupation of Wewelsburg, but there was never any mention of it, and of course no castle drawing ever mentioned the existence of such structures. The size alone appeared to require considerable engineering skill on the part of the builders, while the world above apparently never noticed the excavation below.
  
  "I'll bet they used concentration camp prisoners to build this place," Sam remarked as he took another shot, including Nina in the frame to capture the full size of the tunnel in relation to her. "In fact, it's almost as if I can still feel them here."
  
  
  Chapter 30
  
  
  Purdue thought they should follow the lines on his tablet, which now pointed east, using 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 out to basically three cardinal directions.
  
  "I find it remarkable that after all this time there is basically no debris or erosion in these channels," Sam remarked as he followed Perdue into the darkness.
  
  "I agree. It makes me very uncomfortable to think that this place was left 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, annoyed by his constant hum, so muffled that he was almost part of the silence in the dark tunnel.
  
  "It reminds me of something like a turbine," Perdue said, frowning at the strange object that appeared a few yards ahead of his diagram. He stopped.
  
  "What is this?" Nina asked with a note of panic in her voice.
  
  Perdue continued at a slower pace, wary of the square object, which he could not identify from its schematic form.
  
  "Stay here," he whispered.
  
  "No fucking way," Nina said and took Sam's arm again. "You won't leave 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 network of tunnels was indeed being used by the Nazis. It would be a more secret way to generate electricity while the aforementioned world ignored 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 undiscovered, creepy underground hangar with no lights to see what's around us is a little unnerving, don't you think? she explained.
  
  "Yes, I can understand that."
  
  The flash went out too quickly, and slowly gaining blackness enveloped them like a cloak.
  
  "Sam," Purdue said.
  
  "He's on it," Sam replied, and crouched down to retrieve another flare from his bag.
  
  There was a clang in the dark as Purdue fiddled with the dusty car.
  
  "This is not your run-of-the-mill generator. I'm sure it's some kind of contraption designed for various functions, but for what, I have no idea," Perdue said.
  
  Sam fired another flare, but saw no moving figures in the distance, approaching in the tunnel behind them. Nina squatted down next to Purdue to inspect the web-covered car. Placed in a solid metal frame, it reminded Nina of an old washing machine. There were thick knobs on the front side, each with four settings, but the inscriptions were worn off, so there was no way to tell what they were supposed to set.
  
  Perdue's long, trained fingers fiddled with some wires on the back.
  
  "Be careful, Perdue," Nina urged.
  
  "Don't worry, dear," he smiled. "However, I am touched by your concern. Thank you."
  
  "Don't be overconfident. I have more than enough dealing with this place now," she snapped, slapping his arm, which made him chuckle.
  
  Sam couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. As a world-famous journalist, he's been to the most dangerous places before, encountered some of the most vicious people and locations in the world, but he had to admit that it's been a long time since he felt so unsettled by the atmosphere. If Sam were superstitious, he would have imagined that the tunnels were haunted.
  
  A loud crack and a shower of sparks came from the machine, followed by an initially labored, incoherent rhythm. Nina and Perdue stepped back from the sudden life of the thing and heard the engine rev up gradually into a steady spin.
  
  "It idles like a tractor," Nina remarked to no one in particular. The sound reminded her of her childhood, waking up before dawn to the sound of her grandfather's tractor starting. It was quite a pleasant memory here in an abandoned alien haunt of ghosts and Nazi history.
  
  One by one, the meager wall lamps came on. Dead bugs and dust had been stored on their hard plastic covers for years, which greatly degraded the illumination of the light bulbs inside. It was surprising that the fine wiring was still active, 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 unknown reason, this turn gave Sam a bad feeling, but he kept it to himself. He couldn't seem to get rid of this bad feeling, 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 like before when Nina didn't notice.
  
  "Let's go and see what's on the other side," Purdue suggested, and walked off with a zippered bag slung over his shoulder. Nina dragged Sam along, and they walked in silence and curiosity, the only sound being the low hum of the turbine and the sound of their footsteps echoing through the vast space.
  
  "Perdue, we need to do this quickly. As I reminded you yesterday, Sam and I should return to Mongolia soon," Nina insisted. She gave up trying to find out where Renata was, but she hoped to return to Bern with some consolation, whatever she could do to assure him of her loyalty. Sam left the task of probing Perdue for Renata's whereabouts to Nina, because she had more favor with him than Sam.
  
  "I know, my dear Nina. And we will deal with all this as soon as we find out what Erno knew and why he sent us to Wewelsburg, of all places. I promise I'll get through this, but for now, just help me find this elusive secret," Purdue assured her. He never looked at Sam when he promised his help. "I know what they want. I know why they sent you back here."
  
  That was enough for now, Nina realized, and decided not to press him any further.
  
  "Do you hear it?" Sam suddenly asked, his ears tensing.
  
  "No what?" Nina frowned.
  
  "Listen!" Sam admonished with a serious expression on his face. He stopped dead in his tracks to better distinguish the tapping and ticking behind them in the darkness. Now Perdue and Nina heard it too.
  
  "What it is?" Nina asked with a clear tremor in her voice.
  
  "I don't know," Purdue whispered, raising an open hand to reassure her and Sam.
  
  The light from the walls kept getting 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 through the vast labyrinth.
  
  "Oh Jesus!" she exclaimed, clutching the arms of both her companions with inexpressible horror on her face.
  
  Behind them, five black dogs emerged from a dark lair in the distance.
  
  "Okay, how surreal is that? Do I see what I think I see? Sam asked as he prepared to run away.
  
  Perdue remembered the animals from the Cologne Cathedral where he and his sister were trapped. They were the same breed with the same tendency towards absolute discipline, so they must have been the same dogs. But now he didn't have time to speculate about their presence or origin. They had no choice but to...
  
  "Run!" Sam screamed and nearly knocked Nina off her feet at the speed of his charge. Purdue followed suit as the animals charged at full speed after them. The three explorers rounded the curve of the unknown structure, hoping to find some place to hide or escape, but the tunnel continued unchanged when the dogs overtook them.
  
  Sam turned and lit a flare. "Forward! Forward!" he shouted to the other two, while he himself served as a barricade between the beasts and Perdue and Nina.
  
  "Sam!" Nina screamed, but Perdue pulled her forward into the flickering pale light of the tunnel.
  
  Sam held out a fiery stick in front of him, waving it at the Rottweilers. They stopped at the sight of a bright flame, and Sam realized that he had only a few seconds to find a way out.
  
  He could hear Perdue's and Nina's footsteps gradually becoming quieter as the distance between him and them increased. His eyes darted quickly from side to side, while he did not take his eyes off the position of the animals. Snarling and drooling, they pursed their lips in a furious threat to the man with the fiery stick. A sharp whistle came from the yellowish pipe, instantly calling from the far end of the tunnel, Sam figured.
  
  Three dogs immediately turned and ran back, while the other two remained where they were as if they hadn't heard anything. Sam believed they were being manipulated by their master; just as a shepherd's whistle can control his dog with a series of different sounds. That's how he controlled their movements.
  
  Brilliant, Sam thought.
  
  Two remained to look after him. He noticed that his flash was getting weaker.
  
  "Nina?" he called. Nothing returned. "That's it, Sam," he said to himself, "you're on your own, boy."
  
  When the flashes ended, Sam took his camera and turned on the flash. At the very least, the flash would temporarily blind them, but he was wrong. Two busty bitches ignored the bright light of the camera, but they did not move forward. The whistle blew again and they began to growl at Sam.
  
  Where are the rest of the dogs? he thought, standing stock still.
  
  Shortly thereafter, he received an answer to his question when he heard Nina scream. Sam didn't care if the animals caught up with him. He had to come to the aid of Nina. Showing more courage than common sense, the journalist rushed in the direction of Nina's voice. Following on his heels, he heard the dog's claws pounding on the cement as they chased him. At any moment, he expected the heavy carcass of the jumping animal to come crashing down on him, claws digging into his skin and fangs digging into his throat. During his sprint, he looked back and saw that they had not caught up with him. From what Sam was able to deduce, the dogs were used to corner him, not kill him. Still, it wasn't the best position to be in.
  
  As he made his way around the bend, he noticed two other tunnels branching off from this one, and he prepared to throw himself into the upper of the two. One above the other, it should have outpaced the speed of the Rottweilers as he jumped to the higher entrance.
  
  "Nina!" he called again, and this time he heard her far away, too far away to know where she was.
  
  "Sam! Sam, hide!" he heard her cry.
  
  With extra speed, he jumped to a higher entrance, a few yards before 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 a gaping hole about twenty feet high. To his dismay, one dog followed him while another yelped at the impact of her 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 what it means that all these channels are connected, right?" Perdue mentioned when entering information on his tablet.
  
  "I don't think this is the time to map the fucking maze, Perdue!" she frowned.
  
  "Oh, but that would be the right time, Nina," he countered. "The more information we get about 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 don't move and keep your voice low," he advised. "If their master wanted us dead, we would already be dog food."
  
  "Oh, nice. I feel much better now," Nina said as her eyes caught a tall human shadow stretched out on the smooth wall.
  
  
  Chapter 31
  
  
  Sam had nowhere to go but to run aimlessly into the darkness of the smaller tunnel he was in. One oddity, however, was that he could hear the hum of the turbine much louder now that he was away from the main tunnel. Despite all the frantic haste and the irresistible beating of his heart, he could not help admiring the beauty of the well-groomed dog that had cornered him. Her black skin 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 just standing in his way, panting.
  
  "Oh no, I know people like you well enough not to fall for that friendliness, girl," Sam countered in her accommodating manner. He knew better. Sam decided to go deeper into the tunnel, but at his usual 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 hallway. But his efforts were cut short by her growl of disapproval, a menacing roar of warning that Sam couldn't help but heed.
  
  "Welcome, you can come with me," he said cordially as adrenaline flooded his system in his veins.
  
  The black bitch didn't want any of that. With a wicked grin, she repeated her position and took a few steps closer to her goal, for greater persuasiveness. It would be foolish of Sam to try to run away from even just one animal. They were just faster and deadlier, not an opponent to challenge. Sam sat down on the floor and waited to see what she would do. But the only reaction shown by his bestial abductor 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 an ardent animal lover, even for 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," came a voice from the dark cavern at the back of the entrance, frightening Sam. "But I can"t let you leave, you understand?" The voice was male and spoke with a strong Dutch accent.
  
  "No, don't worry. I'm pretty charming. Many people insist that they enjoy my company," Sam replied in his well-known sarcastic dismissal.
  
  "I'm glad you have a sense of humor, Sam," the man said. "God knows there are too many anxious people out there."
  
  A man came into view. He was wearing overalls, just like Sam and his group. He was a very attractive man, and his manner seemed appropriate, but Sam learned that the most civilized and educated men were usually the most depraved. After all, all members of the Renegade Brigade were highly educated and well-mannered people, but they could turn to violence and cruelty in the blink of an eye. Something about the man who confronted him told Sam to be careful.
  
  "Do you know what you are looking for down here?" the man asked.
  
  Sam remained silent. In truth, he had no idea what he, Nina, and Perdue were looking for, but he wasn't about to answer the stranger's questions either.
  
  "Mr. Cleve, I asked you a question."
  
  The Rottweiler growled, moving closer to Sam. It was delightful and terrifying that she could react appropriately without any command.
  
  "I don't know. We just followed some of the blueprints we found near Wewelsburg," Sam replied, trying to keep his words as simple as possible. "And who are you?"
  
  Bloom. Jost Bloom, sir, the man said. Sam nodded. Now he could identify the accent, although 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 this tunnel. This is purely for ventilation."
  
  It dawned on Sam that the Rottweilers could not enter the tunnel network the same way that he and his colleagues did, so the Dutchman must have known about another entry point.
  
  They climbed out of the secondary tunnel back into the main hall, where the lights were still on, keeping the room lit. Sam thought of Bloom and Face's cool treatment of their pet, but before he could formulate any plans, three figures appeared in the distance. The rest of the dogs followed. It was Nina and Perdue walking with another young man. Nina's face lit up when she saw that Sam was safe and sound.
  
  "Now ladies and gentlemen, should we continue?" Suggested by Yost Bloom.
  
  "Where?" I asked. Perdue asked.
  
  "Oh, stop it, Mr. Perdue. Don't play with me, old man. I know who you are, who all of you are, although 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 by the hand and leading her away from Purdue and Sam. "Especially when there are women in your life who can be harmed."
  
  "Don't you dare threaten her!" Sam chuckled.
  
  "Sam, calm down," Nina pleaded. Something about Bloom told her that he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of Sam, 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 started down the giant passage.
  
  "You of all people should be, Mr. Perdue, but, alas, you are not," Bloom replied amiably.
  
  Purdue was justifiably disturbed by the stranger's remark, but he could not recall ever having met him before. The man held Nina's hand tightly, like a protective lover, showing no hostility, though she knew he wouldn't let her break free without considerable regret.
  
  "Another friend of yours, Perdue?" Sam asked in a caustic tone.
  
  "No, Sam," Perdue barked back, but before he could rebut Sam's suggestion, Bloom turned directly to the reporter.
  
  "I'm not his friend, Mr. Cleave. But his sister is a close... acquaintance," Bloom smirked.
  
  Perdue's face turned ash gray 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 the courtesy of Mr. Cleave," Bloom admitted, enjoying the growing distrust he saw growing in Purdue and Nina towards their journalist friend.
  
  "Bullshit!" Sam exclaimed. He was furious seeing the reaction of his colleagues. "I had nothing to do with this!"
  
  "Really?" Bloom asked with a devilish grin. "Wesley, show them."
  
  The young man who was walking behind with the dogs obeyed. He took out a device that looked like a cell phone without buttons from his pocket. It featured a compact view of the area and the surrounding slopes to represent the area and ultimately the labyrinth of structures they traversed. Only one red dot pulsed, slowly moving along the coordinates of one of the lines.
  
  "Look," Bloom said, and Wesley stopped Sam halfway. The 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.
  
  "Weird since you're on their tracking system," Purdue said with a condescension that infuriated Sam.
  
  "You and your fucking sister must have planted it on me!" Sam screamed.
  
  "Then how would these guys get the signal? It has to be one of their trackers, Sam, to appear on their screens. Where else would you be marked if you hadn't been with them before?" Perdue insisted.
  
  "I don't know!" Sam objected.
  
  Nina couldn't believe her ears. Confused, she stared silently at Sam, the man she had trusted with her life. All he could do was vehemently deny his involvement, but he knew the damage had been done.
  
  "Apart from that, we are all here now. Better to cooperate so no one gets hurt or killed," Bloom chuckled.
  
  He was pleased with how easily he managed to bridge the gap between his companions while maintaining a slight distrust. It would defeat his purpose if he revealed that the council had been tracking Sam with nanites in his system, similar to those contained in Nina's body in Belgium before Perdue gave her and Sam vials containing the antidote to swallow.
  
  Sam did not trust Purdue's intentions and led Nina to believe that he had also taken the antidote. But by not taking a liquid that could neutralize the nanites in his body, Sam inadvertently allowed the council to conveniently locate him and follow him to the place where Erno's secret is kept.
  
  Now he was actually labeled a traitor, and he had no evidence to the contrary.
  
  They came to a sharp bend in the tunnel and found themselves in front of a huge vault door built into the wall where the tunnel ended. It was a tarnished gray door with rusty bolts that reinforced it along the sides and in the middle. The group stopped to examine the massive door in front of them. Its color was a pale creamy grey, only slightly different from the color of the walls and floors of the chimneys. Upon closer inspection, they could make out the steel cylinders that held the heavy door to the surrounding door frame set in the thick concrete.
  
  "Mr Perdue, I'm sure you can open this for us," Bloom said.
  
  "I doubt it," Purdue replied. "I didn"t have nitroglycerin with me."
  
  "But you sure have some ingenious technology in your bag like you usually do to speed up your passage through all the places you always stick your nose in?" Bloom insisted, his tone clearly becoming more hostile as his patience wore off. "Do it for a limited time..." he told Purdue and articulated his next threat: "Do it for your sister."
  
  Agatha could very well be dead already, Purdue thought, but kept his face straight.
  
  Immediately, all five dogs began to look flustered, squealing and moaning as they shifted from foot to foot.
  
  "What's the matter, girls?" Wesley asked the animals, rushing to comfort them.
  
  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 beginning to howl incessantly.
  
  "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 annoyed by the subsonic tone, which humans couldn't hear because they began to howl frantically, twisting maniacally in place. One by one, the dogs began to back away 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 in the distance.
  
  "Call me paranoid, but that's a sure sign we're in trouble," Nina remarked as the others looked around frantically.
  
  Yost Bloom and the faithful Wesley both drew their pistols from under their jackets.
  
  "Did you bring a weapon?" Nina frowned in surprise. "Then why worry about dogs?"
  
  "Because if you are torn apart by wild animals, it will make your death accidental and unfortunate, my dear Dr. Gould. Can't be traced. And it would be just stupid to shoot into such acoustics, "Bloom explained casually, retracting the trigger.
  
  
  Chapter 32
  
  
  
  Two days before - Mönch Saridag
  
  
  "Location blocked," the hacker told Ludwig Bern.
  
  They've been working day and night to figure out a way to find the stolen weapons that were stolen from the Renegade Brigade over a week ago. As former members of the Black Sun, there was not a single person associated with the brigade who wasn't a master of their craft, so it only made sense that there would be several information technology experts there to help trace the whereabouts of the dangerous Longinus.
  
  "Outstanding!" Berne exclaimed, turning to his two fellow commanders for approval.
  
  One of them was Kent Bridges, a former SAS officer and former Black Sun level three member in charge of ammunition. The other was Otto Schmidt, who was also a Level 3 Black Sun member before moving to the Renegade Brigade, a professor of applied linguistics and a former fighter pilot from Vienna, Austria.
  
  "Where are they at the moment?" Bridges asked.
  
  The hacker raised an eyebrow, "Actually, the strangest place. According to the fiber optic indicators that we have synchronized with the Longinus hardware, currently... at... Wewelsburg Castle."
  
  The three commanders exchanged puzzled looks.
  
  "At this time of night? It"s not even morning yet, right, Otto?" Bern asked.
  
  "No, I think it's about 5 am now," Otto replied.
  
  "Wewelsburg Castle isn"t even open yet, and of course no temporary visitors or tourists are allowed there at night," Bridges joked. "How the hell could it be there? If not... was the thief currently breaking into Wewelsburg?"
  
  The room fell silent as everyone inside pondered a reasonable explanation.
  
  "Doesn't matter," Byrne said suddenly. "The important thing is that we know where it is. I voluntarily go to Germany to pick them up. I will take Alexander Arichenkov with me. This man is an exceptional tracker and navigator."
  
  "Do it, Bern. As always, check in with us every 11 hours. And if you have any problems, just let us know. We already have allies in every country in Western Europe if you need reinforcements," Bridges confirmed.
  
  "Will be done".
  
  "Are you sure you can trust Russian?" Otto Schmidt asked softly.
  
  "I believe I can, Otto. This man gave me no reason to believe otherwise. Besides, we still have people watching over his friends' house, but I doubt it will ever come to that. However, the time of the historian and journalist to bring Renata to us is running out. It worries me more than I'm willing to admit, but one by one," Bern assured the Austrian pilot.
  
  "Agree. Bon voyage Bern," Bridges added.
  
  "Thank you, Kent. We're leaving in an hour, Otto. Will you be ready? Bern asked.
  
  "Absolutely. Let's get this threat back from someone who was stupid enough to put his paws on her. My God, if they only knew what this thing is capable of!" Otto spoke.
  
  "That's what I'm afraid of. I have a feeling they know perfectly well what it is capable of."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Nina, Sam and Perdue had no idea how long they had been in the tunnels. Even assuming it was dawn, there was no way they could see daylight down here. Now they were being held at gunpoint, having no idea what they were getting themselves into as they stood in front of the giant heavy vault door.
  
  "Mr. Perdue, if you like." Yost Bloom nudged Purdue with his pistol to open the vault with a portable blowtorch he used to cut a seal in the sewers.
  
  "Mr. Bloom, I don't know you, but I'm sure a man of your intelligence understands that a door like this cannot be opened with a pathetic tool like this one," Purdue retorted, though he kept his reasonable tone.
  
  "Please don't be easy on me, Dave," Bloom went cold, "because I don't mean your tiny instrument."
  
  Sam restrained himself from scoffing at the peculiar choice of words that usually led him to make some snide remark. Nina's big dark eyes were watching Sam. He could see that she was very upset at his apparent betrayal when he didn't take the vial of antidote she gave him, but he had his reasons for not trusting Purdue after what he had put them through in Bruges.
  
  Perdue knew what Bloom was talking about. With a heavy look, he took out a handle-like spyglass and activated it, using infrared light to determine the thickness of the door. Then he put his eye to the small glass peephole while the rest of the group waited in anticipation, still haunted by the eerie circumstances that caused the dogs to bark madly away from them.
  
  Perdue pressed the second button with his finger, keeping his eyes on the spyglass, and a faint red dot appeared on the bolt of the door.
  
  "Laser cutter," Wesley smiled. "Very cool".
  
  "Please hurry, Mr Perdue. And when you're done, I'll rid you of this wonderful tool," Bloom said. "I could use such a prototype for cloning by my colleagues."
  
  "And who could be your colleague, Mr. Bloom?" Perdue 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 tried to run away 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 leadership of the Black Sun, after Alexander thwarted their planned rejection of the disgraced leader, Renata, who was to be overthrown by them.
  
  We'd be fucked if we were on the chessboard right now, Nina thought, hoping Perdue knew where Renata was. Now he would have to deliver her to the council instead of helping Nina and Sam turn her in to the Renegade Brigade. Either way, Sam and Nina ended up in a compromising position, resulting in 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 lure. I knew that if we hired her for such an undertaking, she would undoubtedly need her brother's help to find the diary, when in fact Mr. Perdue 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've been hunting for here at Wewelsburg before we wrap up our business," Wesley added from behind Sam.
  
  In the distance, dogs barked and whined as the turbine continued to hum. This gave Nina an overwhelming sense of dread and hopelessness that matched the dreary disposition perfectly. She looked at Jost Bloom and, uncharacteristically, she controlled her temper: "Is Agatha all right, Mr. Bloom? Is she still under your care?"
  
  "Yes, she is under our care," he replied with a quick glance to reassure her, but his silence about Agatha's well-being was an ominous omen. Nina looked at Perdue. His lips were compressed 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 the silence that had reigned in this gloomy atmosphere for the first time. They stepped back as Purdue, Wesley, and Sam pushed open the heavy, loose door in short bursts. Finally, it gave way and rolled over with a crash to the other side, raising years of dust and scattered yellowed paper. None of them dared to enter first, although the musty room was lit by the same series of electric wall lights as the tunnel.
  
  "Let's see what's inside," Sam insisted, holding the camera ready. Bloom released Nina and stepped forward with Perdue from the wrong end of his barrel. Nina waited for Sam to walk past her before squeezing his hand lightly, "What are you doing?" He could tell that she was furious with him, but something in her eyes told her that she refused to believe that Sam would intentionally bring them advice.
  
  "I'm here to record our discoveries, remember?" he said sharply. He waved the camera at her, but his gaze directed her to the digital display screen, where she could see that he was filming their captors. In case they needed to blackmail the council, or under any circumstances photographic evidence was needed, Sam took as many shots of the men and their activities as he could while he pretended to treat the meeting like business.
  
  Nina nodded and followed him into the stuffy room.
  
  The floor and walls were tiled, and dozens of pairs of fluorescent lamps hung from the ceiling, emitting a dazzling white light that now became flickering flashes inside their ruined plastic covers. The explorers momentarily forgot who they were, all marveling at the spectacle with equal admiration and awe.
  
  "What kind of place is it?" Wesley asked, picking up cold, tarnished surgical instruments from an old kidney container. Above him, mute and dead, stood a decrepit operating lamp, threaded with a web of epochs gathered between its extremes. There were terrible stains on the tiled floor, some of which looked like dried blood, while others looked like the remains of chemical containers that had been slightly eaten into the floor.
  
  "It's like a sort of research facility," replied Perdue, who has seen and managed his own share of such operations.
  
  "What? Super soldiers? There are many signs of human experimentation here," Nina noted, wincing at the slightly ajar refrigerator door on the far wall. "These are mortuary refrigerators, there are several body bags stacked in there..."
  
  "And torn clothes," Yost remarked from where he stood, peeking out from behind what looked like laundry baskets. "Oh God, the fabric smells like shit. And big pools of blood where the collars are. I think Dr. Gould is right - human experiments, but I doubt they were done on Nazi troops. The clothes here look like they were mostly worn by concentration camp prisoners."
  
  Nina's eyes lifted in thought as she tried to remember what she knew about the concentration camps near Wewelsburg. In a soft, emotional, and sympathetic tone, she shared what she knew about those who likely wore torn, bloody clothing.
  
  "I know that the prisoners were used as workers in the construction of Wewelsburg. They could very well be the people Sam said he felt down here. They were brought in from Niederhagen, some others from Sachsenhausen, but they all made up the labor force for building what was supposed to be more than just a castle. Now that we've found it all 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 over his chest and rubbed his cold forearms. Sam just used his camera to take some more shots of mold and rust inside the mortuary refrigerators.
  
  "It looks like they were used for more than hard work," Perdue said. He pushed aside the lab coat that hung on the wall and found a thick slit behind it, deeply cut into the wall.
  
  "Light it up," he ordered to no one in particular.
  
  Wesley handed him a flashlight, and when Purdue shone it through the hole, he choked on the stench of stagnant water and the rotting of old bones decaying inside.
  
  "God! Look at this!" he coughed and they gathered around the pit to find 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 up in a Wewelsburg dungeon in the late 1930s," Nina suggested when she saw this. "But, according to reports, they later ended up in the Buchenwald camp. Reportedly. We always thought the dungeon in question was the vault under Obergruppenführer Hersal, but maybe that was the place!"
  
  For all their astonishment at what they discovered, the group did not notice that the incessant barking of the dogs stopped instantly.
  
  
  Chapter 33
  
  
  While Sam was photographing the horrific scene, Nina's curiosity was piqued by another door, the usual wooden version with a window in the top that was now too dirty to see through. Under the door, she saw a streak of light from the same series of lamps that illuminated the room they were in.
  
  "Don't even think about going in there," Yost's sudden words behind her shook her almost to the point of a heart attack. Clutching her hand to her chest in shock, Nina gave Jost Bloom the look he often got from women of annoyance and denial. "Not without me as your bodyguard, that is," he smiled. Nina could see that the Dutch council member knew he was attractive, all the more reason to reject his easy advances.
  
  "I'm quite capable, thank you, mister," she teased sharply, and yanked the doorknob. Some encouragement was needed, but they opened with little effort, even though rusted and disused.
  
  However, this room looked completely different from the previous one. It was a little more inviting than the medical death chamber, but still retained the Nazi vibe of apprehension.
  
  Richly stocked with vintage books on everything from archeology to the occult, from posthumous textbooks to Marxism and mythology, the room felt like an old library or office, given the large desk and high-backed chair in the corner where two bookshelves meet. The books and folders, even the papers scattered all over the place, were the same color because of the heavy dust.
  
  "Sam!" she called. "Sam! You must take pictures of this!"
  
  "And what, pray tell, are you going to do with these photos, Mr. Cleve?" Jost Bloom asked Sam as he took one off the door.
  
  "Do what journalists do," Sam said nonchalantly, "sell them to the highest bidder."
  
  Bloom let out an alarming laugh that clearly indicated his disagreement with Sam. He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Who said you'd get out of here unpunished, boy?"
  
  "Well, I live in the moment, Mr. Bloom, and I try not to let power-hungry morons like you write my fate for me," Sam grinned smugly. "I could even make a dollar from a photograph of your corpse."
  
  Without warning, Bloom delivered a hard blow to Sam's face, knocking him back and knocking him to the ground. As Sam fell onto the steel cabinet, his camera fell to the floor, shattering on impact.
  
  "You're talking to someone powerful and dangerous who just happens to have those Scottish balls in a tight grip, kid. Don't fucking forget about it!" Jost boomed as Nina rushed to Sam's aid.
  
  "I don't even know why I'm helping you," she said softly, wiping his bloody nose. "You got us into this shit because you didn't trust me. You would trust Trish, but I'm not Trish, am I?"
  
  Nina's words took Sam by surprise. "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 is this story with Trish all of a sudden?"
  
  "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! Let Trish go, not her!
  
  Perdue walked in with Wesley's gun at his back, and the moment vanished.
  
  "Nina, what do you know about this office? Is it on the records? Perdue asked.
  
  "Perdue, no one even knows about this place. How could it be on any record?" she broke.
  
  Jost rummaged through some papers on the table. "There are several apocryphal texts here!" he announced, looking fascinated. "Real, ancient scriptures!"
  
  Nina jumped up and joined him.
  
  "You know, in the basement of the western tower of Wewelsburg there was a personal safe that Himmler installed there. Only he and the commandant of the castle knew about it, but after the war, its contents were taken out and never found," Nina lectured, looking through secret documents that she heard about only in legends and ancient historical codes. "I bet it was moved here. I would even go so far as to say..." she turned in all directions to closely examine the age of literature, "that this could very well be a repository as well. I mean, you saw the door we entered through."
  
  When she looked down at the open box, she found a handful of scrolls of great antiquity. Nina saw that Jost was oblivious, and on closer inspection realized that it was the same papyrus on which the diary had been written. Tearing off the end with her dainty fingers, she unrolled it slightly and read something in Latin that took her breath away - Alexandrina Bibliotes - Script from Atlantis
  
  Could it be? She made sure no one saw her putting the scrolls as carefully as possible into her bag.
  
  "Mr. Bloom," she said after she took the scrolls, "could you tell me what else was written in the diary about this place?" She maintained a conversational tone, but wanted to keep him busy and establish a more cordial bond between them so as not to betray his intentions.
  
  "To be honest, I didn't have much interest in the code, Dr. Gould. My only concern was to use Agatha Purdue to find this man," he replied, nodding towards Purdue as the other men discussed the age of the hidden recording room and its contents. "However, what was interesting was that he wrote somewhere after the poem that brought you here, before we had to go through the trouble of figuring it out."
  
  "What did he say?" she asked with mock interest. But what he unintentionally passed on to Nina interested her exclusively in historical terms.
  
  "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 who owned the land where he claimed to have seen this magnificent treasure of the world, right?"
  
  "Yes," she replied, glancing at Sam as he healed his bruises.
  
  "He wanted to keep it for himself, just like you," Yost chuckled slyly. "But he needed the help of a colleague, an archaeologist who worked here in Wewelsburg, a man named Wilhelm Jordan. He accompanied Werner as a historian to retrieve a treasure from the Egyptian's small holding in Algiers, just like you," he repeated his insult cheerfully. "But when they returned to Germany, his friend, who at that time was in charge of excavations in the vicinity of Wewelsburg on behalf of Himmler and the High Commissioner of the SS, got him drunk and shot him, taking the aforementioned booty, which Werner still did not directly mention in his writings. I guess we will never know what they were."
  
  "Sorry," Nina feigned sympathy as her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
  
  She hoped they could somehow get rid of these not-so-hearty gentlemen sooner rather than later. Over the past few years, Nina has prided herself on transforming herself from the cocky, albeit pacifist, scientist into the capable ass-kicking man she was turned into by the people she encountered. Once she would have considered her goose cooked in a similar situation, now she thought of ways to avoid being caught as if it were a matter of course - and so it was. In the life she was currently living, the threat of death constantly loomed over her and her colleagues, and she became an unwitting participant in the frenzy of manic power plays and its dubious characters.
  
  From the hallway came the hum of a turbine-a sudden, deafening silence, replaced only by the low, howling whistle of the wind as it pursued the complex tunnels. This time everyone noticed, looking at each other in bewilderment.
  
  "What just happened?" Wesley asked, speaking first in dead silence.
  
  "It's strange that you only notice the noise after it's muted, isn't it?" said a voice from another room.
  
  "Yes! But now I hear myself thinking," another spoke up.
  
  Nina and Sam instantly recognized the voice and exchanged extremely worried looks.
  
  "Our time is not up yet, is it?" Sam asked Nina in a loud whisper. Among the puzzled expressions of the others, Nina nodded her head at Sam in denial. They both knew the voice of Ludwig Bern and their friend Alexander Arichenkov. Purdue also recognized the Russian voice.
  
  "What is Alexander doing here?" he asked Sam, but before he could answer, two men entered the doorway. Wesley pointed his weapon at Alexander, and Yost Bloom roughly grabbed the petite Nina by the hair and pressed the muzzle of his Makarov 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," Byrne warned without hesitation. "And I know where they are."
  
  "You know each other?" Perdue asked.
  
  "This is one of the leaders from Monkh Saridag, Mr. Perdue," Alexander replied. Perdue looked pale and very uncomfortable. He knew why the gang 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 going too deep into places he should have left there.
  
  "Yes, Yost and I served the same master until I came to my senses and stopped being a pawn in the hands of such idiots as Renata," Bern chuckled.
  
  "I swear to God I'm going to kill her," Jost repeated, hurting Nina just enough to make her yelp. Sam got into an attacking stance, and Jost immediately exchanged a vicious look with the reporter: "Do you want to hide again, highlander?"
  
  "Fuck 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 that's what he meant.
  
  "I would say that you are in the minority not only because of people, but also because of bad luck, comrade," Alexander grinned, taking a joint out of his pocket and lighting it with a match. "Now, boy, put your weapon down 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 shouted fervently, the veins bulged in his neck, but Berne and Alexander paid no attention to him. Wesley took the safety off his gun. His eyes were full of tears, and his lips trembled uncontrollably. It was clear to all who witnessed that he was fickle. Bern looked down at Nina, subconsciously asking her to take the first step with his imperceptible nod. She was the only one who was in direct danger, so she had to gather her courage and try to catch Bloom by surprise.
  
  The pretty little storyteller took a moment to remember what her late friend Val once taught her when they sparred for a bit. With a rush of adrenaline, her body began to move, and with all her strength she jerked Bloom's arm up at the elbow, forcing his gun to point down. Perdue and Sam rushed at Bloom at the same time, knocking him over while Nina was still in his grasp.
  
  A deafening shot rang out in the tunnels under Wewelsburg Castle.
  
  
  Chapter 34
  
  
  Agatha Perdue crawled across the dirty cement floor of the basement where she woke up. The excruciating pain in her chest was evidence of the latest injury she had received at the hands of Wesley Bernard and Jost Bloom. Before they put two bullets into her torso, she was abused by Bloom for several hours until she passed out from pain and blood loss. Barely alive, Agatha forced her to keep moving on her skinned knees towards the small square of wood and plastic that she could see through the blood and tears in her eyes.
  
  Fighting for her lungs to expand, she wheezed with every scraping forward movement. The square of switches and currents on the dirty wall beckoned, but she didn't feel like she could get that far before oblivion took her. The burning and throbbing, unhealed holes left by the metal bullets piercing the flesh of her diaphragm and upper chest bled profusely, and it felt like her lungs were pincushions for railroad spikes.
  
  There was a world outside the room, unaware of her plight, and she knew she would never see the sun again. But one thing the genius librarian knew was that her attackers wouldn't outlive her much. 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 all costs. Instead of risking another Black Sun Renata rise up at the council's request if they become impatient looking for Mirela, David and Agatha decide to eliminate the council as well.
  
  If they had done away with the people who had chosen to lead the Order of the Black Sun, there would have been no one to elect a new leader when they handed Renata over to the Renegade Brigade. And the best way to do that would be to use Longinus to destroy them all at once. But now she faced her own demise and had no idea where her brother was or if he was still alive after Bloom and his beasts found him. However, determined to contribute to the common cause, Agatha took the risk of killing innocent people, if only to avenge herself. Besides, she was never the type to let her morals or emotions get the better of what needed to be done, and she was going to prove it today before she breathed her last.
  
  Assuming she was dead, they threw a coat over her body to get rid of it as soon as they got back. She knew they planned to find her brother and force him to abandon Renata before killing him and then deposing Renata to speed up the new leader's infiltration.
  
  The power box was inviting her closer.
  
  With the wiring in it, she could redirect the current to the little silver transmitter Dave had built for her tablet to use as a satellite modem back in Thurso. With two broken fingers and most of the skin from her knuckles, Agatha rummaged through a sewn-in coat pocket to pull out the little locator she and her brother had made since returning from Russia. It was designed and built specifically to Longinus' specifications and served as a remote detonator. Dave and Agatha were going to use this to destroy the council's headquarters in Bruges, hoping to wipe out most, if not all, of the members.
  
  When she reached the electric box, she leaned on the broken old furniture, which had also been dumped there and forgotten, just like Agatha Perdue. With great difficulty, she worked her magic, gradually and carefully, praying that she would not die before she completed the setup to detonate the seemingly insignificant superweapon that she skillfully installed on Wesley Bernard right after he had raped her a second time.
  
  
  Chapter 35
  
  
  Sam showered Bloom with blows while Nina held Perdue in her arms. As Bloom's gun went off, Alexander lunged at Wesley, taking a bullet in the shoulder before Berne knocked the young man down and knocked him out. Perdue was hit in the thigh by Bloom's downward pointing gun, but he was conscious. Nina tied a piece of cloth around his leg, which she tore into a strip to stop the bleeding for now.
  
  "Sam, you can stop now," Byrne said, pulling Sam off Jost Bloom's limp body. Nice to get even, Sam thought, and stabbed himself again before allowing Bern to lift him off the ground.
  
  "We'll deal with you soon. As soon as everyone can calm down," said Nina Perdue, but addressed her words to Sam and Bern. Alexander sat against the wall by the door with a bleeding shoulder, looking for a flask of elixir in his coat pocket.
  
  "And what do we do with them now?" Sam asked Bern, wiping sweat from his face.
  
  "First, I would like to return the item they stole from us. Then we will take them with us to Russia as hostages. They could supply us with a wealth of information about Black Sun's exploits and inform us of all the institutions and members that we don't yet know about," Berne replied, tying Bloom with straps from the medical ward next door.
  
  "How did you get here?" Nina asked.
  
  "Airplane. While we are talking, a pilot is waiting for me in Hannover. Why?" he frowned.
  
  "Well, we couldn't find the item you sent us to return to you," she told Berne with some concern, "and I was wondering what you were doing here; how did you find us?
  
  Byrne shook his head, a soft smile on his lips at the deliberate tact with which the pretty woman asked her questions. "I believe there was some synchronicity involved here. You see, Alexander and I followed the trail of something that was stolen from the Brigade right after you and Sam started your journey."
  
  He squatted down next to her. Nina could tell that 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, yet, following the signal of Longinus, whom we should find, but the very people who, we were assured, had nothing to do with his theft," he chuckled.
  
  Nina felt her heart jump with fear. Gone was the kindness that Ludwig always had for her, in his voice and in his eyes, which looked at her with contempt. "Now tell me, Dr. Gould, what am I to think?"
  
  "Ludwig, we have nothing to do with any theft!" she protested, carefully monitoring her tone.
  
  "Captain Burn would be preferable, Dr. Gould," he snapped instantly. "And please don't try to make a fool of me a second time."
  
  Nina looked at Alexander for support, but he was unconscious. Sam shook his head, "She's not lying to you, captain. We definitely have nothing to do with it."
  
  "Then how did it happen that Longinus ended up here?" Bern growled at Sam. He stood up and turned to face Sam, his imposing stature in a menacing stance and icy eyes. "It brought us straight to you!"
  
  Perdue couldn't take it anymore. He knew the truth, and now, again because of him, Sam and Nina were being fried, their lives were in danger again. Stuttering in pain, he raised his hand to get Bern's attention. "This was not the work of Sam or Nina, Captain. I don't know how Longinus brought you here because he's not here."
  
  "How did you know that?" Byrne asked sternly.
  
  "Because I was the one who stole it," Purdue admitted.
  
  "Oh Jesus!" Nina exclaimed, throwing her head back in disbelief. "You can't be serious."
  
  "Where is it?" Berne yelled, focusing on Purdue like a vulture waiting for its death rattle.
  
  "This is with my sister. But I don't know where she is now. In truth, she stole them from me the day she left us in Cologne," he added, shaking his head at the absurdity of it.
  
  "Good God, Perdue! What else are you hiding? Nina screamed.
  
  "I told you," Sam said calmly to Nina.
  
  "Don't, Sam! Just don't do it!" she warned him, and got up from under Perdue. "You can help yourself get out of this, Purdue."
  
  Wesley appeared out of nowhere.
  
  He drove the rusty bayonet deep into Bern's stomach. Nina screamed. Sam hauled her out of harm's way as Wesley looked Bern in the eyes with a manic grimace. He pulled the bloody steel out of the dense vacuum of Bern's body and plunged it back in a second time. Perdue moved away as quickly as he could on one leg while Sam held Nina close, her face buried in his chest.
  
  But Byrne turned out to be stronger than Wesley expected. He grabbed the young man by the throat and with a powerful blow threw them both onto the bookshelves. With a furious growl, he broke 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 war between the two men on the floor. Nina, Sam, and Perdue frowned at his reaction, but he ignored them. He just kept on laughing, indifferent to his own fate.
  
  Bern was losing the ability to breathe, his pants and boots flooded his wounds. He heard Nina crying, but he did not have time to admire her beauty for the last time - he needed to commit murder.
  
  With a crushing blow to Wesley's neck, he immobilized the young man's nerves, stunning him for a moment, just long enough to break his neck. Bern fell to his knees, feeling his life slip away. Bloom's annoying laugh 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 at 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 infuriated everyone within earshot, while Berne's dying eyes sank into confused tears.
  
  "You just killed your own son, daddy," Bloom chuckled. The horror of this was too great for Nina.
  
  "I'm so sorry, Ludwig!" she wailed and held his hand, but there was nothing left in Bern. His powerful body couldn't handle his death wish and he blessed himself with Nina's face before the light finally left his eyes.
  
  "Aren't you glad Wesley is dead, Mr. Perdue?" Bloom turned his venom on Perdue. "That"s how it 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 over to Bloom and lowered the heavy object onto his skull without any hesitation or remorse. Bone cracked as Bloom laughed, and an alarming hiss escaped his mouth as brain matter leaked onto his shoulder.
  
  Nina's reddened eyes looked gratefully at Sam. For his part, Sam looked shocked at his own act, but there was nothing he could do 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 affiliates have not registered and they will come looking for them."
  
  "That's right," Sam said, and they collected everything they could salvage from the old documents. "And not a second sooner, because this dead turbine is one of two frail devices that keep the electricity flowing. The lights will go out soon, and we're covered."
  
  Perdue thought quickly. Agatha had Longinus. Wesley killed her. The brigade traced Longinus here, he formulated his conclusion. So Wesley must have had the weapon and the idiot had no idea he had it?
  
  By stealing and touching the desired weapon, Purdue knew what it looked like, and what's more, he knew how to transport it safely.
  
  They brought Alexander to his senses and took a few bandages wrapped in polyethylene, which they could find in the medical cabinets. Unfortunately, most of the surgical instruments were dirty and could not be used to heal Purdue and Alexander's wounds, but it was more important to get out of Wewelsburg's diabolical labyrinth first.
  
  Nina made sure she collected all the scrolls she could find, in case there were still priceless relics from the ancient world that needed to be saved. Though sick with disgust and sadness, she couldn't wait to explore the esoteric treasures she had discovered in Heinrich Himmler's secret vault.
  
  
  Chapter 36
  
  
  By late night they were all out of Wewelsburg and on their way to the airstrip in Hannover. Alexander decided to take his eyes off his companions because they were so kind to include his unconscious self in their escape from the underground tunnels. He awoke just before they left the gate, which 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 fee offered by Dave Perdue didn't hurt his sense of loyalty either, and he thought it best to keep the brigade out in the open. They were going to meet Otto Schmidt at the airstrip and contact the other brigade commanders for further instructions.
  
  However, Perdue remained silent about his captive in Thurso, even when he received a new message by muzzling the dog. This is madness. Now that he had lost his sister and Longinus, he was running out of cards as opposing forces gathered against him and his friends.
  
  "Here he is!" Alexander pointed to Otto as they arrived at Hannover Airport in Langenhagen. He was sitting in a restaurant when Alexander and Nina found him.
  
  "Doctor Gould!" he exclaimed joyfully when he saw Nina. "Glad to see you again."
  
  The German pilot was a very friendly man, and he was one of the brigade men 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 about what had happened at the research center.
  
  "And there was no way you could bring back his body?" he finally asked.
  
  "No, Herr Schmidt," Nina interrupted, "we had to get out before the weapon exploded. We still have no idea if it exploded. 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 would not run out of patience and join them before they worked out a plan of action with the help of Otto Schmidt. Nina knew that Perdue would offer to pay Schmidt for his concern, but she felt it would be inappropriate after Perdue confessed to stealing the Longinus in the first place. Alexander and Nina made an agreement to keep this fact to themselves for the time being.
  
  "Okay, I requested a status report. As Comrade Commander, I am empowered to take any action I see fit," Otto told them, returning from the building from which he had made the private call. "I want you to know that the loss of Longinus and still not being able to get close to Renata's arrest doesn't suit me... us. But because I trust you, and because you told me when you could have escaped, I decided to help you..."
  
  "Oh thank you!" Nina breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  "BUT..." he continued, "I don't go back to Mönkh Saridag empty-handed, so that doesn't take you off the hook. Your friends, Alexander, still have an hourglass in which sand is rapidly pouring. It hasn't changed. Did I make myself clear?
  
  "Yes, sir," Alexander replied, while Nina nodded her thanks.
  
  "Now tell me about your excursion you mentioned, Dr. Gould," he said to Nina, shifting in his chair to listen carefully.
  
  "I have reason to believe that I have discovered ancient writings as old as the Dead Sea Scrolls," she began.
  
  "Can I see them?" asked Otto.
  
  "Would I rather show them to you in a more... secluded place?" Nina smiled.
  
  "Made. Where are we heading?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Less than thirty minutes later, Otto's Jet Ranger, with four passengers-Purdue, Alexander, Nina, and Sam-was bound for Thurso. They would linger at Purdue Manor, the very place where Miss Maisie nursed the visitor from her nightmares without the knowledge of anyone but Purdue and his so-called housekeeper. Perdue suggested that this would be the best location because there was a makeshift lab in the basement where Nina could radiocarbon analyze the scrolls she found, scientifically dating the parchment's organic base for authentication.
  
  There was a promise for Otto to take something from the Discovery, although Perdue planned to get rid of a very expensive and annoying asset sooner rather than later. All he wanted to do at first was to see how Nina's discovery would turn out.
  
  "So you think this is part of the Dead Sea Scrolls?" Sam asked her when she was installing the equipment Purdue had placed at her disposal, while Purdue, Alexander and Otto sought the help of a local doctor to treat their bullet wounds without asking too many questions.
  
  
  Chapter 37
  
  
  Miss Maisie entered the cellar with a tray.
  
  "Do you want tea and cookies?" she smiled at Nina and Sam.
  
  "Thank you, Miss Maisie. And please, if you need help in the kitchen, I'm at your service," Sam offered with his trademark boyish charm. Nina chuckled as she adjusted the scanner.
  
  "Oh, thank you, Mr. Cleve, but I can handle it myself," Maisie assured him, giving Nina a look of playful horror that appeared on her face, remembering the kitchen disasters Sam caused the last time he helped her prepare breakfast. Nina lowered her face to giggle.
  
  With gloved hands, Nina Gould picked up the first papyrus scroll with great tenderness.
  
  "So you think these are the same scrolls we always read about?" Sam asked.
  
  "Yes," Nina smiled, her face beaming with excitement, "and from my rusty Latin I know that these three in particular are the elusive scrolls of Atlantis!"
  
  "Atlantis, like a sunken continent?" he asked, peeking out from behind the car to look at ancient texts in an unfamiliar language written in faded black ink.
  
  "That's right," she replied, concentrating on getting the fragile parchment just right for the test.
  
  "But you know a lot of it is speculation, even its very existence, not to mention its whereabouts," Sam mentioned, leaning on the table to watch her skillful hands at work.
  
  "There were too many coincidences, Sam. Several cultures containing the same doctrines, the same legends, not to mention that the countries believed to have surrounded the continent of Atlantis share the same architecture and zoology," she said. "Turn off that light, please."
  
  He went to the switch for the main overhead light and bathed the basement in dim light from two lamps on opposite sides of the room. Sam watched her work and could not help but have an endless admiration for her. She not only withstood all the dangers that Purdue and his supporters put them in, but also retained her professionalism, acting as the protector of all historical treasures. She never once considered taking credit for the relics she dealt with, or taking credit for the discoveries she made while risking her life to reveal the beauty of an unknown past.
  
  He wondered how she felt as she looked at him now, still torn between loving him and seeing him as some sort of traitor. The latter did not go unnoticed. Sam realized that Nina found him as distrustful as Purdue, and yet she was so close to both men that she could never truly leave.
  
  "Sam," her voice snapped him out of 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. "Keep searching for your mouth when you get home," she smiled. Sam chuckled as he carefully placed the scroll in the leather roll and tied it neatly inside.
  
  "Do you think we'll ever be able to go home without covering 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 leniency at university," she shared a reminiscence of her academic career under the pretentious attention-getting slut who stole all of her accomplishments. as their own for publicity when she and Sam first met.
  
  "I miss Bruich," Sam pouted, lamenting the absence of his beloved cat, "and a pint of beer with Paddy every Friday night. God, it seems like a whole life is left before those days, doesn"t it?"
  
  "Yes. It's almost like we're living two lives in one, don't you think? But on the other hand, we wouldn't know half of what we have, and wouldn't experience even an ounce of the amazing things we have, if we hadn't been thrown into this life, huh?" she comforted him, though in truth she would have returned her boring teaching life to a comfortable, secure existence in no time.
  
  Sam nodded, agreeing 100 percent. Unlike Nina, he believed that in a past life he would have already been hung from a rope hanging from the plumbing in the bathroom. Thoughts of his near-perfect life with his late fiancée é, 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 once planned to do at the suggestion of his psychotherapist.
  
  There was no doubt that his apartment, his frequent drunken escapades and his past would have caught up with him by now, while now he had no time to think about the past. Now he had to look under his feet, learned to quickly judge people and stay alive at all costs. He hated to admit it, but Sam preferred to be in the arms of danger rather than sleep in the fire of self-pity.
  
  "We will need a linguist, a translator. Oh my God, we have to choose strangers we can trust again," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. This suddenly reminded Sam of Trish; how she often twirled a stray lock around her finger, letting it fall back into place after she pulled it tight.
  
  "And are you sure that these scrolls should indicate the location of Atlantis?" he frowned. The concept was too far-fetched for Sam to comprehend. Never a firm believer in conspiracy theories, he had to admit to many inconsistencies he didn't believe in until he experienced it first hand. But Atlantis? In Sam's opinion, it was a kind of historic city that was flooded.
  
  "Not only the location, but it is also said that the Atlantis Scrolls recorded the secrets of an advanced civilization so far advanced in its time that it was inhabited by those whom mythology today offers as gods and goddesses. The people of Atlantis were said to have such superior intellect and methodology that they are credited with building the pyramids at Giza, Sam," she rambled. He could see that 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 flooded piece of land? Haven"t they already been satisfied by subjugating all the cultures that are 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 after was written somewhere in those scrolls. Many researchers and philosophers have speculated about the position of the island, and most agreed that it is located between northern Africa and the confluence of the Americas," she lectured.
  
  "It's really big," he remarked, thinking of the huge portion of the Atlantic Ocean occupied by a single land mass.
  
  "It was. According to the writings of Plato, and subsequently other more modern theories, Atlantis is the reason why so many different continents have similar building styles and wildlife. It all came from the civilization of Atlantis, which connected other continents, so to speak," she explained.
  
  Sam thought for a moment. "So what would Himmler want, what do you think?"
  
  "Knowledge. Advanced knowledge. It was not enough that Hitler and his dogs thought that the master race was the offspring of some otherworldly breed. Perhaps they thought that this is exactly who the inhabitants of Atlantis were and that they would have secrets related to advanced technology and such," she suggested.
  
  "That would be a tangible theory," Sam agreed.
  
  There was a long silence, and only the machine broke the silence. Their eyes met. It was a rare private moment when they weren't threatened and in mixed company. Nina could see something was bothering Sam. As much as she wanted to brush off the recent shocking experience they had, she couldn't contain her curiosity.
  
  "What's the matter, Sam?" she asked almost involuntarily.
  
  "You thought I was obsessed with Trish again?" - he asked.
  
  "I did," Nina looked down at the floor, hands clasped in front of her. "I saw these stacks of notes and fond memories and I... I thought..."
  
  Sam walked up to her in the soft light of the dreary basement and pulled her into his arms. She let him. For the moment, she didn't care what he was involved in or how far she had to believe that he somehow deliberately didn't lead the council to them at Wewelsburg. Now, here, he was just Sam-her Sam.
  
  "Notes about us - Trish and me - are not what you think," he whispered as his fingers played in her hair, cradling the back of her head while his other arm was tightly wrapped around her dainty waist. Nina didn't want to spoil 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 just kept quiet and let him talk, enjoying 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 her and the distant rhythm of his heart inside him.
  
  "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 to... well, you know," he explained. His dark brown eyes were black now, and the only white speck was a faint gleam of light that made him alive to her-alive and real.
  
  "Oh God, I feel so stupid," she moaned, and buried her forehead hard into the muscular cavity in his chest. "I was devastated. I thought... oh shit, Sam, I'm sorry," she whimpered in confusion. He chuckled at her response and, lifting her face to his, planted a deep, sensual kiss on her lips. Nina felt his heart beat faster and it made her groan a little.
  
  Perdue cleared his throat. He stood at the top of the stairs, leaning on a cane to put most of his weight on his injured leg.
  
  "We came back and fixed everything," he announced with a small smile of defeat at the sight of their romantic moment.
  
  "Perdue!" Sam exclaimed. "This cane somehow gives you a sophisticated look, like a James Bond villain."
  
  "Thank you, Sam. I chose it for this very reason. There is a dagger hidden inside, which I will 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 several hours before we finally know if they are real apocryphal and Alexandrian texts," explained Nina. "Thus, 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, right?" Otto suggested impatiently.
  
  Nina looked at Alexander. She didn't know Otto Schmidt well enough to trust him with her find, but on the other hand, he was one of the leaders of the Renegade Brigade and could therefore instantly decide the fate of them all. If he didn't like them, Nina was afraid he would have Katya and Sergei killed while he was playing darts with Perdue's party like he was ordering pizza.
  
  Alexander nodded approvingly.
  
  
  Chapter 38
  
  
  A portly sixty-year-old Otto Schmidt sat down at the antique bureau upstairs in the living room to study the inscriptions on the scrolls. Sam and Perdue were playing darts, challenging Alexander to throw with his right hand, as the left-handed Russian had been shot in the left shoulder. Always ready to take risks, the crazy Russian showed them really well, even trying to make a round with a bad hand.
  
  Nina joined Otto a few minutes later. She was fascinated by his ability to read two of the three languages they found on the scrolls. He briefly told her about his studies and his penchant 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 some stranger to work on her relics. She was still convinced that the neo-Nazis who tried to kill them on their way to Wewelsburg had been sent by graphologist Rachel Clark, and she was grateful that they had someone in their company who could help with the legible parts of the obscure languages.
  
  The thought of Rachel Clark made Nina uncomfortable. If she had been the one behind the bloody car chase that day, she would have already known that her lackeys had been killed. The thought that she might be in a nearby 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 need to be.
  
  "According to the Hebrew sections here," Otto pointed to Nina, "and here, it says that Atlantis...was not...it"s a vast land ruled by ten kings." He lit a cigarette and inhaled the swirling smoke from the filter before continuing. "Judging by the time in which they are written, it could well have been written at a time when Atlantis is believed to have existed. It mentions the location of the continent where on modern maps its coasts would have to run, uh, let's see... from Mexico and the Amazon River in South America," he groaned through another breath, his eyes focused on the Hebrew Scripture, "All along the western coast of Europe and northern Africa." He raised an eyebrow, looking impressed.
  
  Nina had a similar expression. "I believe that is where the Atlantic Ocean gets its name from. God, this is so great, how could everyone have missed this all this time?" she was joking, but her thoughts were sincere.
  
  "Looks like it," agreed Otto. "But, my dear Dr. Gould, you must remember that it is not a matter of circumference or size, but of the depths at which this earth lies below the surface."
  
  "I believe. But you would think that with the technology they have to penetrate space, they could create the technology to dive to great depths," she chuckled.
  
  "I'm preaching to the choir, lady," Otto smiled. "I've been saying this for years."
  
  "What are these letters?" she asked him, carefully unrolling another scroll that contained several entries mentioning Atlantis or some derivative of it.
  
  "It's Greek. Let me see," he said, concentrating on every word his scanning index finger was typing. "Typical why the damn Nazis wanted to find Atlantis..."
  
  "Why?"
  
  "This text speaks of sun worship, which is the religion of the Atlanteans. Worshiping the Sun... sounds familiar to you?"
  
  "Oh God, yes," she sighed.
  
  "Probably it was written by an Athenian. They were at war with the Atlanteans, refusing to give up their land to the conquests of Atlantis, and the Athenians kicked their asses. Here, in this part, it is noted that the continent lay 'to the west of the Pillars of Heracles', he added, crushing a cigarette butt in an ashtray.
  
  "And it could be?" Nina asked. "Wait, the Pillars of Hercules were Gibraltar. Strait of Gibraltar!"
  
  "Oh good. I thought it must be somewhere in the Mediterranean. Close it," he replied, stroking the yellow parchment and nodding thoughtfully. He was delighted with antiquity, from which he had the honor to study. "This is an Egyptian papyrus, as you probably know," Otto said to Nina in a dreamy voice, like an old grandfather telling a child a fairy tale. Nina enjoyed his wisdom and respect for history. "The most ancient civilization, descending directly from the super-developed Atlanteans, was founded 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 real descendant of Atlantis.
  
  His plump face was full of surprise, and Nina was equally delighted with 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 geographic location and see if we can make history," Perdue smiled. He stood watching them with a glass of single malt whiskey in his hand, listening to the compelling information from the Atlantis Scrolls that Himmler ultimately ordered Werner's death in 1946.
  
  At the request of the guests, Maisie prepared a light supper. While everyone was sitting down to a hearty supper by the hearth, Perdue disappeared for a while. Sam wondered what Perdue was hiding this time, leaving almost as soon as the housekeeper disappeared through the back door.
  
  No one else seemed to notice. Alexander told Nina and Otto horror stories about being in his late thirties in Siberia, and they seemed completely fascinated by his stories.
  
  Finishing the rest of his whiskey, Sam slipped out of the office to follow in Purdue's footsteps and see what he had in mind. Sam was fed up with Purdue's secrets, but what he saw when he followed him and Maisie to the guest house boiled his blood. It's time for Sam to put a stop to Perdue's reckless betting, using Nina and Sam as pawns every time. Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started doing what he did best: photographing deals.
  
  When he got enough evidence, he ran back to the house. Sam now had a few secrets of his own, and tired of being dragged into a showdown with equally vicious factions every time, 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 the group would search for the lost continent. After many possible entry points from where they could start scanning for a dive, he finally found that the best latitude and longitude would be the Madeira archipelago, located southwest of the coast of Portugal.
  
  Although the more popular choice for most excursions has always been the Strait of Gibraltar, or the mouth of the Mediterranean, 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 investigating the location of Nazi-occult artifacts before sending out relevant research teams around the world in search of these items.
  
  They found quite a few of the fragments they were looking for in those days, he recalled. However, many of the truly great scrolls, the fabric of legends and myths that were available even to the esoteric minds of the SS, eluded them all. In the end, they became nothing more than a foolish errand for those who were chasing them, like, for example, the lost continent of Atlantis and its priceless part, which was so sought after by those who knew.
  
  Now he had a chance to claim at least some credit for discovering one of the most elusive of them, the Residence of Solon, which is said to have been the place from which the first Aryans originated. According to Nazi literature, it was an egg-shaped relic that contained the DNA of a superhuman race. With such a find, Otto could not even imagine what power the brigade would have over the Black Sun, not to mention the scientific world.
  
  Of course, if it were up to him, he would never have allowed the world to have access to such a priceless find. The general consensus of the Renegade Brigade was that dangerous relics should be kept secret and well guarded so that they could not be misused by those who thrive on greed and power. And that would be exactly what he would do - claim it and lock him up in the impregnable cliffs of the Russian mountain ranges.
  
  Only he knew the whereabouts of Solon, and so he chose Madeira to occupy the rest of the flooded land. Of course, it was important to discover at least some part of Atlantis, but Otto was looking for something much more powerful, valuable than any possible assessment - something that the world should never have known.
  
  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 making stops to refuel the helicopter and have lunch on the island of Porto Santo. In the meantime, Purdue had secured a boat for them and outfitted it with scuba gear and sonar scanning equipment that would have put any institution but the World Research Institute of Marine Archeology to shame. He had a small fleet of yachts and fishing trawlers all over the world, but he instructed his branches in France to do some urgent work to find him a new yacht that could carry everything he needed and still be compact enough. for swimming without assistance.
  
  The discovery of Atlantis would be Purdue's largest find ever. No doubt this would have surpassed his reputation as an extraordinary inventor and explorer and would have placed him straight in the history books as the man who rediscovered a lost continent. Beyond any ego or money, this would elevate his status to an unshakable position, the latter of which would give him security and authority in whatever organization he chooses, including the Order of the Black Sun or the Renegade Brigade, or any other powerful society he chooses.
  
  With him, of course, was Alexander. Both men handled their injuries well and, being absolute adventurers, neither let their injuries get in the way of this exploration. Alexander was grateful that Otto reported Berne'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 the time being, but this threat was still in effect on the hourglass, and it was something that greatly affected the Russian's normally glib and carefree demeanor.
  
  It annoyed him that Perdue knew where Renata was, but remained indifferent to this issue. Unfortunately, with the amount Purdue paid him, he didn't say a word on the subject and hoped he could do something before his time was up. He wondered if Sam and Nina would still be accepted into the Brigade, but in Otto's presence, there would be a legal representative of the organization to speak for them.
  
  "So, my old friend, should we go sailing?" Perdue exclaimed from the hatch of the engine room from which he emerged.
  
  "Yes, yes, captain," the Russian shouted 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 mild, breathing calmly under the hull as the pale sun gleamed on the silver streaks and surface of the water.
  
  Being a licensed skipper like Purdue, Alexander entered their coordinates into the control system and the two men set off from Lorient towards Madeira, where they were to rendezvous with the others. Once on the high seas, the group had to navigate according to the information given on the scrolls, which the Austrian pilot translated for them.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Nina and Sam shared some of their old war stories about their encounters with the Black Sun later that evening when they met with Otto for a drink together, waiting for Perdue and Alexander to arrive the next day if all went according to plan. The island was amazing and the weather mild. Nina and Sam moved into separate rooms for the sake of appearances, but Otto never thought to mention it directly.
  
  "Why do you hide your relationship so carefully?" - asked their old pilot in a break between stories.
  
  "What do you mean?" Sam asked innocently, casting a quick glance at Nina.
  
  "It's clear that you two are close. Oh my god dude, you guys are obviously lovers so stop acting like two teens fucking next to your parents room and check in together! he exclaimed a little louder than he 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 both avoided. But before anyone could answer, Otto had an idea and exhaled loudly, "Ah! It's clear!" and leaned back in his chair with a frothy amber beer in his hand. "There is a third player. I think I know who it is too. Billionaire, of course! What beautiful woman wouldn't share her affection for someone so rich, even if her heart yearns for less... a financially wealthy man?
  
  "Be it known, I find this remark offensive!" Nina seethed, her infamous temper inflamed.
  
  "Nina, don't get defensive," Sam urged her, smiling at Otto.
  
  "If you're not going to protect me, Sam, please shut up," she chuckled, and met an indifferent Otto's gaze. "Herr Schmidt, I don't think you're in a position to generalize and make assumptions about my feelings for people when you know absolutely nothing about me," she reprimanded the pilot in a harsh tone that she managed to keep as quiet as possible. considering how furious she was. "Perhaps the women of the level you meet are so desperate and superficial, but I am not like that. I take care of myself."
  
  He gave her a long, hard look, the kindness in his eyes turning into vengeful punishment. Sam felt his stomach clench at Otto's quiet smirk. That is why he tried to prevent Nina from losing her temper. She seemed to have forgotten that both Sam's fate and hers depended on Otto's favor, otherwise the Renegade Brigade would have quickly dealt with both of them, 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 on your own, I'm afraid you're better off being some deaf man's concubine than this rich idiot's lap dog," Otto replied with a hoarse and menacing condescension that would make any misogynist stand to attention and applaud. Ignoring her remark, he slowly got up from his chair, "I need to take a pee. Sam, get us another one."
  
  "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Sam hissed at her.
  
  "What? Did you hear what he hinted at? You were too damn spineless to defend my honor, so what did you expect to happen?" she snapped back.
  
  "You know that he is one of only two commanders left from the people who have us all by the balls; people who have brought the Black Sun to its knees so far, right? Make him angry and we'll all have a cozy funeral at sea!" Sam pointedly reminded her.
  
  "Shouldn"t you invite your new boyfriend to the bar?" she quipped sarcastically, furious at her inability to belittle the men in her company as easily as she usually did. "Basically, he called me a whore, ready to take the side of whoever is in power."
  
  Sam blurted out without thinking, "Well, among me, Perdue, and Bern, it was hard to tell where you wanted to make your bed, Nina. Perhaps he has a point of view that you want to consider."
  
  Nina's dark eyes widened, but her anger was clouded by pain. Did she just hear Sam say those words, or was some alcoholic devil manipulating him? Her heart ached and a lump formed in her throat, but her anger remained, fueled by his betrayal. In her mind she tried to understand why Otto had called Purdue an idiot. Was it to hurt her or draw her out? Or did he know Perdue better than they did?
  
  Sam just froze and stood there, waiting for her to tear him up, but to his horror, tears came to Nina's eyes and she just got up and left. He felt less remorse than he expected because he really did.
  
  But as sweet as the truth was, he still felt like a bastard for what he said.
  
  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 if Sam saw them talking about him and the woman.
  
  "Women," Sam smiled and raised his glass of beer. The men laughed in agreement and raised their glasses in agreement.
  
  Nina was grateful they had separate rooms, otherwise she could have killed Sam in her sleep in a fit of rage. Her anger was caused not so much by the fact that he had taken Otto's side because of her cavalier treatment of men, but by the fact that she had to admit that there was a lot of truth in his statement. Bern was her bosom friend when they were prisoners in M & # 246;nkh Saridag, mainly because she deliberately used her charms to soften their fate when she found out that she was a carbon copy of his wife.
  
  She preferred Purdue's advances when she was mad at Sam, instead of just sorting things out with him. And what would she have done without Purdue's financial support while he was away? She never once bothered to seek him out in earnest, but went about her research, funded by his attachment to her.
  
  "Oh my God," she screamed as quietly as she could after locking the door and falling onto the bed, "They're right! I'm just a titled little girl who uses her charisma and status to keep herself alive. I am the court whore of any king in power!"
  
  
  Chapter 40
  
  
  Purdue and Alexander had already scanned the ocean floor a few nautical miles from their destination. They wanted to determine if there were any anomalies or unnatural fluctuations in the geography of the slopes below them that could indicate human structures or uniform peaks that could represent the remains of ancient architecture. Any geomorphological inconsistencies in surface features may indicate that submerged material differs from localized deposits and would be worth investigating.
  
  "I never knew that Atlantis had to be 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 west side of the screen, it extended to the Bahamas and Mexico, which made sense in the theory that this was the reason why Egyptian and South American architecture and religions had pyramids and similar building structures as a common influence.
  
  "Oh yes, they said it was bigger than North Africa and Asia Minor combined," Perdue explained.
  
  "But then it's literally too big to find, because there are land masses stretching along these perimeters," Alexander said, more to himself than to those present.
  
  "Oh, but I'm sure these land masses are part of the underlying plate - like the peaks of a mountain range hiding the rest of the mountain," Purdue said. "God, Alexander, think, if we discovered this continent, what glory we would achieve!"
  
  Alexander did not 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 ran out. He noticed that Sam and Nina were already very friendly with Comrade Schmidt, and that was in their favor, but as far as the deal was concerned, there was no change in terms and it kept him up all night. He was constantly reaching 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, snow, burning moonshine and hot women.
  
  When they reached the islands around Madeira, Purdue was looking forward to meeting Sam and Nina, although he was wary of Otto Schmidt. Perhaps Purdue's affiliation with the Black Sun was still too fresh, or perhaps Otto didn't like the fact that Purdue didn't seem to choose sides, but the Austrian pilot wasn't in Purdue's holy of holies, that was certain.
  
  However, the old man had played a valuable role and had so far been of great help in translating the parchments into obscure languages and locating the likely site they were looking for, so Purdue had to come to terms with this 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 found out where and at what supposed depth the land mass was supposed to be. Nina stood off to the side, breathing in the fresh ocean air and feeling a little out of sorts from the many bottles of coral and the countless glasses of ponchi she'd bought since returning to the bar. Feeling depressed and angry after insulting Otto, she cried on her bed for almost an hour, waiting for Sam and Otto to leave so she could go to the bar again. And she did the right thing.
  
  "Hi, honey," Perdue spoke up next to her. His face was flushed from the sun and the salt of the day or so, but he looked well rested, unlike Nina. "What's the matter? Did the boys bully you?"
  
  Nina looked completely upset, and Perdue soon realized that something was really wrong. He gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder, enjoying the feel of her small body against his for the first time in years. It was uncharacteristic for Nina Gould not to say anything at all, and that was proof enough that she felt out of her element.
  
  "So, where are we going first?" she asked out of nowhere.
  
  "Several miles to the west of here, Alexander and I found several irregular formations at a depth of several hundred feet. I'm going to start with this. It definitely doesn't look like an underwater ridge or any kind of shipwreck. It extends for about 200 miles. It's huge! he continued incoherently, obviously excited beyond words.
  
  "Mr. Perdue," Otto called as he approached the two of them, "I will fly over you to see you dive from the air?"
  
  "Yes, sir," Perdue smiled, clapping the pilot heartily on the shoulder. "I will contact you as soon as we reach the first dive site."
  
  "Right!" Otto exclaimed and gave Sam a thumbs up. What it was for, neither Perdue nor Nina could understand. "Then I'll wait here. You know pilots aren't supposed to drink, right?" Otto laughed heartily and shook Purdue's hand. "Good luck, Mr Perdue. And Dr. Gould, you are a royal ransom by any gentleman's standards, my dear," he suddenly said to Nina.
  
  Caught off guard, she thought of an answer, but, as always, Otto ignored it and simply turned on his heel to head to a cafe overlooking the dams and cliffs in the immediate vicinity of the fishing area.
  
  "It was strange. Strange, but surprisingly desirable," Nina muttered.
  
  Sam was on her shit list and she avoided him for most of the trip, except for the necessary markings here and there on diving gear and bearings.
  
  "See? I bet more explorers," Purdue told Alexander with a merry chuckle, pointing to a very dilapidated fishing boat bobbing some distance away. They could hear the Portuguese arguing continuously about the direction of the wind, from what they could decipher from their gestures. Alexander laughed. It reminded him of the night he and six other soldiers 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 sailed the yacht to the latitude fixed by the sextant he consulted. Though they were busy with small talk and folk stories about old Portuguese explorers, runaway lovers and drownings, and the authenticity of other documents found along with the Atlantis scrolls, they were all secretly eager to see if the continent really lay beneath them in all its glory. Neither of them could contain their excitement about the dive.
  
  "Fortunately, I took care of increasing the number of dives at a PADI recognized diving school a little less than a year ago, just to do something else to relax," Sam boasted as Alexander zipped up his suit before the first dive.
  
  "That's a good thing, Sam. At these depths, you must know what you are doing. Nina, are you missing this?" Perdue asked.
  
  "Yes," she shrugged. "I have a hangover that could kill a buffalo, and you know how well it goes under pressure."
  
  "Oh, yes, rather not," Alexander nodded, sucking on another joint as the wind tousled his hair. "Don't worry, I'll be good company while these two tease sharks and seduce cannibal mermaids."
  
  Nina laughed. The portrayal of Sam and Purdue at the mercy of the Pisces women was amusing. However, the shark idea actually bothered her.
  
  "Don't worry about sharks, Nina," Sam told her just before biting down on the mouthpiece, "they don't like alcoholic blood. I'll be ok ".
  
  "I'm not worried about you, Sam," she chuckled in her best bitchy tone and accepted a joint from Alexander.
  
  Perdue pretended not to hear, but Sam knew perfectly well 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 awakened in her behavior and forced to make a choice once and for all instead of playing with the emotions of Purdue, Sam, or anyone else she decided to entertain, as long as it calmed her down.
  
  Nina gave Purdue a wary look before he plunged into the deep blue of the Portuguese Atlantic. She decided to make Sam an angry grimace with narrowed eyes, but when she turned to look at him, all that was left of him was a blooming flower of foam and bubbles on the surface of the water.
  
  Too bad, she thought, and ran 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 cleaners, but it was their favorite room because of the large hearth and eerie carvings. Her two subordinates were young ladies from the local college whom she hired for a handsome fee, on the condition that they never discuss the estate or its security measures. Luckily for her, the two girls were humble students who enjoyed the science lectures and Skyrim marathons, and not the typical spoiled and undisciplined types Maisie encountered in Ireland while working there in personal security from 1999 to 2005.
  
  Her girls were top-notch students who took pride in their housework, and she regularly tipped them for their dedication and efficient work. It was a good relationship. There were a few places on Thurso Manor that Miss Maisie chose to clean herself, and her girls tried to stay away from them - the guest house and the cellar.
  
  It was particularly cold today due to a thunderstorm, announced on the radio the day before, which was expected to ravage northern Scotland for the next three days at least. A fire crackled in a large fireplace, where flames licked the charred walls of a brick structure that ran up a tall chimney.
  
  "Almost done, girls?" Maisie asked from the door where she was standing with the tray.
  
  "Yes, I'm done," greeted the skinny brunette Linda, tapping her ginger-haired friend Lizzy's buxom cheeks with a feather duster. "However, ginger is still lagging behind," she joked.
  
  "What it is?" Lizzie asked when she saw the beautiful birthday cake.
  
  "A little free diabetes," Maisie announced as she curtsied.
  
  "For what occasion?" Linda asked, dragging her friend over 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 mandatory tasting."
  
  "Oh God. Sounds awful, doesn't it, Ginger?" Linda joked while her friend leaned over to run her fingertip over the frosting to taste it. Maisie playfully slapped her arm and raised her butcher knife in a mocking threat, causing the girls to squeal in delight.
  
  "Happy birthday Miss Maisie!" they both yelled, looking forward to seeing the head housekeeper indulge in Halloween humor. Maisie grimaced, closed her eyes, waiting for crumbs and frosting to attack, and lowered her knife into the cake.
  
  As expected, the impact cracked the cake in two and the girls squealed with delight.
  
  "Come on, come on," Maisie said, "dig deeper. I haven't eaten all day."
  
  "Me too," Lizzy moaned as Linda skillfully cooked for them all.
  
  The doorbell rang.
  
  "More guests?" Linda asked with her mouth full.
  
  "Oh no, you know I don't have any friends," Maisie chuckled, rolling her eyes. She had just taken her first bite, and now she had to swallow it quickly to look presentable, which was the 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 who reminded her of hunters or lumberjacks. The rain was already falling on them, and a cold wind was blowing through the porch, but neither of the men even flinched or tried to turn up their collars. It was clear that the cold did not frighten 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?"
  
  "Not making a scene or ruining our mission here," another nonchalantly replied. His tone was calm, very civilized, and Maisie determined that he had an accent from somewhere in the Ukraine. His words would have devastated most women, but Maisie was adept at bringing people together and getting rid of most. They were indeed hunters, she believed, foreigners sent on a mission to act as harshly as they were provoked, hence the calm disposition and open request.
  
  "What is your mission? I cannot promise cooperation if it jeopardizes my own," she said firmly, allowing them to identify her as someone who knew life. "With whom you are?"
  
  "We cannot say, madam. Could you step aside, please."
  
  "And ask your young friends not to scream," the taller man asked.
  
  "They are innocent civilians, gentlemen. Don't involve them in this," Maisie said more sternly and stepped out into the middle of the doorway. "They have no reason to scream."
  
  "Good, because if they do, we will give them a reason," the Ukrainian replied in a voice so kind that he seemed angry.
  
  "Miss Maisie! Everything is fine?" Lizzie called from the living room.
  
  "Dandy, doll! Eat your pie!" Maisie called back.
  
  "What have you been 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 a housekeeper," she formally informed them and nodded politely before slowly pulling the door to close it.
  
  They did not react at all, and, oddly enough, this was what caused Maisie McFadden to have a panic attack. She locked the front door and took a deep breath, grateful that they accepted her charade.
  
  A plate broke in the living room.
  
  Miss Maisie rushed to see what was going on and found her two girls tightly embraced by two other men who were obviously related to her two visitors. She stopped dead in her tracks.
  
  "Where is Renata?" one of the men asked.
  
  "I-I don't know who it is," Maisie stuttered, wringing her hands in front of her.
  
  The man pulled out the Makarov and made a deep gash on Lizzy's leg. The girl howled 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 that strangers would not execute them. Linda collapsed, the shock of the intrusion too much to bear. The man who was holding her just threw her on the floor and said, "It doesn't look like a movie, does it, honey?"
  
  "Renata! Where is she?" he shouted, holding the trembling and frightened Lizzie by the hair and pointing his weapon at her elbow. Now Maisie understood that they were referring to the ungrateful girl she was supposed to take care of until Mr. Purdue returned. As much as she hated this vain bitch, Maisie was paid to protect and feed her. She could not transfer the asset to them on the orders of her employer.
  
  "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 stab them like Parisian whores," the aggressive gunslinger grinned as he met Lizzie's eyes as a warning.
  
  "Let me just lift 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 let her lead Linda to a chair next to the table. Thanks to the quick movements of her skillful hands, they did not notice the meat knife, which Miss Maisie pulled out from under the cake and slipped into the pocket of her apron. With a sigh, she ran her hands over her breasts to clear them of crumbs and sticky frosting, and said, "Let's go."
  
  The men followed her through the huge dining room with all its antiques, entering the kitchen, where the smell of freshly baked cake still lingered. But instead of taking them to the guest house, she took them to the basement. The men were unaware of the deception, as the basement was usually a place for hostages and secrets to be kept. The room was terribly dark and smelled of sulfur.
  
  "There is no light down here?" one of the men asked.
  
  "There is a switch downstairs. not good for a coward like me who despises dark rooms, you know. Damn horror movies will get you every time," she ranted nonchalantly.
  
  Halfway down the stairs, Maisie suddenly sank down and sat down. The man following close behind her tripped over her writhing body and tumbled violently down the stairs as Maisie quickly turned the billhook back to stab the second man behind her. A thick, heavy blade plunged into his knee, separating the patella from the shin, while the bones of the first man crackled in the darkness where he landed, instantly silencing him.
  
  As he roared in terrible agony, she felt a crushing blow to her face that momentarily immobilized her, rendering her unconscious. As the dark haze cleared, Maisie saw the two men from the front door appear on the top landing. As her training suggested, even in her daze, she paid attention to their communication.
  
  "Renata is not here, you idiots! The photos Clive sent us show her in the guest house! That one is outside. Bring the housekeeper!"
  
  Maisie knew she could have handled three of them if they hadn't rid her of the cleaver. She could still hear the kneecap-wielding intruder screeching in the background as they stepped out into the yard, where freezing rain soaked them.
  
  "Codes. Enter codes. We know about the security specs, dear, so don't even think of mocking us," a man with a Russian accent barked at her.
  
  "Have you come to free her? Do you work for her?" Maisie asked as she pressed a sequence of numbers on the first keypad.
  
  "It's none of your business," the Ukrainian answered from the front door in a not too gracious tone. Maisie turned around, her eyes fluttering from the static of the pouring water.
  
  "It's pretty much my business," she retorted. "I'm responsible for her."
  
  "You really take your job seriously. It's delicious," a friendly German at the front door addressed her patronizingly. He pressed hard with his hunting knife on her collarbone. "Now open that 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 up with their booty and contact Mr. Perdue 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 a seat 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 fend off intruders if both factions have no goodwill towards her? Mirela stood upright, leaning against the wall behind the door, holding onto the heavy china toilet lid. When she saw Maisie coming in through the door, she couldn't help but smile. Her revenge was small, but sufficient 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 body of the housekeeper 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 took out the communication device she used to send her reports to Purdue and typed in her message. She then stuffed it into her bra and didn't move as she heard the two thugs subdue and abuse the captive. Maisie couldn't see what they were doing, but she could hear Mirela's muffled screams over the growls of her attackers. The housekeeper rolled over on her stomach to look under the sofa, but she couldn't see anything in front of her. Everyone was silent, and then she heard the German order: "Blow up the guest house as soon as we get out of the radius. Plant explosives."
  
  Maisie was too weak to move, but she tried to crawl to the door anyway.
  
  "Look, this one is still alive," said the Ukrainian. 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 will not let you die a terrible death in the fire."
  
  He smiled from behind his muzzle flasher 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 towards the reef-covered peaks of the underwater geographic anomaly Purdue had detected on his scanner. He got as deep as he could safely and recorded the material, placing some of the various deposits in small sample tubes. In this way, Perdue could determine which were local deposits of sand and which were from foreign materials such as marble or bronze. Sediments composed of minerals other than those found in local marine compounds may be interpreted as possibly alien, possibly man-made.
  
  From the deep darkness of the distant ocean floor, Purdue thought he saw the menacing shadows of sharks. This frightened him, but he couldn't warn Sam, who had his back to him a few meters away. Perdue hid behind a reef ledge and waited, worried that his bubbles would give away his presence. Finally, he dared to carefully examine the area and, to his relief, discovered that the shadow was just a lone diver filming marine life on the reefs. He could see from the outline of the diver's body that 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 of the discolored material that might have made a difference and collected as many as he could. He saw that Sam was now moving in a completely different direction, oblivious to Purdue's position. Sam was supposed to take photos and videos of their dives so they could gauge the media when they got back to the yacht, but he was quickly disappearing into the darkness of the reef. After finishing collecting the first samples, Perdue followed Sam to see what he was up to. As Purdue rounded a fairly large cluster of black rock formations, he found Sam entering a cave beneath another such cluster. Sam appeared inside to film the walls and floor of the flooded cave. Purdue sped up to catch up, confident that they would soon run out of oxygen.
  
  He tugged at Sam's fin, scaring the man almost to death. Purdue motioned them back upstairs and showed Sam the vials he filled with materials. Sam nodded, and they rose to meet the bright light of sunlight that filtered through the rapidly approaching surface above them.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  After determining that there was nothing out of the ordinary on the chemical level, the group was a bit disappointed.
  
  "Listen, this landmass is not just limited to the western coast of Europe and Africa," Nina reminded them. "Just because nothing is certain directly below us doesn't mean it's not a few miles west or southwest even of the American coast. Head up!"
  
  "I was just so sure there was something here," Purdue sighed, throwing his head back in exhaustion.
  
  "We'll be down again soon," Sam assured him, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. "I'm sure we hit something, but I think we're just not deep enough yet."
  
  "I agree with Sam," Alexander nodded, taking another sip of alcohol. "The scanner shows that there are craters and strange structures a little lower."
  
  "If only I had a submersible now, easily accessible," Purdue said, rubbing his chin.
  
  "We have that remote researcher," Nina suggested. "Yes, but it can't gather anything, Nina. It can only show us the terrain we already know."
  
  "Well, we can try to see what we find on another dive," Sam said, "the sooner the later." He held his underwater camera in his hand, scrolling through various shots to choose the best angles to upload later.
  
  "Absolutely," Perdue agreed. "Let's try again before the day is over. Only this time we're going more west. Sam, you'll write down whatever we find."
  
  "Yeah, and this time I'm coming with you," Nina winked at Perdue as she prepared to put on her suit.
  
  During the second dive, they collected several ancient artifacts. Obviously, there was more drowned history to the west of this place, while there was also a lot of architecture buried underwater on the ocean floor. Perdue looked flustered, but Nina could tell that the items weren't old enough to be from the famous Atlantean era, and shook her head in sympathy every time Perdue thought he held the key to Atlantis.
  
  In the end, they combed through most of the designated area they intended to explore, but still found no trace of the legendary continent. Perhaps they were indeed too deep to be found without proper survey vessels, and Purdue would have had no problem retrieving them as soon as he returned to Scotland.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Returning to the bar in Funchal, Otto Schmidt summed up the last results of his trip. Experts from M önkh Saridag have now noticed that "Longin" has been moved. They notified Otto that he was no longer in Wewelsburg, although he was still active. In fact, they couldn't track his current whereabouts at all, which meant he was being held in an electromagnetic environment.
  
  He also received word from his men in Thurso with good news.
  
  He called the Renegade Brigade shortly before 5 p.m. to report.
  
  "Bridges, this is Schmidt," he said under his breath as he sat at a table in the pub where he was waiting for a call from Purdue's yacht. "We have Renata. Cancel 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, moored after a day at sea. His eyes narrowed.
  
  "Don't worry about Purdue. The tracking modules in Sam Cleve's system brought the council right to him. They think he still has Renata, so they will take care of him. They've been following 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 was his own goal, once Renata was brought in and Longinus found. But his friend Sam Cleve, the last initiate of the Renegade Brigade, locked himself in a cave that was located exactly where the scrolls crossed their path. As a sign of loyalty to the brigade, the journalist sent Otto the coordinates of what he believed was the Place of Solon, which he pinpointed using the GPS device installed in his cell.
  
  When Perdue, Nina, and Sam surfaced, the sun began to sink toward the horizon, though the pleasant, soft daylight continued for another hour or two. Wearily they climbed aboard the yacht, helping each other unload their scuba gear and research burden one by one.
  
  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 while Purdue checked the cabin, bow and galley.
  
  "Nothing," Perdue shrugged. He looked stunned, as did Nina.
  
  Sam stepped out of the engine room.
  
  "I don't see him anywhere," he breathed, putting his hands on his hips.
  
  "I wonder if a crazy fool fell overboard after drinking too much vodka," Perdue mused aloud.
  
  Purdue's communications device beeped. "Oh sorry, I'm just for a second," he said and checked the message. It was from Maisie McFadden. They said
  
  "Dog catchers! Break apart."
  
  Purdue's face was drawn and pale. It took him a while to stabilize his heart rate and he decided to keep an even keel. With no sign of distress, he cleared his throat and returned to the other two.
  
  "In any case, we must return to Funchal before dark. We will return to the seas of Madeira as soon as I have the right equipment for these obscene depths," he announced.
  
  "Yes, I have a good feeling about what is below us," Nina smiled.
  
  Sam knew otherwise, but he opened a beer for each of them and looked forward to what awaited them when they returned to Madeira. The sun wasn't just setting over Portugal tonight.
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
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