Nina sat and rested her elbows on the table, perching her chin on her hands. Sam could not read her expression. Her eyes were blank over her pouty mouth and she just sat there while Purdue went on about the possibilities should the item be authentic.
"Thoughts?" Sam asked.
"I'm just listening to the thunder," she said dreamily. "Did you notice?"
"No, actually, until you mentioned it just now," Sam answered, surprised that he did not realize that they were caught in a devastating storm raging around the meager structure in the middle of the tempestuous waters.
He looked out the window and saw the crew cowering in all directions to secure their stations. Below them the grey water rose and plummeted in massive clashes of white foam and sea spray while the wind jerked the loose signage and the tarps under the corrugated roofs. It howled violently around the buildings and accompanied the rumble of the skies, fraught with dangerous charge.
"Wow, it's really battering us out there," Sam noted. Nina nodded. With careful hands she shut the chest and clipped the lock to hold the lid. Sam reviewed the footage of the unveiling while Nina and Purdue had a cup of tea. Rather rapidly the storm subsided. Within mere minutes it had retracted its fury and grew quiet to abandon the onslaught. Astonished, the crew came out on the platform to scrutinize the heavens. It was a strange occurrence, but there had been many unexplained incidents reported over the years, making this just another freak storm.
"Mr. Purdue, I would like to start studying the relic right away," Nina announced, "and I will be ready to head to the mainland by tomorrow."
"The mainland?" Purdue frowned.
"Yes, I have to research and examine the item in the proper environment, of course," she replied.
"I'd rather you didn't, Dr. Gould," he said. "You should conduct your research here. The Spear of Destiny is not something you should examine in plain and public sight. It should be done clandestinely before sharing the results with the outside world, don't you think?"
Nina was dumbstruck.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with it here, Dave?" she snapped in a high-pitched voice that he knew to be her aggression surfacing. With her hands firmly on her hips she continued, "You can't keep something like this cozily hidden on a fucking oil rig, for Christ's sake! What are we going to find out about it when it rots on this reclusive piece of junk? At the university I have everything I need—"
"Including Matlock's undeniable defeat at the sight of the Spear, right?" Sam insinuated as to her motives.
"Shut up, Cleave!" she barked with her finger pointed in a gesture of warning. He knew just how to get on her nerves and he enjoyed employing the skill every now and then.
"Nina," Purdue interrupted, wrapping his hands around her upper arms to hold her steady, "you have no need of the university, my dearest," he smiled.
"What do you mean? Of course I need a decent lab to do my work," she moaned in disbelief of Purdue's ignorance.
"Indeed you do. And I have everything you need right here," he said calmly.
"Where? You mean to tell me you have a lab on this platform somewhere I can't see? Because I have been around this place a bit and I have not seen any signs of a laboratory. So where is it supposed to be hiding, then?" she shot her sarcasm. Purdue let go of her arms.
"Below."
Chapter 29
DCI Patrick Smith had an appointment with one Mrs. Lancashire in Glasgow. He waited outside the gardens of his hotel for her car to collect him. He felt strangely numb about it all, although he had every reason to be unsure of his choices and he realized that he was clutching at his coat more than usual as he stood on the curve of the driveway in the late afternoon sun, which did not give much in the way of strength for him.
At a few minutes before five o'clock an inconspicuous vehicle stopped. A man in a suit got out.
"Detective Chief Inspector Patrick Smith?" the man asked plainly.
"Yes," Patrick replied quickly and the man opened the back door for him. Before he rounded the car, Patrick watched him briefly speak into his Bluetooth earpiece before he climbed in behind the steering wheel.
The police officer started at the loud click of the central locking system and acted as if he was used to the protocol of secret meetings with government bodies. Acting calm he peered out at the passing traffic, wondering what he was letting himself in for. But whenever doubt crossed his mind he would think of his good friend, Sam Cleave, and his encouraging words when he last saw him in the pub.
He knew that Sam was supposed to be back home soon from some wild-chase expedition and he wanted to at least have some news when they hit the pool tables again. It had been years since Patrick really took a chance in life, apart from the one skydiving instance where he almost died of fright, but he was due for a change. Besides, the course he wanted to take in his career, he believed, would serve a greater purpose than interrogating drug distributors and arresting pimps with better clothes than he had. He was elite and he had finally come to embrace it.
When they turned into the tree-lined lane in the West End he noticed that his fingers were wet with perspiration. Of course he was nervous. In this line of work, should he be accepted, there were more serious consequences and a lot more to look over his shoulder for. But the money was better, the perks were better and most certainly he could do with a less hands-on approach to the vermin in the gutters. For so many years he envied the suave and rugged men of this unit, thinking of reasons why he did not measure up, until one night after a few drinks he decided that he was every bit as capable as they were and made up his mind.
Passing Byers Road and its festive cafes and restaurants he started wondering what the woman looked like who was to interview him. He had heard of her once from one of the braggarts at the state office, but other than that he could find no information on her anywhere. And Patrick Smith could garner information from the mute mouths of corpses, if he so wished. He had an impeccable nose for deduction, intelligence and reconnaissance, making him an asset to any organization he would serve.
Down Ashton Lane the vehicle slowed and turned into the obscured driveway behind a disused little cinema. The trees sheltered the slow-moving car as the small tar path led to a parking bay of an old Victorian building with ferns growing from its foundations and rather malicious-looking cherub statues. Patrick looked up to the third story of the building where a shape stood in the window, watching him. It moved aside when the car stopped.
The driver opened his door, "Sir."
"Thank you," Patrick replied, and straightened his blazer before entering the door opened by a distinguished old lady.
"DCI Smith, welcome to Ashton House," she smiled. "Please, do come in."
After the obligatory pleasantries and a cup of tea, Mrs. Lancashire came to the point.
"Your credentials are very impressive, Detective Chief Inspector, but, as you know, this organization is not about who scored the highest marks or who arrested the most people. We need someone of reckless ambition with a knack for blending into the most mundane roles to obtain what we need," she stated with great ceremony.
"I understand, madam," he replied with as firm a tone as he could muster.
"Personally I think you look too clean for the job, but then again, I have been wrong before in judging prospective operatives and was left with my foot firmly in my mouth," she sighed with a little smile.
"I have been in contact with your one-up, and he has agreed to allow you to assist us with a small matter, after which your performance will be assessed, determining your future, if any, in this organization. Your brief military training is also vital here, which is good. Good," she said, perusing Patrick's file in front of her.