Rapidly his footfalls sped up to make it in time. Surely she would notice her assailant and no doubt scream if she saw him in the bright porch light before he could seize her. Thanks to the weather conditions of the evening, Beck could not fail to apprehend Dr. Gould before she knew what hit her. But this was no average woman he was trying to capture. Unlike previous missions, where his targets were to be seized alive, and mostly, unharmed, Beck did not realize that such an apparently harmless lady could be so alert to her surroundings.
Feeling something amiss, she turned to survey the path that led from the car to the porch, finding his large silhouette right there, much as the priest towered in black on the very same porch in the very same way. Beck was met with a taser, shoved hard into his inner thigh.
“Oh, for fuck's sake!” he groaned just before the voltage was pushed through him. As he lost control of his bladder, the electrical surge of the device ripped through his nervous system and shut down any muscular function he thought he had.
What she did not know, however, was that her stalker had been trained by Special Forces and was not particularly susceptible to the perils of most weapons unless they involved some sort of explosive. He collapsed from the momentary disruption in his brain, but he was far from knocked out. Unlike an untrained man, he would soon again wake… and he promptly did. Beck mumbled a torrent of curses as he strained to recover in as little time possible. On his knees, groping his thigh, Karsten's private investigator moaned under the veil of floating fog that traversed the yard and the eerie house's stoop.
Inside the dark house he could hear the din of panic ensue. In fact, he could trace her movements by the noise she was making. Beck smiled. “Not so easy, hey, sweetheart? Now you have just pissed me off.” He stumbled to his feet and disappeared off the side of the porch to make his way to the side of the old nine-bedroom house.
Since he’d discovered where Nina lived, Beck had been doing his homework on every corner and niche of the building so that he could stalk better, track better and sweep her off comfortably. Frankly, he probably knew Nina's house better than she did. Still fighting off the hideous numbing sensations in his skin and his disabled motor skills, Beck knew he had to get to Nina before she could call for help. He had already cut her home phone line, so he slipped around the back where there used to be a makeshift trapdoor used by the previous owner, the reputed warlock, who had actually been actually just an experimenting physicist.
Gaining entry through the rotten wood of the hidden door, Beck quietly stalked up the steps of the basement and used his lock pick tools to dislodge the padlock stay. Every few seconds he stood still, listening to her movements in the darkness.
“You can keep the lights off, darling,” he whispered as he propped up the kitchen trapdoor. “I don't need any lights to navigate your little maze.” Beck's heart had jumped once before when she sent electricity through him, but now his rapid heart rate was caused by his defiant quarry, rousing his rage by the audacity she displayed. He did not mind a challenge, but being pained in this way humiliated him and that elevated Nina Gould to a higher punishment scale in his book of rules.
Adamant on delivering her reprimand with some physical infliction, Beck raced to the bottom of the corridor where he could hear her trying to dial from her cell phone. The light of the screen betrayed her position and in no time Jonathan Beck had caught up with her, grabbing the phone from her hand. Swiftly he followed up with a self-rewarding punch to her pretty face, catching her limp body before she could hit the floor.
“And dressed for the occasion too,” he grinned as he pulled the hood of her sweat suit over her head to avoid identification when he carried her out. He endeavored the arduous task of searching for her bag, but ultimately realized that it was probably still in the lobby at the front door where she must have dropped it to the floor after retrieving her phone.
And Beck was correct. Her bag was lying on the wooden floor a few inches from the front door. With her body dangling over his shoulder he quickly picked up the strewn contents and lightly booted the hissing cat out of the way before leaving the house as dark and quiet as it had looked through his binoculars.
Chapter 9 — Purdue's Itch
LOCAL ACADEMIC ABDUCTED — the second page headline read in the Glasgow Post three days later. Similar tags were seen in local newspapers around Edinburgh and the northern areas, as well as one or two features in smaller print at the bottom of online news report websites. Oddly enough, the news of Dr. Gould's abduction garnered almost no coverage, based on the confusion surrounding her reported disappearance. Be that as it may, Nina's kidnapping did not escape the keen eyes of Purdue. It could not, because in his current status he had to watch the press carefully to remain undetected, to know where to move and when to lie low.
He was deeply upset by the report, but for the first time in his life, his stature and wealth could not aid him in obtaining the necessary information he needed to solve his predicaments. As a matter of fact, it was the first time Purdue had felt what it was like to have no friends, not to exist to anyone, to be cut off from the world, to have a name that was both redundant and powerless.
“Sam Cleave, please,” he said in a low tone over the phone he’d begged from the bartender in Queens, New York, the latest seat of his vigil. Paranoia was something Dave Purdue had never before had to deal with. After the life of privilege he’d been born into, accented by his scientific genius and charm, he would never have imagined that he could possibly suffer the demons of anxiety. “Could I leave him an urgent message, please? Tell him that Mr. Hoffa called on him and that he can reach me at…”
The bartender pretended not to listen to the tall, lean man with the crappy accent, but he could not help but eavesdrop. When Purdue hung up the call and thanked him, the porky Italian chuckled and leaned on the bar. He whispered, “So, is your name Jimmy by any chance?” followed by a roaring laugh that gradually died down when he bent over to replace the telephone.
“Another gin and tonic, please Gino,” Purdue sighed. “God, why did I have to pick America?”
“Because it's the best place on earth, man! Everything is bigger in the United States, baby!” Gino hollered, evoking a rowdy roar of agreement from the men in the bar.
“What, like your asses? My God, I have never seen people eat so much crap in my entire life. How do you not seize up and drop dead from a heart attack with all this junk food you all live on?” Purdue jested, puffing up to gesture how full he felt just from watching them eat.
“Hey, we're Italian, Mr. Hoffa. Eating good is our culture, but those mooks out at Mickey Dee's? They don't know what food is!” the bartender exclaimed happily.
Purdue had to laugh at the man's jovial explanation, even though he was exhausted from fatigue and concern about Nina. He had no idea how to find out if the reports were true, and if so, how to investigate without blowing his own cover. That was what he needed Sam for. He only hoped that Sam would get his message before it was too late. On the other hand, traveling back to the British Isles now would be too risky for Purdue to undertake, lest he be recognized and arrested. He could deal with being apprehended by the authorities, but that would mar his attempts at saving Nina from God knows who had her.
Deep down inside, he naturally had an inkling that the Order of the Black Sun was involved, but he just did not know how. Perhaps it was his recurring tribulation at their hands throughout recent years that prompted this notion, but perhaps it was true. They could have been more tenacious than he’d estimated. Purdue had elected to hide in plain sight too, just like the man who took Nina. In the bustling insanity of a metropolis his presence would be inconspicuous and his face simply one in a molten ocean of features. If there was any place on this planet where individuality was challenged, it would be New York.