Without looking at the former MI5 operative Karsten replied, “Let us hope, then.”
“I’ll be in touch,” was all Jonathan Beck said before turning on his heel and leaving. He passed the typically over-sized bodyguard with the shaved head and wealth of chins under what had once been a strong jawline. Beck simply scoffed as he exited the greenhouse to bathe in the relief of the naturally cooler weather outside.
He took a deep breath of fresh air, not only because of the contained heat inside the greenhouse, but because the residence would have been stuffy even without the abnormal temperature. Leaving that greenhouse was the air of freedom, of walking away from what felt like an enormous spider lying sprawled at the edge of the Salzkammergut region; a giant monster of wood and glass and ill temperament along with ill temperature. Behind him as he walked, he could almost hear its pincers grinding as it watched him get into his Volvo.
Only when he started his car did he dare look up at the large house and its vast gardens, perfect for the climate in this mountainous area. Inside it was quite different. The interior of Joseph Karsten's house was like the circles of hell, each a special place of pain or misery, almost proudly so. No plants could possibly flourish inside the house itself, Beck imagined, not with such a stifling atmosphere of negative energy and hate. Peculiar to the place when he first stayed over was the lack of… life. No music was ever heard inside the house, no radio or television broadcast bringing any external contact into the residence, even for entertainment. The entire interior of the manor was silent — silent as a tomb.
Birds and butterflies did not venture into the gardens nor beautify the courtyard with song and color. It wasn’t the result of a pet predator's presence, as one would think. No, Karsten had no pets either. Nothing living could be maintained or nourished in his chateau and the shelter of the Salzkammergut Mountains was a perfect metaphor for the seclusion of the Black Sun's doings. It was almost ironic how the Black Sun, a symbol of perpetual and inexhaustible energy, could be the representation of such damning and perverse ideologies. At least, this was the perception of the organization from a quite poetic operative who could not wait to drive out of its ineluctable web and return to Britain to start his vigil on Dr. Nina Gould's home in Oban.
Chapter 3 — The Black Angel
Purdue had been lying low since that fateful ruse Sam had staged with him. It had been Sam's idea, in fact, in the wake of an investigation into Purdue's involvement with stolen artifacts. The British Secret Service's international dragnet had been getting too tight when the plan was hatched. In fact, it had been Sam Cleave's guilty conscience that had conjured up the idea of saving Purdue at just about the same time the same guilty conscience had him working for Patrick Smith's agency to capture Purdue. It had been a Gordian knot he’d needed to sever without injuring either allegiance.
Such were the dilemmas Sam Cleave constantly faced in his line of work, especially with the opposing characters he kept in his small circle of friends. Having a passion for investigative journalism had caused him little more than pain and had gifted him the constant threat of danger, yet Sam knew these things were par for the course with his passion. His friends were prominent and valuable, even to their foes, but it was when the two worlds overlapped that he felt like a cat on an electric fence.
For now, he’d garnered some time. Just enough time, to formulate another plan by which he could keep Purdue from being incarcerated while retaining Paddy's friendship. All of these matters were why Sam had decided to put some space between himself and Purdue, why he’d accepted a small assignment for an independent publication in Kuala Lampur. Both men thought it better to cut communications at least for a few months to assure that neither could run the risk of being discovered for their subterfuge.
It had been a week or two since Purdue's faux demise, but the funeral of Professor Medley was nigh, the one unfortunate outcome of their last meeting. However, since Sam hadn’t known the lady outside of their mutual mission, he had no intention of attending the wake. Nina had informed him that she would be attending, though, out of respect for the woman she’d surely have become friends with had she known her a bit longer.
Nina stepped out of the shower, her first early morning shower in a long time. She hated to admit that her hangover was getting the better of her, but there was no denying the pounding chiseling going on in her brain. Luckily she was not prone to vomiting like most, which was a godsend since Nina hated hurling with a passion, especially since her bout with cancer where she’d had plenty of daily practice.
Outside, the wind was blowing like crazy. This wasn’t unusual for Oban, but today the sea was especially wild and breathed hard over the coast. Clouds populated the skies from horizon to horizon in clumps of sinister hues that reflected the erratic nature of the season. Purdue had taken his leave before she’d awoken, but she knew he wouldn’t be far away at any time.
After the gravel and thorns of their path over the past few months since their horrible encounter in Chernobyl, she welcomed their rekindled closeness. The latter was something she would never have imagined could ever be ransomed from oblivion, and it only taught her to never make assumptions about the scathing events in life; that everything can be more or less restored. In her case, it came at the right time, this chummy thing with Purdue.
For some inexplicable reason Nina had been swimming in a tar pit of despair since her return from the Vault of Hercules. Even the revelation that her beloved Sam was not, in fact, a murdering son of a bitch who had killed their mutual friend, could not effectively hold up her cheer. She’d really needed last night and she regretted nothing, at first, but as Nina locked her door and stepped out onto her porch to brave the wicked weather for grocery shopping, the black hand of despondency caressed her once again. It affected her so strongly that she struggled to remove her key from the lock of the front door, having no idea that a figure was gliding over her small walkway from the roadside.
Nina cussed under her breath as the headache persisted maliciously, the only pain that combated her mental anguish enough to make a war of it inside her head. Fumbling clumsily, Nina's fingers couldn’t grip the key in the right way to pull it free until she took a deep breath and paused before trying again. Still the shape came closer, soundlessly under the veil of the gray sheets of fog so prevalent in Oban during such days.
Just as the figure reached Nina, the key came free and with an annoyed scoff she turned to leave, slamming right into the silent visitor.
“Geezuss Christ!” she growled as the sudden dark presence appeared before her, startling her half to death. By reflex Nina's hands shot out and she shoved the black-clothed man backward with virtually no effect. He was bulky and heavy against her slight frame and her strength diminished against his. Fortunately for Nina, her visitor was benevolent. Unfortunately, however, he was not one who appreciated the glib blasphemy she so easily uttered.
“My goodness, Dr. Gould,” he said, “that is indeed a long distance call you are making.”
Nina straightened up and collected her purse from where it had fallen on the wooden boards, still wheezing from the fright. “Well, Father Harper, that just proves your sermons impotent and untrue, then. It would seem the good Lord is not inside us after all, I presume?”
“T-That’s not what I meant,” he stammered firmly, feeling embarrassed by the feisty academic's rather valid retort, mentally reminding himself to find another simile from now on. Again, her continual questioning reminded him of the old days when she had been a mere high school girl jousting with him about religion versus the remnants of ancient history. Seeing that Nina was in a hurry and quite indifferent to his presence, he knew he had to say what he had come to say.