“Thank you, Charles,” he told the butler. “I will meet them down in Storage 4.”
Purdue had, in the last three days, emptied the storage chamber that doubled as a document analysis laboratory. All the items not listed, everything apart from the human remains he was allowed to study for a limited time, had been removed and kept in another chamber under the ground floor. Under the pale white fluorescent lights of Storage 4 Purdue waited for his guests.
Charles led them down the sub-level staircase of cement, from where this section of the mansion was the polar opposite of the rest of the house. From lavish, large hallways and staircases, fierce high ceilings and priceless drapes, furniture and floors, the sub-level morphed into narrow mazes of arching concrete ceilings. The floors were of crude tiling to facilitate the transporting of heavy materials, if need be, and the on the left side, several doors to various laboratories and storage rooms lined the wall.
“This is very impressive,” Purdue heard a man say, as their footsteps clapped on the hard, cold stairs. He heard them come down the main corridor toward the room where he waited. At last, two men in suits appeared at the doorway. Behind them, a group of five workmen, dressed in overalls, waited.
“Señor Cruz, of the Spanish Embassy in Edinburgh,” Charles introduced, “and Dr. Martino, from the Historical Foundation of Barcelona, sir.” Charles gestured for them to enter, and then departed on Purdue’s silent order.
“Wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Purdue,” Señor Cruz smiled as he shook hands with Purdue. “I always see the headlines and hear of the adventures on your expeditions, but although we live in the same city, I have never had the pleasure.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Señor Cruz,” Purdue replied cordially. “And you, Dr. Martino.”
The scholar from the historical foundation seemed kind, but reserved. “My English is not good, Señor Purdue. I am sorry for that,” he smiled sheepishly. “But I understand much, so you can talk.”
“Gracias, Dr. Martino,” Purdue chuckled. He turned to the neatly piled and catalogued caskets. “Well, as promised, your inventory. We have taken the liberty of placing them in separate wooden boxes and we tried to disturb their original positions as little as possible during the examination.”
Dr. Martino babbled to the men to start loading the boxes while Señor Cruz spoke to Purdue.
“Did you find anything of interest during your analysis, Mr. Purdue?” Señor Cruz asked.
Purdue vowed to keep all results secret, if any, therefore he thought it wise to assume that the investigation yielded nothing on a chemical level. Only the results Harris were working on would provide more details on that.
“Unfortunately not,” Purdue lied, thinking of the invaluable items found on two of the mummies — the love letter to Heike and the logbook of an officer they could not identify. “But I suppose it is for the better. I am sure the German government will not want their fallen soldiers exploited.”
The two Spanish men exchanged glances. Dr. Martino nodded as his colleague replied, “Of course, yes. We have to meet with the German ambassador in two days in Madrid to discuss the fate of the Nazi soldiers.”
Something in the man’s voice held a hint of uncertainty, but Purdue reckoned that it was just the looming meeting with the German ambassador that made him nervous. By the time the workmen carried out the last caskets, Purdue could not help but feel relieved when he closed the door behind the delegation. Returning the remains would hopefully close the book on the death-defying chapter that he wished to leave behind once and for all. Of all the close calls he had suffered, being keelhauled was quite enough.
10 The Fate of Miss Williams
The book arrived by means of a timid young lady in her early 20’s. At the gates of Wrichtishousis, she implored the private security detail to allow her in.
“I was told to only deliver this directly to Mr. Purdue,” she insisted, while the gale swept her hair up and the drizzle wet her face through the open car window.
“Fine, Miss, but is he expecting you?” the guard asked.
“No, he is expecting this book,” she answered. “But I have orders to give it to him personally.”
“Miss, Mr. Purdue does not normally see anyone without prior notification, or an official appointment,” the guard countered.
“Call him. Can you call him and ask?” she persisted.
“Listen, lady,” the stern guard said, “…if you have to hand deliver this book to him, you would have had his number yourself, wouldn’t you? That just proves that he does not know about you. He would have left his contact details with you.”
The young woman was not one for confrontation, but her grandmother specifically impressed upon her that she was not to give the book to anyone other than the white-haired billionaire himself. Reticently, she called their bluff.
“Alright,” she shrugged. “I will have my grandmother contact Mr. Purdue and tell him that his work is being delayed because I could not get through his gates to give him what he called for.”
“You do that, Miss,” the guard suggested indifferently.
“Looks like your cozy shifts up here on the hill are a thing of the past,” she shrugged, and put her car in reverse to leave. “Once he realizes that his security men make his decisions for him.”
“Are you threatening me, lady?” he barked.
“Good day to you,” she said as she rolled up her window, and pulled away.
In her rear view mirror, she was disappointed to see that the guards did not run after her. Actually, they looked completely unconcerned about her threat, which knocked all her courage from her.
‘Go back,’ she thought to herself. ‘Just suck it up and beg.’
“No, we don’t beg. We tell Grandmamma,” the orphaned teenager retorted aloud as the thunder crashed over Edinburgh. Her car snaked along the twists in the road going down the hill towards the city while she jousted with her wavering resolve. ‘But if we go back, both Mr. Purdue and Gran will be pissed at my ineptitude,’ her reserved inner self presented.
By the T-junction, she turned left onto the main road back to the Old Town. Above, the clouds tore and dumped a heavy shower over the county. Gusts had now become wild gales, nudging at the vehicles that traversed the roadway. This was enough to tip the scales on the young woman’s decision.
“Fuck this, I’m going home. Gran can call her friend herself and deal with this,” she decided, switching on the radio to enjoy some music in the miserable downpour that pelted her car. Not yet on the A7, and being late in the evening, the traffic towards the Old Tow was not too intense. The only annoyance she experienced was the blinding headlights from oncoming cars that was exacerbated by the wetness on her windshield. Light seemingly sent each droplet of water into a frenzy of illumination, starring outward and diminishing visibility to a dangerous extent.
She thought of pulling into the local fuel stop until the storm let up, but her grandmother, Mrs. Williams, would be very upset if she returned home late. It was bad enough that she could not complete the otherwise simple task of delivering the book, so she pressed on and made sure that she lowered speed.
Behind her, most of the cars turned off onto other roads at different intervals, apart from one. The asshole at the wheel obviously did not know that his high beams were making it difficult for her to see the road ahead. Either that, or he was just spiteful. A couple of times she found her car heading onto the shoulder of the road, her tires clipping loudly to alert her.
“Geez! My heart!” she wailed as she sat forward, clutching the wheel to make sure she steered straight. But still the maniac behind her kept a steady distance, just enough to irritate her sight. The lights did not catch up to her; they just stayed at a fixed distance, turning when she did. Her heart started pounding at the possibilities she thought up.