“We spoke on the phone,” Purdue told him, but his statement revealed to Sam that it gave birth to a notion that could present his answer.
“Aye? And?” Sam pressed.
“Sam, I will talk to you later, old boy. Have a good one and get some sleep, alright?” Purdue concluded the call, leaving Sam to speculate on his epiphany. He frantically searched his call box, the one where he had spoken to Mrs. Williams. It was the closest to him, so he started there. “They bugged my line, the bastards. They bugged my line, my secure line!”
In a midnight frenzy, Purdue jogged down to his techno-lab to get his electrical tools. He felt miserable about his privacy being violated, especially since he was a technological genius, having invented some of the world’s tightest security systems and network surveillance material. Now he found his own house intruded upon by means of what was probably one of his own systems. This was what he did not want to share with Sam over the phone, otherwise the culprit would know that he knew.
One by one, he eviscerated the five strategically places phone boxes throughout the vast mansion. He had to find it! He had to find some — any — bugging device, because the alternative implicated his own house staff and he rued such an idea. Like a madman he fiddled, fumbled, and disassembled each box. Of course, he bore in mind that tapping his phone was not the only way of listening to his conversations, but he had to eliminate this possibility first.
If his landline was not being tapped, Purdue reckoned that a more old-fashioned approach may be at work. The thought that there could be an innumerable amount of microphones hidden brought him immense dread. God knows where throughout his abode. It would take up precious time he did not have, to seek them all out.
“Nope, not this one either,” he sighed after he had ripped the second box apart to scrutinized its contents. Purdue left them like that, electing not to reassemble them until he had gotten to the bottom of the setback and detected the spy. He constantly imagined Jane abusing her privilege as his personal assistant, but he did not want it to be true. Other than her, he could not imagine dear Lillian or the sacredly loyal Charles ever doing this.
For the next three hours, Purdue spent his time clipping wires, redirecting data and coding within his own servers. By the time the sun bled over the moody morning sky, he felt much like the crawling thunderclouds that smothered the light with regular intervals. His brain was wracked. By now he had practically reintroduced his old phone system to the circuits, but still he had not found the peace of mind he sought. Yet, he had not located a definite culprit, which still left him feeling vulnerable and it was annoying him no end.
“Good morning, sir,” Charles greeted. “Sir, may I say that you look in dire need of sleep.”
“That is because I AM in dire need of sleep, my dear Charles,” the boss sighed, leaning against the mantle with a cup of black coffee for medicine. “I think someone is eavesdropping on us and I spent the night trying to find the problem.”
The astonished butler looked around the place where a mess of wires, bolts, and motherboards lay scattered. Small steel pliers and delicate screwdrivers were all over the tables and chairs and under dirt rags. Soldering irons in various sizes lay near the respective phone boxes and the digital alphanumeric pads displayed nothing. Charles said nothing, but his mind raced. He was trying to think of a way in which such an intrusion could be facilitated, but he knew little of the genius work his employer did.
“Shall I get you some breakfast, sir?” he asked.
Purdue looked up at him, looking positively insane. He reminded Charles of the archetypical mad scientist, with his unkempt white hair bristling around his face and his bloodshot eyes staring widely at his butler. A momentary pause almost short-circuited Purdue’s mind before he recalled the initial request. “Yes! Yes, thank you, Charles. I think I need a spot of English tea before I try to conquer this day.”
“Very well, sir,” the butler nodded, heading for the kitchen.
Purdue figured a few minutes of mental vacancy would do him well. He went to sit down in the drawing room to give Bruich a bit of a cuddle.
“Come on, old boy,” he groaned, lifting the heavy feline onto his lap. “I don’t recall you being this heavy. Maybe the lack of sleep did me in more than I thought.”
Lazily, he stroked the lush ginger hair of the big cat. “My God, I think I am prone to falling asleep if you lie on my lap, Bruich. You are so warm! And in this godless cold weather it is a godsend.”
Under Purdue’s palm, he could feel the cat exude intense heat, while its body was quivering. It was odd that it could be feeling cold while it felt this hot, but then again, Purdue had never owned a cat, so he figured that it was normal.
“Good morning, sir,” Lily chimed, tray in hand.
“Morning, Miss Lilian,” Purdue greeted, but he appeared preoccupied. Of course, the evidence of his preoccupation was making a mess of the whole house, but she could see that something was puzzling him. “How well do you know cats?”
She shrugged, “I suppose, as much as the average person, sir.”
“Are they supposed to be shaking?” he asked, and he put the cat down on the other couch, between the comfortable cushions.
“Not that I know of,” she started saying, placing the tray on the small table next to his chair. Before she could elaborate, Bruich convulsed and proceeded to vomit profusely on the couch.
“Oh my God!” Lily exclaimed. “What is wrong with him?”
Purdue was speechless, feeling an inkling of panic grip him. “I don’t… know. He was shaking when I held him. What did we feed him?”
“Cat food,” she replied. “The exact type Mr. Cleave told me to get.”
“He appears to be sick. Lily, can you call a veterinarian, please? Charles!” he called the butler, asking him to take care of the mess and get Sam’s beloved pet to the local vet. He had no idea what ailed the cat, but he had bigger things to worry about. “Charles, don’t worry about the mess I made with the hardware. I shall clean it up myself.”
“Are you sure, sir?” the butler asked as he lifted the sick cat off the couch with a wince. “I can do that once I have taken care of the cat. My staff will have it cleared up in no time…”
“No!” Purdue cried. He looked stressed for a moment, before he calmed down slightly. “No, thank you. I know what was done at each station, you see, so only I know what to clear up and where to put it, understand?”
“I see, sir. Very well,” the butler replied.
Purdue took his tray of breakfast. Looking back at Charles, he added, “And please do not let Mr. Cleave know that his cat is ill.”
Purdue had now lost what he maintained of his frail appetite, so he took his breakfast upstairs to eat in his study.
15 Pla2
Nina was on her way to Edinburgh, about 20 minutes from Wrichtishousis, Purdue’s residence. When she bought her historical house in Oban a few years ago, she had discovered a hidden lock room of arcane books and journals in the wall of her attic. Most of the literature were banned material during World War II, but some of the journals belonged to Nazi officers and members of the High Command, including the Order of the Black Sun.
In the meantime, while the historian was waiting for Purdue to obtain the cipher book, she ploughed through the upstairs book collection to see I she could find a similar code. Sam had called her in the morning to relay a disturbing incident that took place in Old Town two nights before. To add to the atrocity of the assaulted girl, Nina learned that the cipher book was seized by someone criminal enough to be suspected of being from the Order.