“Sam, shut your trap and pour me another drink,” Nina commanded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, lugging his soaking, sporadically-scarred body out of the water. It was her turn to admire his masculine form as he trod past her, and she felt no shame in reminiscing about the few times she’d been fortunate enough to enjoy the benefits of that masculinity. Although those moments were not too recent, Nina saved them in a special high definition memory folder in her mind.
Bruich sat up straight at the door, refusing to step outside the threshold where the bubbling mouth of steam threatened him. His eyes were fixed on Nina, both the former and the latter being uncharacteristic of the big, old, lazy feline. Normally he slouched about, tardy for any sort of activity and hardly focused on anything apart from the next warm tummy he could make his home for the night.
“What is it, Bruich?” Nina asked in a high-pitched tone, affectionately addressing him as she always did. “Come here. Come.”
He didn’t move. “Ugh, of course the bloody cat is not going to come to you, idiot,” she reprimanded herself in the silence of the late hour and the soft choke of the gurgling luxury she enjoyed. Annoyed by her silly assumption about cats and water, and bored at waiting for Sam to return, she splashed her hands down into the foamy glitter of the surface, spooking the ginger cat into a flight of horror. Watching him bolt inside and disappear under the lounge chair brought her rather more amusement than contrition.
Bitch, her inner voice confirmed on behalf of the poor animal, but Nina still found it funny. “Sorry, Bruich!” she called after him, still grinning. “I can’t help it. Don’t worry, pal. Karma will get me for sure… with water, for doing this to you, honey.”
Sam came running out of the living room and onto the patio, looking furiously excited. Still half wet, he still had not poured the drinks, although his hands were outstretched as if they bore glasses of wine.
“Great news! Paddy called. Purdue was spared on condition,” he shouted, evoking a chorus of irate suggestions from his neighbors to ‘shut the fuck up, Cleave’.
Nina’s face lit up. “What is the condition?” she asked, firmly ignoring the continued hushing from everyone in the complex.
“I don’t know, but apparently it concerns something historical. So you see, Dr. Gould, we will be needing our third,” Sam relayed. “Besides, other historians don’t come as cheap as you do.”
Gasping, Nina lunged forward, hissing with mock-insult, jumping on Sam and kissing him like she had not kissed him since those vivid folders in her mind. She was so happy to be included again that she did not notice the man standing beyond the dark edge of the compact yard, watching eagerly how Sam pulled at the string of her bikini top.
13
Eclipse
Joseph Karsten’s mansion stood in silence, brooding over the emptiness of the vast gardens where no birds would sing. Its flowers and brushes populated the garden in solitude and quiet presence, only stirring when the wind deemed it so. Nothing thrived higher than mere existence here and that was the nature of control Karsten had over what he owned.
His wife and two daughters preferred to stay in London, choosing to abandon the striking beauty of Karsten’s personal residence. It suited him well, however, so that he could have privacy while conniving and running his chapter of the Order of the Black Sun unperturbed. As long as he acted on his orders from the British government and managed Military Intelligence on an international level, he could maintain his position in MI6 and use its invaluable resources to keep a waking eye over international relations that could aid or mar Black Sun investments and planning.
By no means did the organization lose any of its nefarious power after the Second World War, when it was forced to immerse itself in the underworld of myth and legend, a mere sour memory to the oblivious while a true threat to those who knew otherwise. Those like David Purdue and his associates.
Having excused himself from Purdue’s tribunal, fearing he would be pointed out by the one who got away, Karsten had accumulated some time to finish what he’d started from the sanctuary of his mountainous nest. Outside, the day was miserable but not in the conventional way. The sun was bleak over the normally beauteous wilderness of the Salzkammergut Mountains, painting the immense carpet of treetops in a pallid green, unlike the deep emerald of the woods beneath the canopies. The Karsten ladies lamented having left behind the breathtaking Austrian landscapes, but the natural beauty of the place lost its luster wherever Joseph and his comrades were involved, forcing them to limit their visits to Salzkammergut’s loveliness.
“I would do it myself, if I did not hold a public position,” Karsten said from his garden chair, clutching his table telephone. “But I have to be back in London in two days to report on the Hebrides Launch and its planning, Clive. I will not be back in Austria for quite a while. I need people who can get things done without supervision, you understand?”
He listened to the caller’s response and nodded. “Right. You can check in with us when your people have completed the mission. Thank you, Clive.”
He peered across the table for a long while, scrutinizing the region he was blessed to reside in when he did not have to be in grimy London or densely populated Glasgow.
“I will not lose all this on your account, Purdue. Whether you choose to be silent about my identity or not, this will not spare you. You are a liability and you have to be done away with. You all have to be done away with,” he muttered as his eyes surveyed the majestic, white-capped mountain rock faces that surrounded his home. The rugged stone and the endless darkness of the forest soothed his eyes, while his lips quivered with vengeful words. “Every single one of you who know my name, who know my face, who killed Mother and knows where her secret hiding place was… all who can implicate me by association… you all have to be done away with!”
Karsten pursed his lips, reminiscing about the night he fled like the coward he is, from Mother’s house when the people from Oban showed up to spring David Purdue from his claws. The thought of losing his prized quarry to common citizens vexed him immensely, a bruise to his ego and an unnecessary clout to his affairs. Things were supposed to have been concluded by now. Instead, his troubles had been doubled by these developments.
“Sir, news on David Purdue,” his assistant, Nigel Lime, announced from the doorway of the patio. Karsten had to turn to look at the man to make sure the strangely fitting subject was indeed being presented and was not a figment of his thoughts.
“Odd,” he replied. “I was just wondering about that, Nigel.”
Looking impressed, Nigel came down the steps onto the patio under the netted shading where Karsten was having his tea. “Well, maybe you are psychic, sir,” he smiled, holding a folder under his arm. “The trial committee asks that you be present in Glasgow to sign the plea so that the Ethiopian government and the Archaeological Crimes Unit can proceed to facilitate Mr. Purdue’s penalty.”
Karsten lit up at the notion of punishment for Purdue, even though he would have preferred to be the one enforcing it himself. But his expectations were perhaps too brutal in his old-fashioned hope of vengeance, as he was quickly disappointed at the revelation of the penalty he so wished to learn of.
“What is his sentence, then?” he asked Nigel. “What is it they need to facilitate?”
“May I sit down?” Nigel asked, doing so at the wave of Karsten’s approving hand gesture. He placed the dossier on the table. “David Purdue opted for a plea bargain. In short, in exchange for his freedom…”