“Freedom?” Karsten roared, his heart throbbing fiercely in his newfound rage. “What? He is not being sentenced to prison at all?”
“No, sir, but let me inform you of the details of the findings,” Nigel suggested calmly.
“Let’s hear it. Make it short and make it simple. I just want to know the highlights,” Karsten growled, hands trembling as he lifted his teacup to his mouth.
“Of course, sir,” Nigel replied, hiding his annoyance with his boss behind his tranquil demeanor. “In short,” he said deliberately, “Mr. Purdue agreed to pay the damages to the claim of the Ethiopian people and return their relic to the place he took it from, after which, of course, he will be banned from ever entering Ethiopia again.”
“Wait, that’s it?” Karsten scowled, his face gradually growing more crimson in hue. “They are just going to let him walk?”
Karsten was so blind with disappointment and defeat that he did not notice his assistant’s quizzical expression. “If I may, sir, it seems you are taking this rather personally.”
“You may not!” Karsten yelled, clearing his throat. “This is a wealthy crook, buying his way out of everything, charming high society into remaining blind to his criminal activities. Of course I am absolutely upset when people like that get off with a mere warning and a bill. The man is a billionaire, Lime! He should be taught that his money can’t always save him. Here we had the perfect opportunity to teach him — and the world of grave robbers just like him… that they will be held accountable, punished! And what do they decide?” He fumed. “To let him pay his goddamn way out of his punishment again! Jesus Christ! No wonder law and order means nothing anymore!”
Nigel Lime just waited for the tirade to come to a close. There was no sense in interrupting the raging MI6 leader. When he was sure Karsten, or Mr. Carter, as he was known to his unwary subordinates, had finished his rant, Nigel dared to shove even more unwanted details on his boss. He gently pushed the dossier across the table. “And I need you to sign this immediately, sir. It has to be couriered to the committee today still, with your signature.”
“What is this?” Karsten’s blubbery face quivered as he received another setback in his efforts concerning David Purdue.
“One of the reasons the tribunal had to concede to Purdue’s plea was the illegal seizure of his estate in Edinburgh, sir,” Nigel explained, welcoming the emotional numbness he felt in preparing for another outburst from Karsten.
“That property was seized for a reason! What in God’s name is going on with authorities these days? Illegal? So a person of interest to MI6 concerning international military matters is cited with while no investigations into the contents of his property are lodged?” he shouted, chipping his porcelain cup as he pounded with it on the wrought iron tabletop.
“Sir, the lads at MI6 field offices combed the estate for anything incriminating and they found nothing to implicate military espionage or illegal acquisition of any historical objects, religious or otherwise. Holding Wrichtishousis ransom was therefore unfounded and deemed illegal, since there was no evidence to support our claim,” Nigel clarified plainly, not allowing the fat face of the tyrannical Karsten to shake him while he made things plain. “This is the release order for you to sign to restore Wrichtishousis to its owner and to rescind all orders to the contrary, as per Lord Harrington and his representatives in the seat.”
Karsten was so livid that his replies came in soft words, deceptively calm. “I am being overruled in my authority?”
“Yes, sir,” Nigel affirmed. “I’m afraid so.”
Karsten was beyond angry at the thwarting of his plans, but he elected to pretend that he was professional about it all. Nigel was a sharp lad, and if he got a whiff of Karsten’s personal reaction to this matter, it might shed too much light on his involvement with David Purdue.
“Give me a pen, then,” he said, refusing to show any trace of the tempest ravaging his insides. As he signed the order to restore Wrichtishousis to his nemesis, Karsten felt the debilitating blow to his elaborate plans, thousands of Euros later, pulverize his ego, reducing him to some impotent organization head with no potent authority.
“Thank you, sir,” Nigel said as he took the pen from Karsten’s shaking hand. “I will send this out today so that the dossier can be closed on our side. Our legal staff will keep us posted on the developments in Ethiopia until their relic has been returned to its rightful place.”
Karsten nodded, but he heard little of Nigel’s words. All his thoughts yielded was the prospect of starting over again. Trying to wrack his brain, he attempted to figure out where Purdue kept all the relics he, Karsten, had hoped to uncover on the Edinburgh properties. Unfortunately, he could not implement an order to enforce searches of all Purdue’s holdings, because it would be based on intelligence gathered by the Order of the Black Sun, an organization that was not supposed to exist and especially not to be run by a high officer of the United Kingdom Military Intelligence agency.
He had to keep what he knew to be true to himself. Purdue could not be arrested for his theft of prized Nazi treasures and artifacts, because revealing this would compromise the Black Sun. Karsten’s brain ran into overdrive, trying to get around it all, but still the same answer came on all accounts — Purdue had to die.
14
A82
In the coastal town of Oban, Scotland, Nina’s house remained vacant while she was away to attend to the new excursion planned by Purdue after his recent legal matters. Life in Oban carried on without her, yet she was quite missed by a few residents there. After the ugly business of abductions that had made headline news in local newspapers a few months prior, the place had returned to its blissfully uneventful existence.
Dr. Lance Beach and his wife were getting ready for a Medical Conference in Glasgow, one of those gatherings where it was more important who knew whom and who wore what than actual medical studies or grants for those experimental medicines pivotal to progress in the field.
“You know how I despise these things,” Sylvia Beach reminded her husband.
“I know, darling,” he replied, wincing at the effort of getting his new brogues on over his thick wool socks. “But I only get considered for features and special inclusion if they know I exist, and for them to know that I exist, I need to show my face at these stuck-up to-dos.”
“Yes, I know,” she moaned through parted lips, talking with her mouth open while applying her rose dew lipstick. “Just don’t do what you did last time, leaving me with that hens’ club while you go off. And I don’t want to stay too late.”
“Noted.” Dr. Lance Beach mustered a smile while his feet screamed in the confines of the tight new leather. In the past, he would have had little patience for his wife’s whining, but after the scare of losing her during the time she’d been abducted, he’d learned to appreciate her presence more than anything. Lance never wanted to feel like that again, fearing that he’d never see his wife again, so he put up with a bit of bitching with glee. “We won’t be long. I promise.”
“The girls are coming back on Sunday, so if we make it back a bit sooner we’ll have a whole night and half a day alone together,” she mentioned, glancing quickly at his response in the mirror. Behind her on the bed, she could see him smiling at her words with a suggestive, “Hmm, that is true, Mrs. Beach.”
Sylvia chuckled as she pushed the pin of her earring through the right lobe and gave herself a quick gander to see how it looked with her evening dress. She nodded in approval at her own beauty, yet she did not look at her reflection too long. It reminded her of why she was kidnapped by that monster in the first place — her semblance to Dr. Nina Gould. Her equally petite frame and dark tresses would fool anyone who did not know the two women, and to boot, Sylvia’s eyes were almost like Nina’s, apart from being narrower in shape and more amber than Nina’s chocolate-colored eyes.