Sam looked at Detlef. “So, you came all the way from Germany to find Gabi's murderer. How about a trip to the Kazakh Steppe?”
Chapter 18
Purdue's feet still stung like hell. Every step he took felt like walking on nails, shooting up to his ankles. It made it virtually impossible for him to wear shoes, yet he knew he had to if he wanted to escape his prison. After Klaus had left the infirmary, Purdue had immediately pulled the IV out of his arm and started checked whether his legs were strong enough to carry his weight. At no point in time, he believed that they intended to nurse him for the next few days. He was expecting more torture to cripple his body and mind.
With his affinity for technology, Purdue knew he could fiddle with their communication devices as well as whatever access control and security they employed. The Order of the Black Sun was a sovereign organization, utilizing only the best of everything to shield their interests, but Dave Purdue was a genius they could only fear. He was capable of perfecting any invention of their engineers without much effort.
He sat up on the bed and then carefully slipped off the side to slowly put pressure on his sore soles. Wincing, Purdue tried to ignore the excruciating pain of the second-degree burns. He did not want to be discovered while he still couldn't walk or run, or he would be done for.
While Klaus was instructing his men before leaving, their captive had already been limping through the vast maze of hallways and corridors, making a mental map to plan his escape. On the third floor, where he had been confined, he stalked along the north wall to find the end of the corridor, since he assumed there had to be a flight of stairs there. He was not at too surprised to see that the entire fortress was in fact round and that the external walls consisted of iron beams and truss members reinforced by enormous sheets of bolted-together steel.
‘It looks like a goddamn space ship,’ he thought to himself as he examined the architecture of the Kazakh Black Sun citadel. In the center, the building was empty, a huge space where mammoth machines or aircraft could be stored or constructed. All around it, the steel structure provided ten stories of offices, server stations, interrogation chambers, dining halls and accommodations, boardrooms, and laboratories. Purdue was in awe of the efficiency of the power supply and scientific infrastructure of the building, but he had to keep moving.
He crept through the dark crawlspaces of out-of-commission furnaces and dusty workshops in search of an exit or at least any working communication apparatus he could use to call help. To his relief, he discovered an old air traffic control room that appeared to have been unused for decades.
‘Probably part of some Cold War launch stations,' he frowned as he surveyed the equipment in the rectangular room. Keeping his eye on the tinged old piece of mirror he had taken from an empty laboratory, he proceeded to hot-wire the only device he recognized. ‘Looks like an electronic version of a Morse Code transmitter,’ he guessed as he sank to his haunches to find the cable to connect to the socket in the wall. The machine was only for broadcasting number sequences, so he had to try and remember the training he had received long before his stint to Wolfenstein years ago.
After getting the machine to work and directing its antennae toward what he reckoned was north, Purdue found a transmission device that worked like a telegraph machine, but could link up to geostationary telecommunications satellites with the correct codes. With this machine, he could convert phrases into their numerical equivalents and employ an Atbash cipher in conjunction with a mathematical coding system. ‘Binary would have been so much quicker,’ he seethed as the antiquated device kept losing his results due to short sporadic power outages from voltage fluctuations in the power lines.
When Purdue finally produced adequate clues for Nina to solve on his Enigma machine at home, he hacked into the old system to establish a link to the telecommunication feed. It was a stretch to attempt contacting a phone number this way, but he had to try. This was the only way he could get the number sequences to Nina with a transmission window of twenty seconds to her service provider, but surprisingly he succeeded.
It did not take long before he heard Kemper's men running through the steel and concrete stronghold looking for him. His nerves were frayed, even though he had managed to make his emergency call. He knew it would realistically take days until they found him, so there were harrowing hours ahead for him. If they found him, Purdue feared his punishment would be of the kind he would never recover from.
With his body still aching, he had nestled himself into a deserted sub-basement water basin behind locked iron doors covered with cobwebs and eaten by rust. It was plain to see that nobody had entered there in years, making it the perfect hideout for the injured fugitive.
Purdue was hidden so well while waiting for his rescue, that he did not even notice that the citadel was under attack two days later. Nina had contacted Haim and Todd, Purdue's computer experts, to shut down the power grid in the surrounding area. She had given them with the coordinates Detlef had received from Milla after he had tuned into the numbers station. With this information, the two Scots wreaked havoc on the compound's electricity supply and main communication system and caused interferences on all devices such as laptops and cell phones within a radius of two miles around the Black Sun stronghold.
Sam and Detlef breached the main entrance stealthily with a strategy they had prepared before flying into the Kazakh Steppe's desolate countryside by helicopter. They had secured the assistance of Purdue's Polish affiliate, PoleTech Air & Transit Services. While the men invaded the compound, Nina waited in the craft with the military-trained pilot, checking the vicinity with infrared imaging on the lookout for hostile movements.
Detlef was armed with his Glock, two hunting knives, and one of his two expandable batons. The other one he had given to Sam. The journalist, in turn, had brought his own Makarov and four smoke grenades. They charged through the main entrance, expecting a hail of bullets in the dark, but instead tripped over several bodies scattered on the floor in the entryway.
“What the hell is going on?” Sam whispered. “These people work here. Who would have killed them?”
“From what I hear these Germans kill their own for the sake of promotion,” Detlef replied under his breath, aiming his torch at the dead men on the floor. “There are about twenty of them. Listen!”
Sam stopped and listened. They could hear the chaos the blackout had caused on the other floors of the building. Carefully they stalked up the first flight of stairs. It was too dangerous to split up in a compound as big as this without knowledge of weaponry or numbers of its occupants. They carefully walked in single-file, guns at the ready, using their torches to light the way.
“Let's hope they don't recognize us as intruders right away,” Sam remarked.
Detlef smiled. “True. Let's just keep moving.”
“Aye,” Sam said. They watched the bobbing lights of some occupants move race toward the generator room. “Oh shit! Detlef, they are going to power up the generator!”
“Move! Move!” Detlef ordered his associate and grabbed him by the shirt. He dragged Sam with him to intercept the security men before they could reach the generator room. Following the flashlight orbs, Sam and Detlef cocked their weapons for the inevitable. As they ran, Detlef asked Sam, “Have you ever killed anyone?”