They stayed on the E331 for most of the way, driving at a comfortable speed, so they could visit the castle during the day. Nina took the time to study the rest of the poem. They were down to the last line, “Where the gods send fire, where the prayers rose.”
Nina frowned, “I suppose the location being Wewelsburg, the last line should tell us where in the castle to look.”
“Probably. I must confess though, I have no idea where to begin. The place is magnificent… and massive,” Purdue replied. “And with Nazi-era documents you and I both know the level of deception they could attain and I think that is a bit intimidating. Then again, we can be intimidated, or we can see it as another challenge. After all, we have conquered some of their most secretive webs before, who says we can’t do it this time?”
“I wish I had as much faith in us as you do, Purdue,” Nina sighed, running her hands through her hair.
Lately she had felt the urge to just come out and ask him where Renata was, and what he had done with her after they escaped from the car crash in Belgium. It was imperative that she found out — and soon. Nina needed to save Alexandr and his friends at all costs, even if it meant jumping back in bed with Purdue — in every way — to get the information.
Purdue’s eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror as they spoke, but he kept a steady pace. A few minutes later they decided to stop at Soest to get something to eat. The picturesque town invited them from the main road with church spires raised well above the rooftops and clumps of trees dipping their heavy branches into the pond and rivers beneath. Tranquility was always welcome to them, and Sam would be ecstatic to know there was food to be had.
All throughout their meal outside a quaint café in the town square, Purdue seemed distant, even a tad uneven in his behavior, but Nina chalked it up to his sister leaving so abruptly.
Sam insisted on trying some local flavor, opting for pumpernickel and Zwiebel-Bier, as suggested by a very happy bunch of tourists from Greece who had trouble walking in a straight line this early in the day.
And that was what convinced Sam that it was his kind of drink. In general the conversation was light, mostly about the beauty of the town with a bit of healthy criticism of the passersby who wore their jeans too tight or those who did not deem personal hygiene necessary.
“I believe we have to get going, people,” Purdue groaned as he got up from the table that was by now strewn with used napkins and empty plates with scattered scraps of what was a marvelous feast. “Sam, you don’t perhaps have that camera of yours in your bag, do you?”
“Aye.”
“I’d like a shot of that Romanesque-styled church over there,” Purdue requested, pointing to an old cream-colored building with a Gothic flair not half as impressive as the Cologne Cathedral, but still worth capturing on high definition.
“Certainly, sir,” Sam smiled. He zoomed out to get the entire height of the church in, making sure that the light and filtering was just so that all the fine details of the architecture could be discernible.
“Thank you,” Purdue said and rubbed his hands together. “Now, let’s go.”
Nina watched him carefully. He was his old flamboyant self, but something about him was vigilant. He appeared to be a bit nervous, or something bothered him that he would not share.
Purdue and his secrets. Always keeping a card up that sleeve, aren’t you? Nina thought as they approached their vehicle.
What she neglected to notice was the two young punks following in their footsteps at a safe distance, pretending to be sightseeing. They had been trailing Purdue, Sam, and Nina since they left Cologne almost two-and-a-half hours ago.
Chapter 25
Erasmusbrug reached its swan-like neck up to the clear sky above as Agatha’s driver sped over the bridge. She had barely made it to Rotterdam on time because of a flight delay in Bonn, but was now crossing over the Erasmus Bridge, affectionately known as De Zwaan, because of the shape of the bent white pylon holding it, reinforced with cables.
She could not be late or it would be the end of her career as a consultant. What she omitted from her conversations with her brother, was that her client was one Joost Bloem, a world-renowned collector of obscure artifacts. There was no coincidental discovery by a descendant in his grandmother’s attic. The photograph was among the records of a recently deceased antique trader who was unfortunately on the wrong side of Agatha’s client, Dutch representative of the council.
She was well aware that she was working indirectly for the very board of high-level members of the Black Sun organization, who stepped in when there were management issues within the order. They also knew who she was related to, but for some reason there was a neutral approach from both parties. Agatha Purdue dissociated herself and her career from her brother and assured the council that they were in no way affiliated, apart from name, a most regrettable feature on her résumé.
What they did not know, however, was that Agatha hired the very people they had pursued in Bruges to procure the item they sought. It was, in her small way, her gift to her brother to give him and his colleagues a headstart before Bloem’s people deciphered the passage and followed in their tracks to find what Wewelsburg held in its bowels. Other than that, she was only looking out for herself and she did that really well.
Her driver turned the Audi RS5 into the parking area of the Piet Zwart Institute where she was to meet Mr. Bloem and his assistants.
“Thank you,” she said morosely and passed the driver a few Euros for his trouble. His passenger looked sullen, though she was dressed impeccably as a professional archivist and expert advisor on the subject of rare books containing arcane information and historical ledgers in general. He drove off as Agatha entered the Willem de Kooning Academy, the city’s main art school, to meet with her client in the administrative building where her client kept an office. The tall librarian had her hair up in a stylish bun and strode down the wide corridor in a pencil-skirt suit and heels, the very antithesis of the bland recluse she really was.
From the last office on the left, where the drapes on the windows were drawn so that the light barely penetrated, she heard Bloem’s voice.
“Miss Purdue. Right on time, as always,” he said cordially, reaching out both hands to shake hers. Mr. Bloem was extremely attractive, in his early fifties, with fair hair, sporting a slight reddish tint, that fell in long clumps to his collar. Agatha was used to money, coming from a ridiculously wealthy family, but she had to admit that Mr. Bloem’s attire was the pinnacle of style. Had she not been a lesbian, he might well have enticed her. Apparently he was of the same mind, because his lustful blue eyes openly scanned her curvature as he greeted her.
One thing she knew about the Dutch — they were never reserved.
“I believe you have obtained our journal?” he asked as they sat down on opposite sides of his desk.
“Yes, Mr. Bloem. Right here,” she replied. Carefully she placed her leather case on the polished surface and unclipped it. Bloem’s assistant, Wesley, entered the office with a briefcase. He was much younger than his boss, but equally elegant in his choice of clothing. It was a welcome sight after spending so many years in undeveloped countries where a man with socks was considered posh, Agatha thought.