Sam nodded pensively. He had supposed as much when he had speculated about Admiral Whitsun’s involvement. Charles Whitsun had never struck him as sufficiently charismatic or an effective enough leader to run such a dangerous operation. He had been far too indiscreet, too puffed up with pride and keen to use his status to impress a hot girl. People who ran black market arms deals successfully, Sam was sure, did not spill their secrets that easily.
“Apparently Whitsun had hoped to avoid a trial and all the exposure that went with it,” Nina ploughed on. “His intention was that Charles would get caught in the cross-fire during the shoot-out that you were involved in. He even asked Steven to be the one who saw to it. I doubt he would have, because he was honestly devoted to Charles, but he got shot himself and didn’t have a chance to do it — or at least that’s what he told the Order when they found him hiding out afterwards. If they’d thought he had disobeyed a direct command they would probably have executed him. As it was, it took Professor Lehmann calling in a lot of favors to keep Steven safe. But he told me… he said that after you went to their house that time, he and Steven fought bitterly. Steven thought you’d gone there because his father was trying to set you on him and have him taken down the way Charles was. While they were arguing…” she broke off, searching for the right words. “While they were arguing, Steven said that Charles had known about Patricia’s real identity. He had known that she had been planning to write an expose to bring down him and the arms ring, and that’s why he’d invited her along that day. He had given Steven the task of… of shooting her. He killed her, Sam. Steven Lehmann was the one who murdered Patricia.”
Sam was silent. The world around him seemed to have slowed to a stop. He searched for something to say. Nothing much, just a few words to acknowledge what Nina had said. He had nothing. He had always assumed that he would never know exactly who fired the bullet that robbed Trish of half her face. In the cross-fire, he had thought, it could have been anyone. Seeing the arms ring fall and Charles Whitsun brought to trial was all the vengeance or closure he was ever going to get.
Now, to learn that her death had not been a matter of chance, and that the man who set out to kill her was right here under the same roof… It was bizarre. ‘I should be reacting differently,’ he thought. ‘I should be on my feet now, I should go after the bastard. I should be halfway down the stairs, ready to smash his head to pulp or die trying. So why am I not? Why am I just sitting here?’
“Sam?” Nina had moved along to his end of the bed without him even noticing until she put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok? I thought I’d better tell you…”
He gave his head a swift shake, trying to pull himself back to reality. “Yeah,” he said distantly. “Yeah, I’m fine… You were right to tell me. You had to.”
She watched him intently. “There’s more to tell,” she said. “After the arms ring fell, and apparently just before Renata was appointed, there was some kind of schism within the Order. Professor Lehmann thinks it might have had something to do with her appointment. She was an odd choice, but her predecessor named her and that’s all it took. There was a faction within the Order that wanted to overrule it and appoint someone else, but it didn’t end well. The ones who didn’t support her formed a sort of splinter group, and now there’s a weird standoff going on between the Order of the Black Sun and this other organization. They’re based in one of the old arms ring strongholds on the border between Mongolia and Russia, but Professor Lehmann thinks they’re drawn from all the different branches of the Order and that no-one knows how deeply the splinter group has infiltrated.”
Her words washed over Sam. He tried to follow what she was saying, but his mind was still full of Trish’s ravaged face and the thought of Steven Lehmann pulling the trigger. Slowly a few words began to sink in, but not quickly enough for Nina. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little.
“Sam! I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s important. Listen. If there is a splinter group, then these people are not all-powerful. It means we don’t have to give in to them. Someone out there is already fighting them. We can, too. There’s still a chance! If we can find a way out of here, perhaps we can make contact with this group — I know where they are, Professor Lehmann told me. We still have a chance!”
Like a man waking from a deep sleep, Sam felt himself piecing things together. The sense of being lost was beginning to clear. If the Order of the Black Sun was responsible for Trish’s death, then he would not join it to save his own life. Not under any circumstances. If he knew the identity of Trish’s killer, he would make sure that man paid. And if there was a chance, however slim, that he could fight against the Order, then that was what he was going to do. He had played his part in the fall of the arms ring, and in the collapse of FireStorm. He was involved in the biker brawl in Valhalla that silenced the most powerful threat to the human race and her iniquitous plans. He had done all of those things when his only fights had been against injustice and threats against the people he loved.
“Let’s fight them, then.” Sam’s voice was a resolute growl. “Let’s fight them every step of the way.”
Then somehow, Sam did not quite know how, Nina was in his lap and his arms were around her and his lips were on hers, her hands were on his skin and all sense of everything beyond the rush of sensation was lost.
Chapter Fifty
The vivid colors of Jan van Eyck’s painting stood out clearly and beautifully against the plain white walls. It took pride of place in Renata’s strange gallery, completing her collection. Purdue eyed it up indifferently.
“This is what all the fuss was about,” he observed. “This is what you were willing to risk lives for.”
Renata pushed a cold glass into his hand. The smell of potent slivovitz assailed his nostrils. “Don’t insult my intelligence,” she said. “You knew very well what all the fuss, as you put it, was about. The paintings were just a convenient focus. The object of the exercise was power. Gaining it, demonstrating it, keeping it.”
Purdue toyed with the glass, turning it around in his hand. “Then if I were to throw this drink over this delightful piece, it would not trouble you?”
“I warned you not to insult me.” Renata’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “This kind of baiting is beneath you and besides — I know you would not do it. You have too much appreciation for the exquisite.” She pulled up a stool and sat down facing the painting, crossing one long leg over the other. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing her foot towards the other stool. Purdue obeyed mechanically. “Oh, stop moping, Dave. So your little girlfriend knocked you back. In case you hadn’t noticed, you are one of the world’s richest men. You’re powerful. You’re attractive. Move on. You won’t be alone forever. I’m sure the next woman you take a fancy to won’t be able to resist such a touching little speech.”
“You promised me that you would not listen in.” Two deep pink patches began to form on Purdue’s pale cheeks. “You promised me a moment of privacy, Mirela.”