The fact remained that Purdue was trapped among men who would not care to see him dead in a place where nobody would know to look for him. Of all the times he’d been imprisoned, kidnapped, and held up, this was the most threatening of all. After all, his only power was money and some technical wisdom. Neither of those appealed to these local people who only wanted to keep what was theirs. They could not be bought or convinced, nor could they be appeased or flattered. All he could do was hope that his Egyptian advocates would keep him from getting his throat slit in a godforsaken cave on the Dark Continent.
“You know, so you have to die,” one of the Ethiopians declared, looking straight at Purdue.
“What?” Purdue gasped, grasping the arm of one of the other Egyptians in panic. “No, let's talk about this. Look, I don't want your box.”
“You keep saying that, but you paid these men money to help you dig up the church where it had been resting. Now you’ve destroyed the church too. If we hadn’t kept the Holy Box in this cave from a long time back, so many of your kind would have stolen it already!” the Ethiopian shouted in broken phrases.
Purdue reached out his open hands in surrender to ease the excitement among them, but the Egyptian pushed his hands down rapidly. Through barely parted lips he advised, “Effendi, do not do that. Hold very still. Say nothing.”
One by one they started pulling out their weapons, all waiting for some sort of command to kill Purdue. His skin was still covered with sand, as pale as the rocks around them. Wide blue eyes darted between the men as Purdue readied himself for confrontation.
They might kill me today, but by God I will take a few of them with me before I go, he thought, his heart thundering in his ears. Purdue drew in a deep breath, vowing that, should he get out of this deadly predicament, he would arm himself with a long distance weapon in future. But for now he was unarmed and scared to death in a cave in Africa, outnumbered by a territorial band of men with no moral code.
“Purdue Effendi,” the Egyptian man whispered as the mob grew louder, “when I say, you run to the left as fast as you can.”
“Straight into the wall then?” Purdue asked, panting in terror. His white hair was drenched in sweat as he looked toward the dense wall of the cavern. “Are you daft?”
“Just do it. Run into the wall,” the Egyptian said.
“Why should I trust you?” Purdue wheezed nervously, as the last man drew his ivory dagger.
“My partners and me; we built this structure into the mountain. It is we who designed this place to trap any would-be thieves of the Holy Box, Effendi,” he explained in a steady tone so as not to arouse suspicion. “Ever heard of the terrible traps set in ancient pyramids to seal the fate of thieves?”
“Of course,” Purdue nodded.
“Who built those architectural traps?” he asked the terrified billionaire.
Purdue smiled, “Egyptians.”
Chapter 4
Nina watched as her new lackey crept toward the bald man. His friends had no idea what his venture was about, but they looked on while reluctantly continuing their training to make sure the man did not notice that anything was amiss. But Colin was young and dumb, leaving his subterfuge wanting. He started up a conversation with the abrupt man, who sounded like a World War II radio broadcast. Nina listened to his meticulous eloquence and for a moment she imagined he would suddenly start reporting on D-Day or announce an evening curfew.
Suddenly the bald man sighed, “Listen laddie, unless you’re going to spot me or tell me that the manager wants to see me, you should leave me alone, alright? I’m not here to socialize or to check out the ass value here, alright? Now get.”
Nina was disappointed. It turned out that her target was not forthcoming towards the younger generation, not even those who asked for training advice. Colin came back from his shunning. If he had a tail, it would have been tucked between his thighs. His droopy eyes attested to his failure and he hardly had the guts to look at Nina.
“What the hell was that all about, Cols? Are you tacky in the head or something?” one of his pals asked.
“Nope,” the other sighed as he motioned to Nina with his head, “just whipped, I’d say.”
“Jesus, are you crazy? Do you know who that is?” a trainer asked as he joined the cluster of boys at the leg press machine. Nina looked at him as the others shrugged.
“I am sort of curious, actually,” she told the floor trainer. “Who is that?”
The trainer looked spooked by her forward manner, even retreating a step before forcing out an answer to the nosy and dominant beauty in the black tights. “W-well, he is sort of… an enigma around here,” he revealed. “Ex-SAS, they say. Loner who moved here recently after he came out of Wakefield a few months back. Bought a house in Edinburgh and now works out at our gym.”
“Why are you so interested in him?” Colin asked Nina.
“None of your business, sweetie,” she said plainly. “Doesn't he remind you of Charlie Bronson, though?”
The group of young males looked confused. Nina rolled her eyes and tried again. “Michael Gordon Peterson?” Nothing. “Also known as Charlie Bronson?” Still nothing. “Christ, don't you read? The most dangerous inmate in British history? Been in prison for decades on and off, but just causes trouble so that he can go back?”
“Nope. Never heard of him,” Colin's mouthy friend replied.
“Tom Hardy. Do you know the actor, Tom Hardy?” she asked with a complete lack of enthusiasm.
“Aye!” they all agreed.
“Good!” Nina said. “Look up a movie of his called Bronson, okay? Have a few beers on your newly discovered enlightenment or something, 'cause I am suddenly terrified for the future.”
With that Nina whipped her towel over her shoulder and left them behind, walking past the peculiar man with the strength of a comic book monster. For a moment she cast a glance back at him and felt her hair stand on end. Something about him was unnatural, but it was not his strength. The trainer who delivered the short exposition jogged up behind her as she reached the steps. “You think it is Bronson?” he asked eagerly, constantly looking back at the man. “He was in Wakefield too, right?”
“Aye,” she replied casually, trying to shake the trainer off so that she could do some spying without being interrupted. “And some high security asylums too, so steer clear of him, just in case.”
The trainer, roughly the subordinate of Colin's age, glowed with excitement. Nina turned and stopped him in his tracks. “No, really. Stay away from him. You saw how quickly he lost his temper. Who knows what he could do to you outside in the parking area tonight when you knock off, you know?”
“I can check his membership details,” the trainer baited her as she tried to enter the ladies’ locker rooms. Nina turned and raised one eyebrow. “You could get fired for that.”
“Come on, lady,” he said, “we both want to know and we both know that there is more to life than walking up and down a bloody gym floor, babysitting amateur wrestlers and fat netball goalies.”
Nina actually gave it some thought. She could not help but admire a young man who wanted to evolve so badly, and the fact that he knew about a notorious prisoner in penal history scored him two points already. His smile and shining eyes reminded Nina of an excited golden retriever, over-zealous to impress and oh-so-eager to make his mark. Her dark eyes looked around for any eavesdroppers or eyes on them, just as Sam had taught her. “Alright. What’s your name?”
“Joel Thompson,” he almost shouted, elated that she’d allowed him into her twisted curiosity. “My name is Joel.”