She looked at him with a piercing vexation. “Don't you dare smile, Sam Cleave.”
Sam couldn’t take the expression on Nina's face anymore. It was simply too sweet, like a pouting puppy trying to look vicious. A loud exclamation of hearty laughter escaped him, but he quickly grabbed her and held her tightly. Nina didn’t even try anymore. She would have to save her fury for later, when Sam would not see her retribution coming.
“Jokes aside, though,” he finally said as his laughter gave way to some seriousness. “What happened? He got away, didn't he?”
“Aye, but I got him good enough for him to drop the girl and limp away as fast as he could. Fucker,” she replied.
“And you didn’t see his face or anything? You wouldn’t be able to recognize him?” Sam asked as she handed him a hot cup of Horlicks. She shook her head.
“And you say he was shooting at you?” he wanted to know.
“I don't know. It sounded like a gunshot when the glass broke all over me, but it was pitch dark. Damned if I know how he managed to see where that Sarah girl was. He stood right next to me for quite a while, as if he could see me, but when those women came in, yapping, he elected to grab one of them for some reason.” She relayed all she knew. “It was almost…” she frowned in deep thought. “It was almost as if he wanted me to scream. He waited right there, but I kept quiet. You know? When that chick started screaming he took her after knocking out her friend.”
“Maybe you've got something there,” he told Nina. “Especially with serial killers; they have a system according to which they hunt and it sounds like you didn't give him what he wanted, thank God. I mean, even if he is not a bona fide serial killer, I’m sure he was not planning a day at the spa for that girl.”
“Aye, this is true,” she agreed. “I just can’t understand why they couldn’t catch him. The bastard was limping, not moving fast at all. Unless he disappeared into thin air or the cops suddenly went blind, I don't know how he got away. Two days had gone by and they still have not seen a sign of him in the surrounding six blocks? Bullshit.”
“Could be because he never left in the first place,” Sam suggested casually.
Nina's eyes stretched. “You’re right, Sam! Oh my God, maybe he’s still waiting for the dust to settle.”
“That could very well be. We’ve dealt with enough criminals and psychos to know that they have a knack for out-thinking the coppers and have unorthodox methods no normal person could foresee,” he speculated. “You think we should stake out the gym or something?”
“I don't think he’ll circle back to such a highly probable area,” Nina said. “He’ll know they are looking out for him.”
“I suppose. How have you been keeping? Your recovery, beating cancer and building up this physique is unbelievably impressive, you know? I have to give you kudos for that!” Sam changed the subject, taking care not to pry too deep into Nina's recovery while doing so.
“Thanks Sam,” she replied sincerely, grateful that he’d noticed. “As you know, I’m not someone who believes in miracles. Miraculous happenings are usually the culmination of circumstances and the willingness of people to make things right, in my opinion. But my cancer remission and my body persisting while virtually all my blood was tapped out; that was a miracle of Biblical proportions.”
“It was the water,” he smiled. “That water.”
“Aye, but the fact that it completely undid all of the damage and disease? That part is esoteric in nature, undeniably.” She smiled back at him, looking dreamily out the window.
Sam's eyes moved past Nina to the television screen behind her. “Nina, you're not going to believe this.”
“What?” she asked, turning to see what he was looking at.
On the flat screen behind her the Channel 11 News was reporting on a kidnapping in progress.
“Turn it up!” Nina cried.
Sam grabbed the remote control and took the TV off of mute as Nina sat down next to him on the edge of the sofa. The news anchor reported on the foiling of the previous abduction by the so-called 'Lady Godiva' heroine, Dr. Nina Gould from Oban. Nina pinched her eyes shut and pursed her lips, knowing that Sam was probably looking at her and snickering at the nickname again. But he wasn’t laughing at all. When Nina opened her eyes she found Sam spellbound, staring seriously at the television screen.
“Sam?” she frowned.
“Shush!” he replied, scowling as he focused on the report. Sam felt his heart sink when the picture of a young schoolgirl appeared on-screen while the journalist reported.
“In the early hours of this morning, an eleven-year-old Edinburgh girl was reported missing by her mother, who had been woken up by a disturbance in her Falkirk home. Upon inspection, the mother, Mrs. Eileen Smith, found that her young daughter had just been kidnapped through the bedroom window by an intruder. The distraught Mrs. Smith tried to chase after them, but was too late by the time she’d exited her front door. The police and local authorities have put the case on high priority and will be actively combing the surrounding main roads and neighborhoods to net the kidnapper.”
Sam fell back on the couch, covering his face with his hands. He seemed shocked and spoke to himself into his hands while Nina was trying to figure out what was going on. She didn’t know the people reported on, so she had to ask. “Sam? Are you alright?”
All she could hear inside Sam's hands were his muffled words repeating endlessly and softly, “Oh, Christ, no. Oh, sweet Jesus, no.”
It alarmed Nina that he sounded so hopeless, in distress at what he’d just seen on TV, but she decided to wait until he was ready to explain. Her large, dark eyes glinted in the pale blue flashes of the television screen, where an action film was starting. She took the remote control and turned down the volume. It was upsetting to hear the jovial and sharp-witted Sam Cleave moan and pray into his hands. Only when he removed his hands did Nina realize he was weeping. She said nothing, but her stomach churned at the sight. Sam was a tough investigative journalist and explorer who had braved a myriad of onslaughts and escaped from captivity from the most unsavory characters of the underworld. To see him wail in despair was unsettling.
Finally he looked at her and said, “That is Paddy's daughter. They took Paddy's little girl! Jesus! They took her, just as they said they would, Nina.”
“Who? Who said so?” she asked, keeping her tone as serene as possible.
“Who do you think? The fucking Black Sun, that's who!” he shouted, sounding more hurt than angry.
Nina didn’t know what to say. There was no appropriate response to something like this. If there were, she didn’t know it. She knew Paddy fairly well, although they were really more like acquaintances. She’d still called him Patrick the last time she saw him. When she’d first met him he was DCI Patrick Smith, a homicide-investigating officer from Edinburgh. Shortly after, Nina remembered that he’d left his steady life in the police service and joined MI6, the British intelligence agency supplying the government with foreign intelligence. There he quickly impressed his superiors and attained the title of Agent for Special Operations.
He’d been Sam's best friend since boyhood, but their friendship had suffered many devastating blows since Sam had become involved with Dave Purdue's pursuits of historical relics and his subsequent run-ins with the clandestine Order of the Black Sun. Paddy often had to clean up red tape messes in the wake of Sam and Purdue's secret involvements in unsolved crimes and cold case homicides. Because of the sensitive nature of their connection to a powerful world organization, Paddy could never allow them to be arrested or incarcerated. He had become the Cleave-Purdue secret keeper and crime guardian, and that had not sat well with him after the business in Romania. So he and Sam had gone their separate ways. It had become too dangerous for Paddy to be involved with the Black Sun, with their Nazi ideology pulsing through all the sectors of the modern world. They could reach him or his loved ones at will.