The mention of the Moon Child made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Isn’t the Moon Child the name of that satellite resort? The one used by the crusade?”
The Professor nodded solemnly. “It is unthinkable that the name is a coincidence. And I can infer only one of two things because of it: Either the leaders of the Crusade for Genetic Purity have somehow obtained a copy of the Secret Doctrine, and, like Hitler before them, are attempting to incorporate his teachings into their own agenda, or the brotherhood is behind the crusade and has reached a point where they no longer feel it necessary to hide themselves. I’m inclined to believe the latter.”
We sat in silence for some time. It sounded to me like this cult, the Brotherhood of Purity, was planning on starting another Holocaust. There was still something the Professor hadn’t explained. I spoke up. “What about the statuette I found? How does it fit into all this? And you have any idea who Countess could have been?”
Professor Perriman reached for his pipe and used it to gesture with.
“As to the identity of the Countess, I have no idea. Many rich and powerful people are affiliated with the brotherhood. As to the Habuh, it is as ancient as the brotherhood itself. Apparently, it was kept by the order for many generations, but was lost or stolen at some point during the early to mid-20th century. The brotherhood has been looking for it ever since, desperately over the past few years. I had assumed-and hoped-that it was lost forever. But, from what you told me, it appears they’ve recovered it.”
“But why is it so important to them?”
The professor shrugged. “Its purpose may be purely symbolic, or it may have some practical use in matters of the occult. I won’t bore you with all the details, but the Secret Doctrine teaches that the Earth is wrapped in layers of etheric forces. A form of energy, called vril, may be derived from these forces. Occult theorists speculate that vril could be used to manipulate the astral plane, as well as to tap into the telluric currents that crisscross like a grid all over the etheric body. But vril is said to be like any other form of energy-it must be channelled to be useful. Perhaps the Habuh is the controller.”
The professor set his pipe down and folded his arms. “But that’s neither here nor there.
We may never learn its purpose. The fact is that the brotherhood seems to be preparing for the culmination of thousands of years of waiting. What their plans are, and when they will be set into motion, I don’t know. I can only hope that they overestimate the power of their prophecies and fail, as the Nazis failed.”
Professor Perriman leaned forward and clasped his hands tightly.
“If they succeed… God help us.”
UAKM — CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Time seemed to have stood still during my conversation with the professor. To my surprise, I checked my watch and saw that I’d have to hurry or I’d miss my 3 o’clock appointment with Lowell Percival. I thanked Professor Perriman and excused myself.
As I returned to my speeder, I tried to decide if I’d just become privy to the occult blueprint for the end of the world, or wasted a couple of hours on a delusional, peyote-eating conspiracy theorist. Maybe I didn’t want to believe what Professor Perriman had told me. It all seemed too incredible. The idea that a secret cult could manipulate history and wield almost limitless power-without being publicly exposed-was the kind of tripe you read about while standing in line at a grocery store. But he was a highly educated, respected authority telling me it was so.
I was still trying to digest it all when I arrived at Lowell Percival Enterprises. I made my way through security and up to the fifty-first floor. Alaynah Moore was sitting at her post and looking especially attractive. She seemed to be wearing just a little more makeup than when I’d seen her the day before, and her hair looked like it had been professionally styled. Even though my interest in her had petered out, it was good to know that I still had an effect on the occasional dame.
As I approached her desk, I detected a scent of perfume that hadn’t been there before… expensive and alluring. There was only one reason why women wore perfume like that.
Alaynah had also traded in her knit top and blazer for a form-fitting cashmere dress with the neckline that dove like a hungry kingfisher.
“You look lovely today.”
Alaynah’s eyes darted instinctively toward her cleavage, then back at me.
“Thanks. So do you.”
I knew I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to get into a flirtatious debate. “Is Mr Percival in?”
Alaynah seemed almost startled by the question. “What?… Oh, yes. One second.”
She turned to the paging device and spoke quietly into it. I looked away politely and happened to notice a light blue manila envelope on the desk. It was sealed and marked
“Genetic Research Systems: Top Secret, Attention: Lowell Percival ONLY.” Alaynah turned back to face me. “He’s expecting you. Right through the door.”
I tipped my hat and started toward Percival’s office. I could feel Alaynah watching me all the way there. After a brief knock on the door, I opened it and walked in.
Lowell Percival stood up from behind his monstrous desk and walked around it to greet me. He was even shorter than I remembered, no taller than five-six, and looked as delicate as ever, despite extra padding in the shoulders of his expensively tailored blue pinstriped suit. His hair was combed straight back and thinning noticeably, but his trademark Vandyck beard was still jet-black. Behind new, almost invisible wire frame glasses, his eyes were as dark and intimidating as ever. Satan’s accountant.
He shook my hand aggressively and guided me to a chair, before making a wide turn back to his own seat behind the desk. His voice was slightly high-pitched and precise.
He had no discernible accent and used every word intentionally and deliberately, never uttering a single filler noise, such as “uh” or “um”.
“Mr Tex Murphy. How long has it been? Three years?”
“Five, actually.”
Percival sighed and shook his head. “Where does the time go?” He shifted comfortably in his oversized seat and tapped his right forefinger several times on the leather armrest.
“What can I do for you? You’re not looking for employment, certainly. I would imagine there are ample opportunities for a top-notch detective like yourself.”
He certainly was an excellent schmoozer. I almost believed him, and I was an award-winning cynic. Maybe that explained why he was a multibillionaire, and I was late on my rent.
“I’m not here looking for work, Mr Percival. I ran across your name in a strange place, and I wanted to ask you about it.”
Percival spread his hands out respectively. “Please. I’m at your service.”
I extracted the newspaper clipping with the photo of the statuette from my coat pocket, unfolded it, and passed it across to him. “What can you tell me about the bird?”
Percival studied the clipping for what seemed like a long time, then handed it back to me. “Not a great deal more than what is stated in the article.”
I folded the paper and replaced it. Maybe he was lying, maybe he wasn’t. I had a hard time reading him. With almost anyone else, I would’ve called his bluff. Unfortunately, metaphors didn’t wash with Lowell Percival. I decided to try my second line of questioning and hope that he was in a cooperative mood.
“Tell me about Eddie Ching.”
Percival didn’t blink. “I don’t know him.”
“He knows you. Your name was included on a list of potential buyers of a certain artefact. I have a hunch you were in the running for the statuette in the newspaper photo.”