King Solomon's Diamonds (Order of the Black Sun Series Book 18) Read online

  Abdul showed no sign of concern for the glitch. With a slow wave of his hand across her face, he smiled serenely. “I do hope you change your mind, Madam. It is the privilege of women like you to have the deeds of great men in their palms, at the ready.” As his elegantly crooked fingers drew a shadow over her fair skin, the noblewoman could feel an ice-cold bolt of pressure imbue her face. Briskly wiping her face where the chill crept, she cleared her throat and composed herself. If she faltered now she would lose him in a sea of strangers.

  “Come back in two days. Meet me here in the drawing room. My assistant knows you and will be expecting you,” she ordered, still shaken by the ghastly sensation that haunted her face for a moment. “I will get the Celeste, Mr. Raya, but you had better be worth my trouble.”

  Abdul said nothing more. He didn’t need to.

  3

  A Touch of Endearment

  When Purdue awoke the following day, he felt like shit – plain and simple. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d really cried, and although his soul felt better for the purging, his eyes were swollen and burning. To make sure nobody would know what had caused his condition, Purdue polished off three quarters of his Southern hooch bottle, the one he kept in between his horror fiction books on the shelf by the window.

  “My God, old cock, you look the right part for a hobo,” Purdue groaned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “How did all this happen? Don’t tell me, don’t,” he sighed. Walking away from the mirror to open the shower faucets, he kept muttering like a senile old man. Fitting, since his body felt like it had aged a century overnight. “I know. I know how it happened. You ate the wrong cuisines, hoping that your stomach could get used to the poison, but instead you got poisoned.”

  His clothes fell from him as if they did not know his body, hugging his feet before he stepped out of the heap of fabric his wardrobe had been reduced to since he lost all that weight in the oubliette of “Mother’s” house. Under the lukewarm water Purdue prayed without religion, grateful without faith and deeply sympathetic to all those who did not know the luxury of indoor plumbing. Under the baptism of the showerhead he emptied his mind to exorcise the toil that reminded him that his ordeal at the hands of Joseph Karsten was far from over, even if he played his hand slowly and vigilantly. Oblivion was underrated, he reckoned, being such a glorious sanctuary in trying times, and he wanted to feel its nothingness fall over him.

  True to his misfortune of late, Purdue, however, was not to enjoy it for long before a knock at his door interrupted his budding therapy.

  “What is it?” he called through the hiss of the water.

  “Your breakfast, sir,” he heard from the other side of the door. Purdue perked up and abandoned his silent resentment of the caller.

  “Charles?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir?” Charles answered.

  Purdue smiled, elated to hear the familiar voice of his butler once more, a voice he’d missed dearly while contemplating his death hour in the oubliette; a voice he thought he would never hear again. Without even thinking twice, the downtrodden billionaire leapt from the confines of his shower and wrenched open the door. Completely stumped, the butler stood with a shocked face as his naked boss embraced him.

  “My God, old boy, I thought you had disappeared!” Purdue smiled as he let the man go to shake his hand. Fortunately, Charles was painfully professional, ignoring Purdue’s bagpipes and retaining that stiff upper lip business demeanor the Brits always bragged about.

  “Was just a bit under the weather, sir. Right as rain now, thank you,” Charles assured Purdue. “Would you like to eat in your room or downstairs with,” he grimaced somewhat, “the MI6 people?”

  “Up here, definitely. Thank you, Charles,” Purdue answered, realizing that he was still shaking the man’s hand with his crown jewels on display.

  Charles nodded. “Very well, sir.”

  As Purdue returned to the bathroom to shave and remedy the awful bags under his eyes, the butler walked out of the master bedroom, secretly indulging a grin at the reminiscence of his jovial, nude employer’s reaction. It was always good to be missed, he thought, even to such a drastic extent.

  “What did he say?” Lily asked when Charles entered the kitchen. The place smelled of freshly baked bread and scrambled eggs, smothered slightly by the odor of percolated coffee. The adorable, yet nosy senior kitchen lady wrung her hands inside a dishcloth with eager eyes, probing the butler for a reply.

  “Lillian,” he grunted at first, annoyed as usual by her prying. But then he realized that she too had missed the master of the household and that she had every right to wonder what the man’s first words to Charles were. This review done quickly in his mind, his eyes softened.

  “He is very happy to be here again,” Charles replied formally.

  “Did he say that?” she asked endearingly.

  Charles took a moment. “Not in so many words, although his gestures and body language pretty well established his elation.” He tried desperately not to chuckle at his own words, elegantly formulated to convey both the truth and the bizarre.

  “Oh, that is lovely,” she smiled, heading to the cupboard to take out a plate for Purdue. “Eggs and sausage, then?”

  Uncharacteristically the butler burst out laughing, a welcome sight to his usual stern demeanor. A little befuddled but smiling at his unusual reaction, she stood waiting to confirm the breakfast as the butler burst out in a fit of laughter.

  “I shall take that as a yes,” she giggled. “My goodness, my boy, something very funny must have happened for you to desert that firmness of yours.” She took out the plate and set it on the table. “Look at you! You’re just letting it all hang out.”

  Charles doubled up in laughter, leaning against the tiled niche next to the iron coal stove that adorned the back door corner. “I’m so sorry Lillian, but I can’t relay what happened. That would just be improper, you understand.”

  “I know,” she smiled, dishing up bangers and scrambled eggs next to Purdue’s soft toast. “Of course, I’m dying to know what happened, but for once I’ll just settle for seeing you laughing. That is enough to make my day.”

  Relieved that, for once, the older lady would relent at pressing him for information, Charles gave her a pat on the shoulder and composed himself. He fetched a tray and placed the food on it, helping her with the coffee and finally collecting the newspaper to take to Purdue upstairs. Desperate to prolong the anomaly of Charles’ humanness, Lily had to hold back on another mention of whatever had charged him so as he left the kitchen. She feared he would drop the tray and she was right. With the sight still clear in his mind, Charles would have left the floor a mess had she reminded him.

  Throughout the ground floor of the house, the secret service pawns infested Wrichtishousis with their presence. Charles had nothing against the men who worked for the intelligence service in general, but the fact that they were posted there made them nothing more than illegal intruders funded by a false kingdom. They had no right to be there, and although they were only following orders, the staff could not stomach their small and sporadic power plays while stationed to keep an eye on the billionaire explorer, acting as if were some common thief.

  I still cannot fathom how Military Intelligence could have had this house annexed when there is no international martial threat resident here, Charles thought as he carried the tray up to Purdue’s room. Yet he knew that there had to be some sinister reason for it all to be approved by the government – a notion even more frightening. There had to be more to it and he was going to get to the bottom of it, even if he had to get his information from his brother-in-law again. Charles had saved Purdue the last time he took his brother-in-law at his word. He presumed his brother-in-law could furnish the butler with some more, if it meant finding out what this was all about.

  “Hey Charlie, is he up yet?” one of the operatives asked cheerfully.

  Charles ignored him. If he was going to be forced to ans
wer to anyone, it would be nobody less in rank than Special Agent Smith. By now he trusted that his boss had firmly established a personal bond with the supervising agent. When he reached Purdue’s door all manner of hilarity had left him – he’d returned to his usual firm and obedient self.

  “Your breakfast, sir,” he said at the door.

  Purdue opened the door in quite a different guise. Fully dressed in chinos, Moschino Penny Loafers, and a white, button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he opened the door for his butler. When Charles entered, he heard Purdue promptly closing the door behind him.

  “I have to speak with you, Charles,” he urged under his breath. “Did anyone trail you up here?”

  “No sir, not that I know of,” Charles replied truthfully as he set the tray down on Purdue’s oak table, where he sometimes enjoyed his brandy at night. He straightened up his jacket and folded his hands in front of him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Purdue looked wild in the eyes, even though his body language implied that he was contained and cogent. Much as he tried to sound proper and confident, he could not fool his butler. Charles had known Purdue for ages. He’d seen him in most ways through the years, from insane fury at the obstacles of science to jovial and suave at the hand of many well-to-do women. He could tell that something was troubling Purdue, something more than just a looming hearing.

  “I know it was you who informed Dr. Gould about the secret service being out to arrest me, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for warning her, but I have to know, Charles,” he said urgently in a hard whisper, “I have to know how you came to learn about that, because there is more to it. There is far more to it and I need to know anything, anything that MI6 plans to do next.”

  Charles understood the fervency of his employer’s request, but at the same time felt terribly inept at the request. “I see,” he said with considerable self-consciousness. “Well, I only heard of it by chance. When visiting Vivian, my sister, her husband just sort of…came out with it. He’d known that I was in the service of Wrichtishousis, but apparently he overheard a colleague at one of the affiliate British government offices mention that MI6 had been given the all clear to pursue you, sir. In fact, I think he didn’t even think much of it at the time.”

  “Of course he didn’t. It’s bloody ludicrous. I’m a Scottish goddamn national. Even if I’d been involved in military matters, it would have had to be MI5 that pulled the strings. The international relations in this are rightly cumbersome, I tell you, and it bothers me,” Purdue speculated. “Charles, I need you to contact your brother-in-law for me.”

  “With respect sir,” Charles replied quickly, “if you do not mind, I’d rather decline getting my family involved with this. I regret taking this resolve, sir, but honestly, I’m afraid for my sister. I already find myself worrying about her being married to a man affiliated with the secret service – and he is just an administrator. To involve them in an international debacle such as this…” He shrugged apologetically, feeling terrible about his own honesty. He hoped that Purdue would still value his capabilities as a butler and not dismiss him for some lame form of insubordination.

  “I understand,” Purdue answered weakly, stepping away from Charles to look out through the balcony doors at the lovely serenity of the Edinburgh morning.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Purdue,” Charles said.

  “No, Charles, I really do understand. I do, believe me. How many horrible things have befallen my close friends because of being involved with my pursuits? I’m fully aware of the implications of working for me,” Purdue explained, sounding utterly hopeless without the intention of provoking pity. He was honestly feeling the burden of guilt. Trying to be cordial about being respectfully turned down, Purdue turned and smiled. “Really, Charles. I do understand. Will you let me know when Special Agent Smith arrives, please?”

  “Of course, sir,” Charles answered with a stiff drop of the chin. He left the room feeling like a traitor, and by the looks of the officers and agents in the lobby, he was considered as one.

  4

  The Doctor is In

  Special Agent Patrick Smith visited Purdue later that afternoon, for what Smith told his superiors was a doctor’s appointment. In consideration for what he had gone through in the home of the Nazi matriarch known as Mother, the board of judiciaries granted Purdue permission to receive medical assistance while he was in temporary custody of the Secret Intelligence Service.

  With three men on duty during that shift, not including for the two outside at the premises gate, Charles had his hands full with the housekeeping, feeding his vexation for them. However, he was more lenient in his courtesy towards Smith because of his aid to Purdue. Charles answered the door for the doctor when the doorbell sounded.

  “Even the poor physician has to be searched,” Purdue sighed as he stood at the top of the stairs, leaning hard on the banister for support.

  “The bloke looks weak, hey?” one of the men whispered to the other. “Look at how swollen his eyes are!”

  “And red,” the other added, shaking his head. “I don’t think he is going to recover.”

  “Boys, do hurry, please,” Special Agent Smith snapped, reminding them of their task. “The doctor only has an hour with Mr. Purdue, so get on with it.”

  “Yes, sir,” they sang in chorus as they concluded their search of the medical professional.

  When they were done with the doctor, Patrick escorted him up to where Purdue and his butler waited. There Patrick took sentinel post at the top landing of the stairs.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” Charles asked as the physician held Purdue’s door open for him.

  “No, thank you, Charles. You can go,” Purdue replied loudly before Charles closed the door. Charles was still feeling terribly guilty for brushing off his boss, but it seemed as if Purdue was sincere in his understanding.

  Inside Purdue’s private sanctum, he and the doctor waited, not speaking nor moving, for a moment to listen for any disturbances outside the door. No sound of scuffling came, and through one of the secret peepholes Purdue’s wall sported, they could see nobody eavesdropping.

  “I think I have to refrain from childish references to medical puns to brighten your humor, old man, if only to stay in character. It is, I’ll have you know, a dreadful intrusion on my dramatic skills,” the doctor said as he set his medical kit down. “Do you know how I struggled to get Dr. Beach to lend me his old case?”

  “Suck it up, Sam,” Purdue said, smiling in amusement as the journalist squinted behind black-framed glasses that did not belong to him. “It was your idea to masquerade as Dr. Beach. How is my savior, by the way?”

  Purdue’s rescue team had consisted of two men acquainted with his dear Dr. Nina Gould – a Catholic priest and a general practitioner from Oban, Scotland. The two had taken it upon themselves to save Purdue from an atrocious demise in the cellar pen of the wicked Yvetta Wolff, First Level member of the Order of the Black Sun and known by her fascist consorts as Mother.

  “He’s doing well, although he has hardened some since his ordeal with you and Father Harper in that hellish house. I’m certain whatever made him like this would make for a tremendously newsworthy piece, but he refuses to add any light on it,” Sam shrugged. “The minister is zipped about it too, and that just makes my balls itch, you know.”

  Purdue chuckled. “I’m sure it does. Trust me, Sam, what we left behind in that hidden old house is best left undiscovered. How is Nina?”

  “She’s in Alexandria, helping the museum catalogue some of the treasure we discovered. They want to name that particular Alexander the Great-exhibit something like The Gould/Earle Discovery, after Nina and Joanne’s hard work to uncover the Olympias Letter and such. Of course, they left out your esteemed name. Pricks.”

  “Big things for our girl, I see,” Purdue said, smiling gently and happy to hear that the feisty, intelligent, and beautiful historian was finally getting her well-deserved re
cognition from the academic world.

  “Aye, and she’s still asking me how we can get you out of this predicament once and for all, to which I usually have to change the subject, because…well, I honestly don’t know the extent of it,” Sam said, turning the conversation to a more serious vein.

  “Well, that is why you are here, old boy,” Purdue sighed. “And I don’t have a lot of time to fill you in, so sit and have a whisky.”

  Sam gasped, “But sir, I am a medical doctor on call. How dare you?” He held out his glass for Purdue to color it with Grouse. “Don’t be stingy, now.”

  It felt good to be tormented by Sam Cleave’s brand of humor again, and it brought Purdue great joy to once again suffer the journalist’s juvenile silliness. He knew full well that he could trust Cleave with his life and that, when it mattered most, his friend could instantly and superbly assume the part of a professional colleague. Sam could instantly switch from silly Scotsman to vigorous enforcer, an invaluable quality in the dangerous world of occult relics and scientific madmen.

  The two men sat down on the threshold of the balcony doors, just to the inside so that the thick white lace curtains could veil them in their conversation, out of sight of prying eyes down on the lawns. They conversed in low tones.

  “Long story short,” Purdue said, “the son of a bitch who arranged my kidnapping, and Nina’s for that matter, is a Black Sun member called Joseph Karsten.”

  Sam jotted the name down in a beat up little note pad that he carried in his jacket pocket. “Is he dead yet?” Sam asked matter-of-factly. In fact, his tone was so casual that Purdue did not know whether to worry or jubilate at the response.