The Black Sun Conspiracy

Chapter Twenty-Two

By the time Sam and Nina got back to the safe house, Nina’s ankle was troubling her to the point where she had to hold onto Sam’s arm for support.

“That really needs proper attention,” he said, helping her over the threshold.

“I know. Might have to wait a bit, though. It’s fine, I just need to rest it for a bit. Purdue’s got my first aid kit in his case.” She winced as she began to climb the stairs, clinging to the banister to take the weight off her left leg. Halfway up, she paused. “You do think he’s going to be ok, don’t you?”

Sam was taken aback. “Purdue? Yeah, of course he will.” Even though he had seen Purdue in danger several times and even seen him sustain serious injuries, he simply could not imagine that Purdue would ever fail to emerge from any situation in one piece. Judging by the look on her face, Nina did not share his certainty. She looked genuinely concerned.

“It’s just…” She sat down, perching on the narrow step. “I don’t know. He’ll probably be fine, whatever it is that he’s up to, but I’m worried about him. If I’m worn out and hurting after the past couple of days’ exertions, I can only imagine that he is too. But he’s always determined that he can put mind over matter and that he doesn’t have to give in to little things like injury. I just hope that he doesn’t put himself in danger — or at least, in any more danger than he absolutely has to. Then again, it’s Purdue. That’s like asking him not to breathe.” She shook her head as if casting out the thought of Purdue coming to harm, then hauled herself onto her feet again. “Anyway, I’d better go and get this bandaged up.”

Sam watched her limping up the last few steps. “I know what’ll make you feel better,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Stepping out of the house Sam took a sharp turn to the right and made his way towards a shop that he had spotted from the car as they had arrived. Its windows were full of bottles — mostly a vast array of Belgian beers, but there were a few promising-looking larger bottles that made him think that he might find whisky there.

The bell chimed above Sam’s head as he entered the shop, rousing an old man from the back room. Sam scanned the shelves, but all he could see was beer and wine.

“Have you got any whisky?” he asked, more in hope than expectation. The old man nodded and smiled broadly. He shuffled off to the far end of the counter and bent down. When he surfaced he had a bottle in his hand. He slid it across the counter towards Sam.

“Belgian,” he croaked. “Very good. Made in Liège. Only distillery in Belgium. Best in the world.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, privately doubting that he would ever find anything preferable to Islay malts, but he accepted the bottle and scanned the label. The Belgian Owl. It was unfamiliar, but it was single malt and would serve his purposes. “I’ll take it,” he said, and handed over the pre-paid credit card.

Nina stretched out across the bed, her muscles aching and then releasing. She rolled onto her stomach and pulled herself across the mattress. Purdue’s case lay at the foot of the bed, and she knew that the first aid kit was in one of the zipped sections. One by one she opened them and rummaged around.

When she opened the pocket on the lower right hand side, something black and rectangular fell out. She reached down and picked it up. It was a small Moleskin notebook, neatly bound with elastic. Her heart missed a beat.

‘His notebook. I can’t read this… or at least I shouldn’t.’ She slipped a finger under the elastic. ‘Normally I wouldn’t. It’s private. I respect that. But… we are in danger. There’s a lot that he won’t tell me. If there’s any chance that reading this would mean finding out something that could keep us alive further down the line, surely that justifies the intrusion?’

She turned the notebook over in her hand. The strap slipped easily over the corners. ‘Knowing Purdue, it’s probably in code anyway. It’s the kind of precaution he would take. He doesn’t write much down anyway. Chances are it’ll be mostly blank.’ Nina knew that she was working hard to justify opening it. She skirted around the thought that perhaps she wanted to see whether he had written anything about her and was relying on their situations to provide an ethically impeccable excuse. The idea lingered on the edge of her awareness, as hard as she tried to push it away.

“Fuck it,” she muttered to herself. “Nothing ventured…”

She flipped the notebook open to a random page. As she had expected, there was plenty that she did not understand. Coded notes, formulae and strings of numbers that looked like they might be URLs. She opened it to a different page, nearer to the front. Blank pages stared back at her. She tried the back. There she found densely written sheets. Evidently Purdue preferred to start at the back of the book and work towards the front.

In between the pages that Nina found unintelligible she found a few that caught her attention. One was a diagram of some sort, a roughly-sketched pyramid labelled with names. Some were names that she recognized — Sara Stromer, Jefferson Daniels, and Admiral Whitsun. A few were crossed out and repositioned, or punctuated with question marks or other symbols that meant nothing to her. It appeared to outline some kind of hierarchical relationship between them all. ‘So Purdue either knows their positions within the Order of the Black Sun or he’s tried to work it out,’ Nina reasoned. ‘I’m not really surprised either way.’

She flicked through another few pages. Another sketch caught her eye, this time a rough floor plan. Nina recognized the layout. It was the first floor of the east wing of Wrichtishousis, showing the master bedroom and Purdue’s study. Two other large rooms stood adjacent, rooms that had been empty save for a few paintings and sculptures every time Nina had seen them. Now he had drawn in shelves, a desk and chair, and labelled the rooms ‘N. Study’ and N. Library’. Her eyes widened.

Ignoring the pounding of her heart and all the terrified feelings of being trapped that she always felt when she thought of that kind of commitment, Nina pressed on. There was only one other page that she could make any sense of, and that was a list of names. Most were unfamiliar, but a handful rang bells. Jan Provoost. Petrus Christus. Jan van Eyck. Hieronymus Bosch. ‘Artists,’ she thought. ‘I think they’re all Flemish Primitives? Presumably this is something to do with whatever he’s going to be stealing or fencing or whatever it counts as.’

Downstairs the front door opened and closed. Nina jumped. Quickly she slammed the notebook shut and snapped the elastic back into place, then shoved it back into the pocket. She snatched up one of the bandages from the first aid kit and hastily rolled one onto her injured ankle, then limped downstairs to join Sam.