The Black Sun Conspiracy

Chapter Fifty

The vivid colors of Jan van Eyck’s painting stood out clearly and beautifully against the plain white walls. It took pride of place in Renata’s strange gallery, completing her collection. Purdue eyed it up indifferently.

“This is what all the fuss was about,” he observed. “This is what you were willing to risk lives for.”

Renata pushed a cold glass into his hand. The smell of potent slivovitz assailed his nostrils. “Don’t insult my intelligence,” she said. “You knew very well what all the fuss, as you put it, was about. The paintings were just a convenient focus. The object of the exercise was power. Gaining it, demonstrating it, keeping it.”

Purdue toyed with the glass, turning it around in his hand. “Then if I were to throw this drink over this delightful piece, it would not trouble you?”

“I warned you not to insult me.” Renata’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “This kind of baiting is beneath you and besides — I know you would not do it. You have too much appreciation for the exquisite.” She pulled up a stool and sat down facing the painting, crossing one long leg over the other. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing her foot towards the other stool. Purdue obeyed mechanically. “Oh, stop moping, Dave. So your little girlfriend knocked you back. In case you hadn’t noticed, you are one of the world’s richest men. You’re powerful. You’re attractive. Move on. You won’t be alone forever. I’m sure the next woman you take a fancy to won’t be able to resist such a touching little speech.”

“You promised me that you would not listen in.” Two deep pink patches began to form on Purdue’s pale cheeks. “You promised me a moment of privacy, Mirela.”

She shrugged. “Well, I reneged.”

Purdue checked the impulse to walk straight out of the room. He knew that it was pointless. The doors would be locked, and even if they were not there was nowhere to go. The dramatic gesture would only be undermined when he was forced to return and grovel to her later. He took a sip of the drink, letting the tang of alcohol spread out over his tongue. “This is why you will never make a good leader, Mirela. You have never learned to resist the temptation to be needlessly cruel. You must wield power judiciously, or expect to have it taken from you.”

“Is that a threat?” The note of anger in her voice gave way to one of amusement.

“Friendly advice, if such a thing is possible between us,” Purdue replied. “If you do not wish to lose your power, you must not use it arbitrarily. There has already been at least one attempt to take it from you that I know of. If you do want to prevent another, I believe the decision is still in your hands.”

“I refuse to be dictated to,” Renata said. “The people who opposed me have been beaten back. Let them hide out in their cave and plot against me, why should I care? I am the one with the power. I have the whole Order behind me. Let them rise against me, and next time I shall crush them completely.”

“It might have gone better for you if you had crushed them completely the first time round,” Purdue pointed out. “Letting a defeated enemy live is a risky strategy.”

She looked at him. “Oh, and you would know? I seem to remember you being keen to avoid power when the opportunity came up. I learned everything I had to learn from you a long time ago, Purdue. Don’t presume that you can still teach me.”

As she glared at him, Purdue caught a glimpse of the furious young woman she had been on the night when he had caught her attempting to rob his house. He had also been a lot younger then and new to wealth, yet to install a full security system or hire his first bodyguard. Indeed, it had been her successful break-in that had prompted him to design more than just a basic entry-detection system and place his first call to the agency that had kept him protected for so many years.

He remembered how ferociously she had fought to escape him, sometimes running and hiding and hurling his possessions at him, sometimes getting close enough to engage in brief bouts of hand to hand combat. Feeling her knife swish past his cheek and hearing it bury itself in the wall behind him had been a great adrenaline rush. Eventually he had trapped her in a windowless box room and barricaded the door, then left her to scream and rage and hurl herself against the door until her energy was spent and she could easily be questioned. His defeated enemy had been allowed to live.

His capricious imagination had been captured by this strange young woman, hissing at him like a cornered cat. She had entered his house in the hope of stealing a Mondrian painting — the first piece of original artwork that he had ever bought. He could not let her have it. Its sentimental value was simply too high. That painting was the symbol of finally having become a rich man. The day he bought it, he had promised himself that it marked the end of his career in art theft. Never again would he steal to order.

However, while he had not been inclined to let the girl take the painting, he found himself admiring the tenacity she had showed in tracking it down, breaking into his house and not showing a second’s fear when caught. She had put up a valiant fight, and he wanted to reward her. Instead of turning her over to the police or inflicting any violent justice of his own upon her, he decided to tell her about his past. He explained his own background in art theft and offered to train her. He had taught her everything he knew about stealth, breaking and entering, valuing work, identifying fakes and creating them herself. What he had never been able to teach her was patience. The art of controlling her temper had always eluded her, and she would not learn.

“You may not wish to be taught by me,” Purdue said in a carefully even tone, “but sooner or later someone will teach you the consequences of baiting conquered opponents. If you torment them but give them the chance to recover and come after you, sooner or later they will. If you do not wish to crush them, learn to play them. Win their loyalty. Don’t antagonize them further.”

“No!” she snapped. “I will treat them as I please. They will learn to fear me again!”

“But what if they do not, Mirela? What if they remember how narrowly you hung onto power? Or how suspicious the circumstances of your appointment were? You want to send Sam or Nina into their camp for the pleasure of knowing that they will be tortured for information they do not have. It appeals to your malice and your sense of drama. You think that your enemies will mistake their inability to speak for refusal, and that they will be reminded that you are surrounded by people who would rather die than give you away. But what if your plan goes wrong? What if Sam or Nina manages to explain their circumstances? You do not know them as I do. Sam is remarkably personable and easy to like, and there are plenty at Mönkh Saridag who would welcome the man who brought down Charles Whitsun with open arms. And as for Nina… Don’t you realize what a gift she would be to them? A woman who could lead them straight to my home and knows her way around there? These are pragmatic people, Mirela. They will forego the satisfaction of sending your spy back in pieces if it means they have the kind of privileged information they could obtain from my… from someone who was once my lover.”

“And Steven Lehmann’s lover.” Renata threw her pointed words at Purdue like darts. “Yes, what a mine of information she could be. Perhaps an alternative solution might be needed.” Her face lit up with malevolent pleasure. “I know! I shall send one of them to Mönkh Saridag, but instead of finding an alternative mission for the other I shall keep them, and you, here as my hostages. In the event of my envoy failing to return with the Longinus… well, I am sure you can figure it out. Considering the way—”

Her attention was suddenly caught by something on the flickering screen in the corner. She stared over Purdue’s shoulder at it, then threw back her head and laughed. “I think I have found the test of loyalty I require for you, if you are to remain one of us,” she said. “Look at the screen, and do not look away until I give you permission.”

Purdue turned. The screen was set to display Nina’s room. Renata had not turned it off after watching him confess his love to Nina and be rejected. Now he saw Nina in the arms of Sam Cleave, her legs wrapped tightly around him and her head thrown back as he thrust into her. As he watched the way they kissed, he knew that she had never kissed him that way.

Under Renata’s scrutiny he could not look away. He focused his attention on his breath, in, out, calm, regular. He kept every muscle in his face perfectly still. He made himself relax his hands. No matter what she knew, or thought she knew, all he would let her see was indifference. He would not give her the satisfaction of watching his soul burn.

At last he saw Nina’s slim body tense and then go limp. She collapsed forward, her head falling onto Sam’s shoulder, and he gently lowered her onto the bed. Sam curled himself around her. Purdue tried not to remember the scent of her soft skin, lightly laced with sweat, or the sound of her catching her breath, or the feeling of her head resting on his shoulder or on his arm. Then Sam said something to her, and she answered over her shoulder with a sleepy smile, then he swept her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck and a pang of something resembling pain shot through Purdue. “Enough,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I take it that’s the end of your obsession with protecting her?” Renata smirked. Purdue said nothing. He closed his eyes, pressing them shut, and did not look up. Satisfied with the outcome of their conversation, Renata got up and left him alone with his jealousy.