Hunt for the Lost Treasure

Chapter 9 — Purdue's Itch

LOCAL ACADEMIC ABDUCTED — the second page headline read in the Glasgow Post three days later. Similar tags were seen in local newspapers around Edinburgh and the northern areas, as well as one or two features in smaller print at the bottom of online news report websites. Oddly enough, the news of Dr. Gould's abduction garnered almost no coverage, based on the confusion surrounding her reported disappearance. Be that as it may, Nina's kidnapping did not escape the keen eyes of Purdue. It could not, because in his current status he had to watch the press carefully to remain undetected, to know where to move and when to lie low.

He was deeply upset by the report, but for the first time in his life, his stature and wealth could not aid him in obtaining the necessary information he needed to solve his predicaments. As a matter of fact, it was the first time Purdue had felt what it was like to have no friends, not to exist to anyone, to be cut off from the world, to have a name that was both redundant and powerless.

“Sam Cleave, please,” he said in a low tone over the phone he’d begged from the bartender in Queens, New York, the latest seat of his vigil. Paranoia was something Dave Purdue had never before had to deal with. After the life of privilege he’d been born into, accented by his scientific genius and charm, he would never have imagined that he could possibly suffer the demons of anxiety. “Could I leave him an urgent message, please? Tell him that Mr. Hoffa called on him and that he can reach me at…”

The bartender pretended not to listen to the tall, lean man with the crappy accent, but he could not help but eavesdrop. When Purdue hung up the call and thanked him, the porky Italian chuckled and leaned on the bar. He whispered, “So, is your name Jimmy by any chance?” followed by a roaring laugh that gradually died down when he bent over to replace the telephone.

“Another gin and tonic, please Gino,” Purdue sighed. “God, why did I have to pick America?”

“Because it's the best place on earth, man! Everything is bigger in the United States, baby!” Gino hollered, evoking a rowdy roar of agreement from the men in the bar.

“What, like your asses? My God, I have never seen people eat so much crap in my entire life. How do you not seize up and drop dead from a heart attack with all this junk food you all live on?” Purdue jested, puffing up to gesture how full he felt just from watching them eat.

“Hey, we're Italian, Mr. Hoffa. Eating good is our culture, but those mooks out at Mickey Dee's? They don't know what food is!” the bartender exclaimed happily.

Purdue had to laugh at the man's jovial explanation, even though he was exhausted from fatigue and concern about Nina. He had no idea how to find out if the reports were true, and if so, how to investigate without blowing his own cover. That was what he needed Sam for. He only hoped that Sam would get his message before it was too late. On the other hand, traveling back to the British Isles now would be too risky for Purdue to undertake, lest he be recognized and arrested. He could deal with being apprehended by the authorities, but that would mar his attempts at saving Nina from God knows who had her.

Deep down inside, he naturally had an inkling that the Order of the Black Sun was involved, but he just did not know how. Perhaps it was his recurring tribulation at their hands throughout recent years that prompted this notion, but perhaps it was true. They could have been more tenacious than he’d estimated. Purdue had elected to hide in plain sight too, just like the man who took Nina. In the bustling insanity of a metropolis his presence would be inconspicuous and his face simply one in a molten ocean of features. If there was any place on this planet where individuality was challenged, it would be New York.

Yet his choice of location had now distanced him even further from Nina and at the worst time, and Purdue construed this as a terrible error on his part. Refusing to let the write-up go, he paid the bartender and waved the patrons goodbye with a promise of returning some time. Out into the madness of the New York day he stepped, immediately swept off by the droves of bodies who coalesced continuously as they all went about their lives in the city.

Countless times Purdue had tried Nina's cell number as well as her home phone, without any success. It only proved that the rumors were indeed true and it drove him crazy to know that he was helpless, unless he wished to be found out. Eventually, by the time Purdue entered the small room he was renting, he began to contemplate the alternative. Weighing up the possibilities became an incessant thought, if only to sate his need to do something constructive.

Without his usual stimuli and adventure, Purdue felt his soul wilting. No science, no physics or technology surrounded him now, nothing that could challenge his mind and advance his knowledge. An emotional death blow to any man of his intellect and zeal. He had secured a telephone line for Sam to reach him here for the time being, but it was taking too long. Sam was taking too long. Purdue was growing more restless, his decision swaying dangerously close to electing the action he most feared — to pack up and travel back to Scotland, to Oban.

By 9 p.m. he still hadn’t heard from Sam. Purdue saw it as a sign. Briskly he packed what little luggage he had, slung his high-end laptop bag over his shoulder, and paid up the rest of the week.

“But where are you going?” asked Miss Warecki, the Good Samaritan who’d leased him one of her rooms. She was fond of the charming Scot, even as mysterious as he conducted himself.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Warecki, but something unexpected transpired that I was not prepared for in the least. Regrettably I am pressed for time, so I am forced to flee your coup, as it were.” He smiled, trying to sound calm while a storm of panic roared just beneathe the surface.

“That really is a pity,” she replied coyly. She was quite taken with him, but she was mature enough not to exhibit her disappointment. “We really enjoyed having you here.”

“Likewise, I enjoyed staying here. I just wish I didn’t have to run so soon,” he replied, slipping her a roll of bills that would cover the next two weeks of what would have been his stay.

“Oh no, I couldn't take that,” she frowned sincerely. “We had no contract, remember? You were supposed to be but a house guest, as you requested.”

“I know what our arrangement was, Miss Warecki, but please do me a favor and pretend that I’m still here as your house guest, alright? As far as you’re concerned, I’m still visiting and my absence will be explained by things like gym, shopping, sight-seeing, and the old favorite — I’m in the shower,” he winked playfully, noticing that Miss Warecki was sharp enough to catch his drift. “And that is why I have to pay for the rest of my stay here.”

“Of course,” she agreed seriously. “Shall I use one of these explanations on Mr. Kilt when he calls back tonight?”

“No, thank you. You can just tell him that I’m on my way home and will get in touch with him once I’ve arrived there. Thank you so much for your wonderful hospitality.” As she took the money, Purdue lifted his suitcase to leave.

“David?” she called after him.

“Yes?” he asked, stopping briefly at the door, his white hair stirred by the cool night wind outside.

“If you ever decide to come back to Queens, you are welcome to visit us again.” She smiled kindly. “For real.”

With Sam's help, Purdue had managed to procure enough cash funds from his accounts before MI6 took control of his estate and started tracking his credit card transactions as a precautionary measure until his body was found. Also, because of the latter matter, Purdue's attorneys had not proceeded with the necessary appeals for MI6 to rescind their control of his estate and had subsequently filed a dispute with the high commission. It was a long and tedious application that was better functioning once Purdue had been declared officially deceased by the court.

Although only two people in the world knew beyond a doubt that David Purdue was still alive and kicking, the Black Sun disbelieved the reports of his demise just as well. Joseph Karsten, for one, was convinced that the smart explorer was fooling the world with his exquisite subterfuge, waiting for his chosen moment to resurface.

But Karsten did not want to wait until this happened. He wished to put an end to the opposition from their former Renatus — or high leader of the Order — and kill him while the world believed him dead anyway. And he craved the credit for the deed. It was a case of double jeopardy, in Karsten's mind. If he murdered the insolent Purdue within the following weeks, chances were that he would not be arrested if caught. After all, nobody can kill a man who is already dead.

Purdue used cash for all his transactions, using large bills to avoid having to carry thick wads of paper money around. With his previous dealings in less than legal terms, he had obtained one or two counterfeit passports, one of which he was utilizing for his current charade. Hastily he hailed a yellow cab and headed to JFK, en route to where he was vexed by a detour his cabby was forced to take due to a hellish traffic jam stretching all the way from Grand Central Parkway and York College.

“Please, I have to get to the airport as soon as possible,” Purdue urged his cab driver, only because the Middle Eastern looking man was singing along with traditional music as if he had all night to get to his destination.

“Is okay, sir. We get there when I turn,” the cabby smiled through cracked lips and a wicked white set of choppers.

“When you turn…” Purdue moaned, throwing up his hands and falling back in his seat. “Of course, when you turn.”

“Yes, as soon as we get to Hillside Avenue, I turn!” the cabby shouted gleefully over the incessant whining of what sounded like a hybrid female-peacock on his radio speakers.

“Okay, alright, you do that,” Purdue pretended to know what the man was talking about.

But to his surprise the cabby did exactly that, turning onto a road which had virtually no traffic, at least not in the fiendish volumes that had previously been perturbing Purdue's journey to the JFK Airport. They reached the airport in under seven minutes after that, earning the caterwauling driver a good tip.

Purdue booked a flight to Dublin, dodging the spies at Heathrow and Glasgow he knew would be on high alert.

God, I could have really used the Babylonian Mask right now, Purdue thought to himself as he watched the colorful lights of the city night go by. That particular artifact could adapt to the face of another individual and give its wearer the power to be passed off as someone else. It would certainly have been highly beneficial on this trip. But for now he had to get to Dublin with his own face.

And from there he would be forced to slow his trip considerably, travelling by boat past the Isle of Man in the Irish Sea to evade detection. By water he would head northward until he reached the port of Campbeltown, from which Purdue planned to rent a car to drive up the A83 to Oban, which would take him just short of three hours.

He had to take the chance, even if he arrived in Nina's hometown to find her watching TV on her couch. The risk was worth knowing for sure that she was safe, even if it meant that he strolled into danger for it. If only his genius could lend to intuition, Purdue would know that he was doing just that.